A Cowboy in Manhattan. Barbara Dunlop
slip of her tongue. It compromised her ongoing efforts to keep her two worlds apart, and this morning she vowed to do better.
In the years since her father’s sister, her generous Aunt Coco, had taken her under her wing and convinced her parents to let her move to New York City with her, she’d been living two separate lives. In New York, enrolled in the ballet program at the Academy, she felt vibrant and alive. She was a part of the cultural mosaic Auntie Coco, a renowned contemporary painter, had been so careful to expose her to while she was growing up. She fitted in. She was normal, accepted, even respected. In Colorado, she was out of step. An anomaly who could never show weakness.
She often wondered why her aunt had decided to rescue her from the ranching world, what it was she’d recognized as a kindred spirit in a ten-year-old child. She’d always meant to ask. But Coco had died of a sudden aneurism two years ago before Katrina had had the chance.
Now, she came to the bottom of the stairs of the Jacobs’ house and took a bracing breath. Her two brothers and two sisters were already dressed for the day’s work, sitting at the breakfast table eating pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs. It never ceased to amaze her that Mandy and Abigail could consume so many calories and keep such trim figures.
As she pivoted around the end of the staircase, she was careful not to limp. Then again, Reed would probably tell Caleb, and Caleb would tell Mandy, and once again she’d be the pathetic, weak branch on the robust Jacobs family tree.
She approached the breakfast table to a chorus of good mornings, taking the empty place next to Mandy, searching the table for fruit, or maybe a whole-grain muffin. But a platter of fluffy pancakes was handed her way, followed by maple syrup and a mounded serving tray of eggs.
“Thanks.” She nodded to Abigail, setting the heavy platter down in an empty spot in front of her plate. “Is there maybe an apple or something in the fridge?”
Everything seemed to still for a moment as four sets of eyes turned her way.
“I’m not a huge breakfast eater,” she explained, ignoring the tantalizing scents of melting butter and warming syrup.
Abigail started to stand.
“No, no.” Katrina quickly waved her off, coming to her feet. Pain tripped in her ankle from the sudden movement, but she schooled her features. “I’ll get it.” She quickly headed for the kitchen.
“Abigail and I can stay on the ranch for a few more days,” Seth said, his conversational voice coming through the big, open pass-through between the kitchen and dining room. “But then they’ll need us in Lyndon to help with my campaign.”
Katrina spotted the family cook, Henrietta, in the pantry off the kitchen, restocking the shelves from a cardboard box. She smiled a greeting to the familiar woman as she pulled open one side of the big stainless-steel refrigerator.
In the pocket of her slacks, her cell phone vibrated. She retrieved it to see an unfamiliar New York City number.
“Hello?” she inquired, moving to a far corner of the kitchen, where a solid wall blocked the noise from her siblings’ conversation.
“Hello, Katrina.”
Her teeth clenched at the sound of Quentin Foster’s voice. A member of the Liberty Ballet Board of Directors, the last time they’d spoken, he’d been hitting on her.
“I wanted to see how you were feeling,” he continued, tone solicitous.
“Fine,” she told him evenly, wondering how she could diplomatically end the call. He was an important man in the organization, but his flirtatious manner had gotten entirely out of hand.
“We’re all very worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be back soon.”
“Back?” His tone slipped. “Have you left the city?”
“I’m visiting family. I really need to go. Thanks for calling.”
“Katrina, wait.”
She braced herself. “Yes?”
“Have you had another chance to think about what I said?”
About becoming his lover? “I haven’t changed my mind.”
In her peripheral vision, she caught her brother Seth’s curious gaze on her. “I do have to go. Thank you for your concern.” She quickly hit the off button then shut down her phone, turning her attention back to her family.
“Mandy’s riding up to take a look at the Blue Lake herd today,” said Travis. “And I’ll check to see how many have moved through the canyon.”
Katrina knew there was a science to herd distribution across their vast rangelands, taking in the seasons, weather reports and rainfall, but she had no idea how it worked. More than once, she’d privately mused that if she’d lived in the 1800s, she’d probably have died young of stupidity or been killed off by her outraged community because of her ineptitude.
“What time is the vet due in?” asked Abigail, refilling her coffee cup.
“He said around eleven,” Mandy offered. “But you know how those things go.”
“I have to touch base with the campaign office before I do anything else,” said Abigail, reminding Katrina of her oldest brother’s upcoming campaign for the mayor’s seat in Lyndon.
Katrina selected a smooth, deep-green Granny Smith apple from the crisper drawer, rinsing it under the tap before returning to the table.
“What about you?” Travis asked her as she sat back down.
“Me?” she responded, confused by his question. Were they still talking about the mayoralty campaign?
“You want to ride up to the lake with me today?” asked Mandy.
Katrina hesitated, glancing at the expressions around the table. She couldn’t believe they’d forgotten. She’d never mastered riding a horse. The animals still frightened her. The thought of sitting on top of one for six hours made her cringe.
“I have a pretty rigorous rehearsal and training routine,” she told everyone.
Seth waved a dismissive hand. “Take a day off.”
“I—”
“The fresh air will be good for you,” Travis declared.
Only Mandy was looking at her curiously.
“I wish I could,” Katrina lied with a shake of her head. “But I need to stay in shape.”
“Horseback-riding is good exercise,” said Travis.
“Is there a bicycle anywhere around here?” She tried to change the subject. Jogging would be the simplest exercise, since she didn’t have access to a gym. But the jarring would be too hard on her healing ankle, especially over uneven ground.
Her siblings glanced at each other.
“A bicycle?” Seth repeated the question.
“I like to bike,” said Katrina. “It’s good for my quads.”
Travis snorted. “A little productive work would be good for your quads too.”
“Travis,” Abigail warned.
“There might be an old bike in the blue shed,” said Mandy. “We can look after breakfast.” She glanced at the apple in Katrina’s hand. “You sure you don’t want something hot?”
Katrina shook her head. “I’m good.” She took a big bite of the apple, mumbling her appreciation of the tart flavor.
After a drawn-out moment, everyone’s attention went back to their own meals.
After a few minutes, Mandy rose to take her dishes into the kitchen then returned to the dining room and slid back into her chair. “We’ll go whenever