A Cowboy in Manhattan(32)

“No.”

“Yes.”

She nodded to where Caleb was staring at them from the top of the stairs. “Your brother thinks you’ve gone insane.”

“You are not going to do this to me,” he vowed.

“Do what?” She mustered up an expression of calm innocence. “What is it you think I’m doing here, Reed?”

He blinked, a split second of uncertainty crossing his face.

“All I want to do is talk,” she pressed. “I’m going to be gone in a couple days. It may be years before I’m back. You’re a nice guy. You helped me with my ankle. You built me a stationary bike. You don’t want a chance to say goodbye?”

He stared at her in silence, and she could read his hesitation. He was wondering if he’d imagined her intense attraction to him, their near-combustible chemistry, the fact that they shouldn’t be allowed to be alone together if they didn’t want it to race out of control.

He wasn’t imagining a thing. But she didn’t have to tell him that.

“Do you think I can’t keep my hands off you?” She kept her tone light and teasing, even though nervous energy was churning its way through her stomach. “Is your ego really that big?”

His jaw snapped tight, and he stepped back, abruptly slamming the car door.

Katrina let out a breath of relief.

He yanked open the driver’s door, dropped into the seat, started the engine and peeled out of the driveway, leaving a rooster tail of dust and small stones.

Katrina rocked against the passenger door, then flew upright. She grappled with her seat belt, fastening it tight and low across her hips.

Neither of them spoke for a good half hour as they wound their way along the rutted dirt-and-grass road up through the trees to where the pastures fanned out on the higher rangelands. Reed shifted the truck into four-wheel drive, and Katrina hung on as they traversed a shallow creek.

“Is this going to be a long, silent ride?” she finally asked.

“This was always going to be a long silent ride. I expected to be alone.”

“Well, good news,” she announced brightly. “I can make small talk and entertain you.”

He shifted to a lower gear, pointing the truck up a steep, muddy rise. “I guess the cocktail-party circuit had to come in handy at some point.”

“That’s where you want to go? Insulting me?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere. And it was an observation, not an insult.”

“You’re lying.”

“Okay,” he allowed. “It was a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

He quirked a half smile. “I thought it was.”

“You’re not a very nice man, Reed Terrell.”

He looked her way for a long moment.

She glanced to the rutted road, to Reed, and back again. There was a curve coming up. She waited for him to turn his attention to driving. “Uh, Reed.”

“I’m not a nice man,” he confirmed softly. “And you should remember that.” Then he glanced out the windshield and made an abrupt left turn.

Katrina was forced to hold on tight again. “I’m not afraid of you, Reed.”

“That’s okay. I’m scared enough for the both of us.”

Katrina didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Reed being afraid of anything was patently absurd.

A long time later, the truck rocked to a halt on the dirt road, an aspen grove fanning out on the downhill side, and a steeper hill running up the other.

Reed shut off the engine. “We’ll have to walk it from here.”

“Walk?”

He pushed the driver’s door open. “Unless you want to wait here. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

“No, no.” She reached for her own door handle. “Walking is fine.” Luckily, she’d worn comfortable runners. Her midcalf, low-rise tights weren’t perfect for bushwhacking, neither was her tank top, but she gamely hopped from the seat.

Reed retrieved a worn leather tool belt from the box of the truck, strapping it around his waist, stuffing a hammer, tape measure, screwdrivers, wrenches and pliers into the loops and pockets. Then he tucked some lengths of rod and pipe beneath his arm, hoisted out a battered red toolbox and turned for a trail that wound up the side of the hill.

Katrina quickly fell into step with him. “You want me to carry anything?”