“I really do,” Mandy agreed.
“Won’t you and Caleb mostly live in Chicago after the wedding?”
“We think it’ll be about fifty-fifty. I’ll put up with Chicago for him, and he’ll put up with Lyndon Valley for me.”
“So, one of you will always be unhappy?” Katrina didn’t want to question the wisdom of her sister’s marriage plans, but theirs didn’t sound like a particularly smart arrangement.
Mandy’s voice went soft. “Caleb hated his father. He didn’t hate Lyndon Valley. And now that Wilton is gone, he’ll remember all the things he loved about the ranch.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
Katrina plucked at the quilt. “Well, I’ll never leave New York City.”
“Not even for the right man?”
“The right man is already there.”
Mandy straightened, her expression perking up. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“No boyfriend.” Katrina was taking a page from Reed’s logic. “I haven’t met him yet. But I know he’s out there, picking out an impressionist painting for his penthouse, balancing his stock portfolio and dry-cleaning his tux.”
Mandy laughed, even as Katrina’s thoughts flicked back to Reed.
“Did you know Reed was building a house?” she found herself asking her sister.
“What do you mean?”
“He showed me the building site today. Up in one of the top meadows beside Flash Lake. He’s got it all staked out. I didn’t see the drawings, but he talked like it was all planned. He says he’s going to find himself a wife and start a family. You and Caleb get to keep this house.”
“Really?” Mandy drew the word out in obvious contemplation.
“So this is something new?” Katrina confirmed.
“He told Caleb he was planning to raise a family here on the ranch. But, as far as I know, he didn’t say anything about building a new house.” Mandy shifted on the mattress. “I take it you’re not fighting anymore?”
Katrina felt her cheeks heat and struggled to control the reaction. “We were never fighting.” She glanced away. “It was… He just… He’s helping me with my ankle.”
Good grief. Why was she having trouble with such a simple explanation? It wasn’t as though she was lying. Everything she was saying was true.
Mandy blinked. “Katrina?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you attracted to Reed?”
Katrina formulated an answer. “Reed is Colorado.”
If ever there was a man who was a perfect metaphor for a place, he was it.
“And you hate Colorado.”
“I’m intimidated by it.”
Mandy’s gaze was probing. “So you’re intimidated by Reed?”
“Why does this conversation feel like a chess game?”
“Because you’re being evasive.”
“I like my men in tuxedos,” Katrina answered honestly.
Mandy grinned and chuckled. “Then tomorrow night at the ball ought to be very interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because Reed will be in a tux.”
“Not a problem,” Katrina answered with conviction. It was one thing to dress a man up, but the grit of Colorado tended to stick.
The elevator door opened into the lobby of the Sunburst Hotel in downtown Lyndon, and Katrina nearly stumbled on her high-heeled silver sandals. Reed didn’t look remotely gritty. Quite the contrary, he looked fantastic in a tuxedo.
Next to a marble pillar and an oversize leather furniture grouping, he was joking with Caleb, Travis and Seth. He was the tallest of the three, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with his hair freshly trimmed and his dark eyes zeroing in on her.
“Wow.” The word whooshed out beneath her breath. She had to remind herself to keep walking between Mandy and Abigail.
“You mean Caleb?” Mandy asked, a thread of amusement in her tone.
“Right,” Katrina returned without missing a beat. “Caleb.” Her gaze stayed glued to Reed.
“Seth’s tie is crooked,” Abigail put in, quickening her pace, clearly hoping to get to Seth and correct the problem before anyone else noticed.
“Liar,” Mandy muttered to Katrina.
“Who? Abigail?”
“Admit it, you’re attracted to Reed.”
“Not at all,” Katrina lied.
“You haven’t taken your eyes off him.”
“I was thinking he’s too tall.” Among other things. He was also too strong, too determined, too attractive and far too good a kisser for a Colorado cowboy.
“He looks great in a tux,” Mandy singsonged.
“All men look great in a tux.” Though few men looked that great in a tux.
As they drew closer, Caleb gave a low whistle of appreciation, his gaze warm on Mandy in an off-the-shoulder, full-skirted, full-length gown in shimmering silver.
“I love it when you dress up like a girl,” he told her, putting an arm around her bare shoulders, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.
Abigail finished with Seth’s tie, chatting to him about the attendees at the ball, enumerating those he should seek out. Travis joined in their conversation, joking about who could make the biggest financial contribution to Seth’s campaign, as the three started toward the hotel exit. Mandy took Caleb’s arm and they fell into step behind, leaving Katrina and Reed to bring up the rear.
“You look very nice,” Reed offered to Katrina, taking in her slim-fitting, butter-yellow satin gown. The V-necked bodice was crisscrossed with tiny strands of crystals that also ran the length of the spaghetti straps accenting her bare shoulders. The back dipped low, while the hem flared out. The skirt was snug at her hips, but loose enough along the length of her legs to allow for dancing.
