A Cowboy in Manhattan(9)
“On it,” said Reed, moving immediately back to the door and heading outside.
Katrina was probably stuck somewhere along the trail. Or maybe she’d grown tired and was resting. There was a slim chance she gotten herself into real trouble. But the river trail was well-marked and relatively smooth and safe. The odds were definitely on the side of a delay rather than a catastrophe.
He strode back across the driveway, hopping onto an ATV that was parked next to the barn. He turned the key and the machine roared to life beneath him. He glanced at the sky, judging he had at least an hour before dark. It should be plenty of time, but he wasn’t going to waste any of it.
He drove about four miles down the trail before he spotted her. The bike was tipped at the edge of the trail, and Katrina was crouched over it, looking small and forlorn in the midst of an aspen grove. She stood as he approached, and her shoulders relaxed as she obviously recognized that it was him. He saw the chain was off the bike, and her small hands were black with oil.
He’d give her an A for effort, but a failing grade for actual accomplishment. He knew six-year-olds who could reattach a bicycle chain. He brought the ATV to a stop and killed the engine as he dismounted.
“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” he opened, struggling not to smile at her rather adorable helplessness.
She gestured to the bike. “I came around the corner, hit a bump, and the chain fell off.”
His smile broke through as he checked out her blackened hands. “Any luck putting it back on?”
“Are you mocking me?”
He moved on to inspect the broken-down bicycle. “I’m making small talk, Katrina. Quit being so sensitive.”
“I’m not being—”
“You’ve got a chip a mile wide on those skinny little shoulders.”
“I’m not an auto mechanic,” she harrumphed.
“And I’m not a ballerina.”
She didn’t seem to have a response to that.
“There’s no point in getting my hands dirty fixing it here,” he noted, lifting the bike by the frame and carrying it to the ATV. “Unless you’re set on riding it the rest of the way.”
“In the dark?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He balanced the bike on the wide front rack, uncoiling a bungee cord to fasten it down. “But it’s up to you.”
“No,” she responded tartly. “I don’t want to ride a bike the rest of the way.”
“You okay?” he asked belatedly, wrapping the cord around the bike frame and hooking the end to the rack. She didn’t appear hurt, but he supposed that should have been the first question out of his mouth. That was a miss.
“I’m fine,” she huffed.
He glanced up, taking a more detailed look at her. “You didn’t fall or anything?”
She shook her head. “The chain came off.” She held up her hands. “I stopped and I tried to put it back on.”
“I can see that.”
“I didn’t just sit down and wait for a knight in shining armor.”
“That’s a relief. Because you got me instead.”
She blinked sheepishly, seeming to remember her own manners. “Thank you,” she offered.
He couldn’t help but grin at her discomfort. “That wasn’t what I was fishing for. But you’re welcome.” The sight of her looking so vulnerable in the vastness of the landscape tightened his chest. “Anytime.”
“I guess these things come in threes.”
“Threes?” He glanced around, wondering if he’d missed something.
“I had that ballet shoe come apart on me,” she offered ruefully, glancing at her ankle. “And I almost took a tumble over some cables near the stage because they were partially hidden by a curtain.”
He sure didn’t like that mental picture. But he kept his tone easy. “You do seem to be accident-prone.”
“Ironic.” She sighed. “Because this time I was purposely attempting to stay out of trouble.”
“Admirable,” he acknowledged.
“Mandy wanted me to go horseback riding,” she continued. “And my brothers wouldn’t let me say no, and I knew I’d just slow the whole process down. And I thought…” She gestured to the disabled bike. “Bike-riding is one of my favorite exercises.”
Surely she didn’t ride a bike in the bumper-to-bumper traffic of New York City. “Through Central Park?” he hoped.