A Cowboy in Manhattan(74)

Katrina stopped in her tracks halfway between the Terrells’ farmhouse and their barn. “I thought you said I could have anything I wanted.”

“You can,” Reed cajoled, taking her hand in his.

She snatched it back. “But I don’t want this.”

“That’s not the same logic.”

“Close enough.”

“You’ll love her,” said Reed, slipping an arm around Katrina’s shoulders and urging her forward. “She’s twenty-two years old, has raised nine foals. She’s as gentle as a kitten.”

“She’s as big as a house.” Katrina complained, trying to shrink back as they approached the dapple-gray mare tied to the hitching post in front of the corral.

“She’s maybe fifteen hands. Her name’s North Star.”

“Can’t I start with a pony?” Not that Katrina had any desire to get up on a pony, either, but at least it would buy her some time. Maybe she could hide while Reed was looking for a pony.

“You promised you’d try,” he admonished.

“I lied.”

He laughed. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“No offense, Reed. You’re big and strong and capable, and all. But you’re a human being. She’s a horse.”

“And she knows who’s boss.”

“Well, it’s sure not going to be me.”

“Katrina.”

“What?”

“Buck up.”

“That’s your pep talk? ‘Buck up’?” They were drawing closer to the mare by the second. She fought an urge to squeeze her eyes shut.

“I don’t think you want to hear the alternative.”

She wanted to be brave. She really did. Deep down inside, she knew this was an irrational fear. Very few people were killed by horses each year. And those that were tended to be in the rodeo or ride in steeplechases.

But an irrational fear didn’t normally respond to logic, and so she was stuck with it. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Katrina,” he told her firmly. “Quit being such a wuss.”

“You quit yelling at me.”

“I am not yelling.”

North Star snorted and shifted.

“You’re scaring the horse,” Katrina complained.

“So now you care about the horse?”

“Absolutely I care about the horse.”

They’d stopped about five feet away from the hitching post.

“You’ll make her sad if you don’t ride her,” said Reed.

“Nice try.”

“Just look at those big brown eyes.” Reed left Katrina behind and moved around the hitching post to stroke North Star’s neck. “She loves teaching new riders.”

“She does not.”

“Want to bet?” He scratched the mare’s nose, and she gave a couple of long, slow, obviously contented blinks.

Katrina didn’t blame her. Reed did have magic hands.

“I’ve had six-year-olds on her back,” Reed offered in smooth, honey tones. “She’s a mama through and through. She won’t let anything happen to you.”

North Star was gazing at Katrina now. She did look rather gentle. In fact, she looked quite friendly.

“You want to come closer?” asked Reed.

“Not really.” Katrina was tempted, though. When Reed had proposed back in New York, she had told him she’d learn to ride. She wanted to keep that promise. And if she could force herself to get on the horse’s back, it would be one less thing to be embarrassed about while she was in Colorado.

And they were definitely going to spend time in Colorado. Reed had been amazing about offering to move to New York City. The least she could do was try to meet him halfway.

She glanced at him.

His expression had turned loving, one of understanding and patience.

She wiped her damp palms across the front of her blue jeans and took a step forward, then another and another.

When she came up beside Reed, North Star swung her head to look. But her movements were slow and calm, not at all threatening.

“Pat her neck,” Reed suggested. “Firmly, or you’ll tickle her.”

“I don’t want to tickle her.” Katrina reached out. She patted the mare’s neck three times. It was hot and wiry under her touch. A small puff of dust came up.