She’d bought some inexpensive but fun dangling crystal earrings that now hung below her simple updo. She’d paired them with an elaborate necklace of crystals interspersed with yellow topaz snug against her throat. Her makeup was to Liberty Ballet standards, a little heavier than Katrina preferred, but nobody in the ballet company would have a complaint if her photo ended up in a national magazine.
“Thank you,” she answered Reed, still drinking in his appearance.
He’d skipped the bow tie, going instead for a classic Windsor knot of taupe silk with a matching pocket square in the black coat, all over a crisp white shirt. The tux fitted him extremely well, and she wondered if it was possible that he owned it.
His strong, weathered hands and his slightly imperfect nose were the only things that stopped him from being equally urbane as any man she’d met in New York City. The realization was both disconcerting and exhilarating.
He held out his arm. She automatically slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, the strength of his ropy muscles evident through the supple fabric.
“You look very nice, too,” she returned the compliment.
“I feel like a penguin,” he grumbled. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to move in one of these things?”
Katrina gestured to her slim-fitting dress. “As opposed to moving in this?”
“Nobody expects you to hop out of the car and change a tire.”
“You’re planning to change a tire tonight?”
“You never know what might happen.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that.
He took her hand and pressed it to his jacket pocket.
She felt a hard, rectangular lump against his hip. “What on earth?”
“Multitool,” he told her. “Knife, screwdriver, file, pliers.”
“You’re armed with a tool set?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ll be in a ballroom,” she pointed out. “I expect there’s a maintenance crew. And the worst thing likely to happen tonight is a broken shoe buckle.”
They passed through the hotel exit to the sidewalk, where a line
up of shiny black SUVs waited for guests. She glanced around but didn’t spot her sisters and brothers.
“I can fix a broken shoe buckle,” said Reed. “I can also repair a harness, remove a splinter, whittle some kindling and fix an outboard motor.”
“I can’t do any of those things, with or without a multitool. Well, maybe remove a splinter,” she allowed. Then she glanced ruefully at the tiny clutch purse that contained nothing but the bare necessities. “But not with anything I brought along tonight.”
Reed opened the back door to one of the vehicles. “That’s the beauty of the system,” he told her, cupping his palm over her elbow to help her into the seat.
She glanced up questioningly.
He gave her a grin and a waggle of his brows. “You brought me. You don’t need anything else.”
“You’re a living, breathing multitool?” she guessed.
His eyes darkened ever so slightly, and his tone went low. “That I am.”
Had he just turned shoe-buckle repairs into a flirtation?
Before she could decide, he gently shut the door behind her, rounding the back of the vehicle to climb in the other side.
“To the Hospital Ball?” the driver asked Reed.
“Yes, please,” he answered, stretching his arm across the back of the seat.
The driver nodded and pulled the vehicle into traffic.
Reed angled his body so that he was gazing at Katrina. He didn’t say anything, just watched her while they made their way along Seventh Street toward Main.
She gazed back, meeting his eyes, strangely not feeling the need to break the silence. The moment stretched on, and she found herself remembering their kiss, his touch, his taste, the sound of his voice rumbling next to her ear and the woodsy scent of his skin.
“You going to be able to dance?” he asked gruffly, with a nod toward her left ankle.
“I think I can make it through a waltz or two,” she answered.
Progress was slow on her ankle. Then again, at least she was making progress. For the few days before she’d come back to Colorado, the healing had seemed to stall. She’d been terrified it would never get better, or it would take so long to get better that she’d lose her position with the ballet company.
A shiver ran through her at the unsettling thought.
“Save a dance for me?” Reed asked quietly, his eyes glinting silver.
“I will.” Katrina realized once again how safe she felt with Reed. There was nothing to worry about right now. Nothing was going to cause her any trouble tonight. Not even a flat tire.
As Reed would have expected, Katrina was the belle of the ball. Dinner had ended, but the dancing was not yet underway. So far, it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to make it halfway across the ballroom toward the ladies’ room. Men stopped her, clustered around her, asking questions, obviously offering compliments, lingering when they shook her hand, making excuses to touch her.
Reed downed a swallow of champagne, wishing he had something stronger to quench his thirst.
Travis Jacobs took the chair next to him, nudged his elbow, and offered him a single malt, neat, in a heavy crystal glass.
Reed gratefully accepted. “Thanks.”
Travis slouched back, propping his elbow on the opposite chair, his voice a drawl. “I see the way you’re looking at my sister.”
Reed took a swallow of the Scotch. “Same way every other guy in the room is looking at your sister. You don’t like it? Don’t let her dress like that.”
“You Terrells need to keep your hands off the Jacobs women.”
Reed gave a snort of derision. “Caleb’s marrying one of them, and I haven’t touched any of them.”
Kissing Katrina didn’t count. It was a well-accepted fact that touching in this context meant something considerably more than kissing.
Just then the orchestra came up and the lights went down. Reed and Travis both watched as yet another man approached Katrina. His gaze scanned her thoroughly from head to toe, then he stood far too close, his expression animated, his hand too familiar on her arm. Katrina took a step back, but the guy didn’t let her go.
