A Cowboy in Manhattan by Barbara Dunlop Page A

around her. She tugged the ends together and crossed her arms over her chest.
    “Sit down,” he told her. “It’ll be less windy if you’re low to the ground.” Then he glanced up at the sky and heaved a frustrated sigh. “You shouldn’t have come up here.”
    “I’m fine,” she repeated, perching herself on a clump of meadow grass. He was right, sitting down did help to keep her out of the wind. Now, if only the rain would stop.
    But the rain didn’t stop, and the more it rained, the more frustrated Reed became, and the more colorful the language coming out of his mouth. As the rain turned to a downpour, the wrenches kept slipping from his hands. He was obviously having trouble seeing clearly, and he dropped something. He peered into the mud, feeling his way around the tufts of grass.
    After a long search, he tossed the wrench to the ground. “Damn it! Katrina, I can’t let go of this. You’re going to have to help.”
    She came to her feet, his wet shirt hanging loosely to midthigh. “What should I do?”
    He took what seemed to be a calming breath. “Look in the toolbox. Lift out the top tray and see if you can find a nut-and-bolt set. It’s better if it has some washers.”
    “Washers?”
    “Wide, round disks of metal.”
    “Right.” Trying not to shiver from the wet and wind, she opened the lid to the toolbox. The stormy day was complicated by the fact that the sun was now sinking behind the hills.
    “Can you see anything?” he asked.
    “Not really.” She reached in to feel her way around instead.
    “Don’t!” Reed shouted, and she immediately stilled.
    His voice moderated. “Some of the things in there are sharp. You could cut yourself.”
    “I can’t see,” she apologized.
    “It’s okay. Close the lid.” He waited while she closed it and flipped the catches. “Now, can you pick up the box and move it over here?”
    Katrina stood, bent down and gripped the handle of the metal toolbox with both hands. Then she pulled up with all her might. Nothing happened. She screwed up her determination and tried again.
    It lifted a couple of inches off the ground, and she moved it forward before dropping it down.
    “Don’t hurt yourself,” Reed warned.
    “I’m good,” she gasped. She lifted again, swinging it closer. Then again. And again.
    “You’re doing fine,” he told her.
    “This is pathetic.”
    “For a cowboy, yeah,” he agreed. “For a ballerina, we make allowances.”
    “Thank goodness I’m going back to New York City.”
    There was a breath of silence before he spoke. “Thank goodness.”
    “I’m almost—” Her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed in an undignified heap on the muddy ground, brown water spraying around her. “There,” she finished, seriously regretting her decision to come along on this trip. Exactly why did she think she needed to be alone with Reed?
    “You okay?” he asked.
    “Define okay. ”
    “Are you injured?”
    “No. Bruised, yes.”
    Reed stretched out his arm, his fingertips almost made it to the handle of the toolbox. Katrina gave it a hard shove, sliding the box, and he grasped the handle in his fist, lifting it and moving it to where he could search for a bolt.
    “I can’t believe you carried that thing all the way up the hill,” she told him.
    “I have size, muscle mass and testosterone on my side.”
    “You’re incredibly useful.”
    “And you’re incredibly pretty.” He glanced at her. “Well, not right now.”
    She clenched her jaw. “I hate being pretty.”
    “What’s to hate? You bat those beautiful blue eyes and the world falls at your feet.”
    “Is that how you see it?”
    “That’s not how I see it. That’s the way it is.”
    “You think the world gives me a free ride.”
    His opinion didn’t surprise her. She’d known all along that was how he felt, that she was some decorative plaything. He was as bad as Quentin. Though she supposed she should credit Reed with trying to keep his distance. At