âIâm not living under a rock, Katrina.â
âI never thought you were.â
He swung his leg over the wide seat of the ATV. He wasnât insulted. He couldnât care less what she thought of his simple habits.
Truth was, he didnât know why sheâd struck a nerve. Maybe it was because she pointed out the vast differences between them, and how far she was out of his league. Not that it mattered, he ruthlessly reminded himself.
No matter how sexy Miss Katrina Jacobs might appear, he was keeping his hands and his thoughts to himself. His life was complicated enough.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the second book of the COLORADO CATTLE BARONS series from Desire. With a burly, tough cowboy and an elegant ballerina, shuttling from Colorado cattle country all the way to downtown Manhattan, this story explores the themes of âopposites attractâ and âa fish out of water.â
In book two of the series, cattleman Reed Terrell experiences a financial windfall following the death of his abusive father. Heâs reunited with his beautiful, refined former neighbor Katrina Jacobs, whoâs battling underhanded elements in the New York City dance world. When Reedâs defensive instincts kick in, he finds himself falling in love.
I hope you enjoy A Cowboy in Manhattan, And I hope youâll look for Katrinaâs sister Abigail, along with some of the other residents of Lyndon Valley, Colorado, in future books featuring the Colorado Cattle Barons. Iâd love to hear from you, so please feel free to drop me a line through my website, barbaradunlop.com.
Barbara Dunlop
As the pickup truck rocked to a halt in front of her familyâs Colorado cattle-ranch house, Katrina Jacobs started a mental countdown for her return to New York City. In the driverâs seat, her brother Travis set the park brake and killed the engine. Katrina pulled up on the silver door handle, releasing the latch and watching the heavy passenger door yawn wide-open. Then she slid gingerly down onto the gravel driveway, catching most of her weight on her right foot to protect her injured left ankle.
A week, she calculated. Two weeks, max. By then she would have done her duty as a daughter and a sibling. Her ankle would be in shape. And she could get back to her ballet company in Manhattan.
Katrina hated Colorado.
Travis retrieved her small suitcase from the truck box. From experience, she knew it would be covered in stubborn grit, just like everything else in Lyndon Valley. She could vacuum it as much as she liked, but the dust would remain.
She wrenched the stiff door shut and started to pick her way across the uneven ground. Sheâd worn a pair of navy suede Gallean ankle boots, with narrow toes, low heels and kicky little copper chains at the ankles. They topped a pair of skinny black slacks and a shiny silver blouse.
She probably should have gone with sneakers, blue jeans and a cotton shirt, but she couldnât bring herself to traverse both JFK and Denver International looking like a hick. She wasnât often recognized in public, but when she was, people inevitably snapped a picture. Between cell phones and digital cameras, everyone in the world was potential paparazzi.
In his faded blue jeans, soft flannel shirt and scuffed cowboy boots, Travis fell into step beside her. âYou want to take Mom and Dadâs room?â
âNo,â she responded a little too quickly. âIâll bunk with Mandy.â
Katrina hadnât lived at home full-time since she was ten years old. That summer, with the support of her rather eccentric aunt, sheâd enrolled in New Yorkâs Upper Cavendar Dramatic Arts Academy, a performing-arts boarding school for girls. Maybe it was because sheâd left home so young, but to this day, she was intimidated by her stern, forceful father. His booming voice made her stomach jump, and she was constantly on edge whenever he was around, worried that heâd ask an embarrassing question, mock her career or make note of the fact that she was an all-around inadequate ranch hand.
Her father was away from the ranch right now, having just moved to a rehab center in Houston with a leading-edge stroke recovery program. There he was impressing the staff with his rapid improvement from his recent stroke. Still, the last thing Katrina needed was to be surrounded by his possessions.
âHe loves you,â said Travis, his voice gentle but his confusion evident. âWe all love you.â
âAnd I love you back,â she returned breezily, as she took the stairs to the front porch, passing through the door into the cool, dim interior of her childhood home. It was large by ranch house standards, with a big, rather utilitarian entryway. It opened up into a large living room, with banks of bright windows overlooking the river, a redbrick fireplace and enough comfy furniture to hold the family of five children and often guests. The kitchen was spacious and modern, with a giant pantry and a big deck that led down to a rolling lawn. And upstairs, there were six bedrooms, though one had been converted into an office after Katrina had left for good.