Reed firmly set down his Scotch glass and came to his feet. “I assume dancing is acceptable,” he said to Travis, even as he moved away from the table.
“If it gets her out of that jerk’s clutches, go for it.”
Reed nodded in response, already pacing his way toward Katrina.
Once there, he snaked a proprietary arm around her slim waist. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his hard glare causing the jerk to pull back as if he’d been scalded.
“Are you ready for that dance?” he continued, turning his attention fully onto Katrina, dismissing the other man with a cold shoulder.
The man withdrew, muttering something unintelligible.
A beat went past.
“Did you just rescue me?” Katrina asked in obvious amusement.
“Story of my life.”
“I was fine.”
“You didn’t look fine.” Reed knew he should remove his hand from her waist, but he left it there anyway.
“He was a little too friendly,” she admitted. “But I could have handled it.”
“You didn’t need to handle it. That’s why you brought me along, remember?”
She pivoted to look at him. “I thought you were only planning to fix shoe buckles and remove splinters.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her joke. “I also dance.”
“The two-step?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She cocked her head. “This is a waltz.”
Reed removed his arm from her waist, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “Then let’s waltz.”
He steered her toward the dance floor where the ensemble was playing a classic ballad. There, he drew her into his arms, and his entire body seemed to sigh in satisfaction as she settled against him.
She was fluid and graceful, light on her feet, sensitive to his slightest nuance. He tucked her more closely to his body, his hand coming in contact with the bare skin revealed by the plunging V at the back of her dress. Her soft skin was so distracting that he struggled for something coherent to say.
“You’re a very good dancer,” he opened.
There was a smile in her voice when she answered. “Thank you. I’ve had a few lessons.”
He gave a sheepish grin in return. “I guess you have.”
“But it was nice of you to notice,” she continued with what sounded like sincerity. “And you’re not so bad yourself.”
“High-school gym class,” he admitted. It wasn’t something he’d done frequently since then, but when he did, he always enjoyed it.
The lights dimmed further, and the band switched songs to another famous fifties cover tune. Reed saw no reason to let her go, so he let one song blend into the next, keeping her snugly in his arms.
They silently wound their way toward a set of doors that were open to a wide veranda. It was darker at this end of the ballroom, the music was lower and a cool breeze wafted in from the riverbank. She molded closer against him.
“Cold?” he whispered, gathering her tight, even as he turned so that his body was blocking the breeze.
“I’m fine,” she answered into his chest.
Reed was fine, too. In fact, he was a whole lot better than fine. He wished that time would stop, that the world would fall away and leave him here alone with Katrina.
But then he caught sight of Travis far across the room, closely watching their every move. And he knew the world wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Not that Reed blamed Katrina’s brother for worrying. Reed definitely shouldn’t be trusted with her.
“You go to things like this in New York City?” he found himself asking, curious and wondering how safe she’d be with neither of her brothers around to run interference.
Did she dress this provocatively for functions in New York? It was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he couldn’t help but wond
er what exactly she had on underneath the clingy satin dress.
“Things like what?” she asked, voice slightly dreamy.
“Dances, charity functions.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “We’re contractually obligated to make public appearances. It’s good for contributions to have recognizable performers attend Liberty Ballet fundraisers.”
Reed didn’t like the sound of that. “It’s compulsory? What if you don’t want to go?”
She tipped her chin to look up at him. “It’s my job.”
Reed’s spine stiffened. “It’s your job to dance with random men?”
“Random men with a lot of money to contribute.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Really?” she drawled. “And your opinion counts why?”
Reed didn’t have a good answer for that. “What about your brothers?”
“What about them?”
Reed’s glance darted to Travis again, finding him absorbed in a conversation with two other men. “Do they know?”
“You mean, do they know…” she made a show of glancing surreptitiously around the dance floor then lowered her voice to a stage whisper “…about my wicked little ballroom-dancing secret?”
A surge of jealousy hit Reed at the thought of her other dance partners. Giving into impulse, he stepped through the patio door, spinning her outside, away from the crowd.
“Hey,” she protested.
But instead of stopping, he let their momentum carry them along the fieldstone wall. He came to a halt beside a square stone pillar, his forearm tightening across the small of her back, the darkness closing around them to give privacy.
She gasped in a breath, lips parting, eyes wide.
He gave her half a second to say no, then swooped in for a kiss. He came down harder than he’d intended, openmouthed, tongue invading, greedily savoring the sweet, moist heat of her mouth.
After a startled second, she tipped her head back, welcoming him, her tongue tangling with his. Her spine arched, and her hips pressed against the steel of his thighs. Her arms twined around his neck, and his free hand closed over her rear, the thin fabric of her dress all but disappearing in his imagination.
“Are you naked under this?” he rasped, kissing her neck, her shoulder, brushing a spaghetti strap out of the way to taste her tender skin.
A Cowboy in Manhattan Page 7
