Barbara Dunlop - A Cowboy in Manhattan

She’d tried to apologize numerous times, but he’d cut her off. He wasn’t sensitive about his education or his background. What he hated was when she reminded him of their vastly different lifestyles. Still, he sure didn’t have to be such a jerk about it.

She was probably still angry with him, and rightly so. Then again, was he going to let that stop him? She’d invited him backstage. She hadn’t uninvited him. He could easily play dumb and show up, and then apologize for his behavior and hope she’d forgive him.

All he had to do was figure out exactly where backstage was in this huge place.

He glanced around at the rapidly emptying theater, looking for an usher. Instead, he spotted Elizabeth Jeril down near the front, in a conversation with a man. The seats beside him were empty, so he quickly exited the row and made his way down to her.

“Reed.” Elizabeth greeted him with a wide, welcoming smile.

The stranger next to her turned to give Reed a suspicious once-over.

Elizabeth showed no such hesitation. She reached out her arms and all but floated toward him in her full-length silver gown. “I hope you enjoyed the performance.”

Reed gently returned the hug. “Very much,” he told her honestly.

“Are you coming backstage to see Katrina?”

“I’d like to.”

“Good. Reed, this is one of our major donors and a member of the board of directors, Quentin Foster.”

Reed’s senses went on instant alert. But he schooled his features and faced the man.

“Quentin,” Elizabeth continued, oblivious. “This is Reed Terrell. Reed is a friend of Katrina’s.”

“A close friend,” Reed added, holding out his hand to shake, meeting the muddy gaze of Quentin’s light brown eyes square on.

Foster was slightly short, slightly balding, with a narrow nose and a haughty, supercilious smile. He held out his own hand, pale and thin-skinned.

“A pleasure,” he told Reed in a tone that said it was anything but.

Reed squeezed a little too firmly. “Katrina’s spoken of you,” he told Quentin.

Quentin’s nostrils flared for a split second, uncertainty crossing his expression before he quickly withdrew his hand. “Katrina’s dancing is coming along nicely.”

“She looked great to me,” said Reed.

“You’re an aficionado?” Quentin challenged.

“I know what I like,” Reed returned evenly.

Quentin gave a fake laugh. “The subtleties of the ballet are usually lost on the masses.”

Reed dropped the conversation and spoke to Elizabeth. “Can you point the way?”

“Absolutely.” She linked her arm with Reed’s and led him along the front of the stage to a small door, subtly recessed into the wall paneling.

They passed through single file to a dimly lit narrow hallway and staircase.

Reed kept his footsteps and his tone measured as he chatted inconsequentially about the weather and the sights of New York City. Inside his head, he was cataloging his instincts.

Now that he’d met Foster, every fiber of his being told him to protect Katrina. Slamming the man into the nearest wall and reading him the riot act seemed like an excellent start. But he restrained himself as they passed through another door and came out into a wide, bustling corridor.

“There she is,” said Elizabeth, gesturing down the hallway.

Reed’s attention immediately fixed on Katrina as she emerged from a doorway. She’d changed into a simple black sheath dress with black leggings, high-heeled shoes and a short purple open cardigan. Her hair was in a wavy ponytail, and her face was free of makeup.

“Thanks,” he told Elizabeth absently, already winding his way through the performers and crew clogging the hall.

When he appeared next to her, Katrina was startled, obviously surprised to see him. But he didn’t pause to talk, simply slipped an arm around her waist, and gently eased her into a walk in the direction opposite to Foster.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t care. Is this the way out?”

She settled in to his pace. “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, a little bit mad. But I shouldn’t have been mad. I guess I’m psychologically delicate. Are we going the right way?”

“As if,” she scoffed. “Take the next right.”

He steered them around a corner into an empty hallway.

The other voices disappeared behind them, and he noticed they were alone. He impulsively backed her into the wall. He searched her expression, finding her more beautiful than ever. “You were amazing out there.”

A genuine smile grew on her face. “You liked the performance?”

“I can’t wait to watch you dance again.”

Still grinning, she scoffed, “There’s no need to go overboard, Reed.”

Instead of responding, he cupped her chin, stilling her motion. He leaned in. “I’m hooked,” he whispered, a split second before his lips touched hers.

Their kiss was instantly passionate, and he pressed his body to hers. Her arms wound around his neck, and he pulled her into a tight full-body hug.

“Reed?” she gasped, clearly struggling for breath.

He forced himself to let her go. He hadn’t meant to maul her in public. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked, dredging up some manners.

She had to have used up a lot of energy out there tonight.

“I am.” She nodded.

“What do you want to eat?” He’d take her anywhere. They could do anything she wanted, as long as it was together.

She blinked once, her dark lashes covering her deep blue eyes, momentarily expanding her pupils. “Room service?”

Everything inside him stilled, then his hand sought hers, tugging her away from the wall, leading her farther down the corridor.

At first, they walked in silence.

“You really liked the performance?” Her tone was slightly hesitant. “Like, truly?”

“I truly loved it,” he answered.

“As in, you’d watch another ballet?”

“If you were in it.” Then he shrugged. “Or if you came to watch with me.”

Though it wasn’t something he’d ever given a moment’s thought to, he’d honestly enjoyed the ballet. He admired the dancing, the choreography, the lighting, the costumes. He liked to think he recognized hard work when he saw it.

“What about the opera?” she asked.

“I’ve never been to the opera.”

“Would you try one?”

“Is this some kind of a test? Are you setting me up for a joke?”

She frowned at him. “Not at all. I like opera.”

“Why?”

They made their way up a back staircase, and a door came into view at the end of a short hallway.

“The music, the pageantry, the stories.”

“Aren’t they in Italian?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t speak Italian.”

“Quello è sfavorevole.”

He tugged her against his side. “You are such a showoff.”

“Unlike you? Who turned my bike into an exercise machine and laughed at me because I was afraid of chickens?”

He paused a beat. “Being afraid of chickens is pretty comical.”

She tipped her head sideways against his shoulder. “You sure you want to mock the woman who’s coming back to your hotel room?”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Let me tell you exactly what I want to do to the woman who’s coming back to my hotel room.”

Every time Reed thought Katrina couldn’t possibly get any more beautiful, she surprised him. Even tonight, at the Liberty Ballet fundraising gala, among the richly dressed, she stood out like a beacon.

Across the room, her updo was smooth, her honey-toned shoulders bare, her slender arms ringed in delicate white sapphire bangles. She wore a matching necklace, gold inset with a trail of tiny white sapphires, while small studs sparkled in her ears. Her dress was snow-white, with a tight bodice liberally trimmed in deep purple piping. It topped a generous tulle skirt adorned with purple appliqué that made her look even more like his princess, or maybe his bride.

He let that image swim around his brain. It was preposterous, of course, but he couldn’t help liking it.

“Enjoying the party?” Elizabeth asked, standing by his side.

“Very much,” said Reed, telling the truth. He’d met a lot of interesting people, many from New York City, but a surprising number from other parts of the country. All seemed well-traveled, and some had visited Colorado.

Reed took advantage of the opportunity. “I heard Katrina had trouble with a ballet shoe.”

“Terrible luck that,” said Elizabeth. “I’m glad she’s healed so fast. It was a bizarre accident, but we’re not taking any chances.”

“How so?” Reed prompted, determined to catalog whatever information he could gather.

“We’ve changed the standards, shortened the wear period.”

“Katrina told me she had a dozen pairs of ballet shoes.” Reed would love to get his hands on the others. If Katrina was right, and there was no way to know which pair she’d choose on any given night, then Foster might have sabotaged more than one.

“We replaced them all.”

Destroyed the evidence. “And whose idea was that?”

“A board recommendation. Overkill in my opinion, but I suppose it’s a PR move if you need one. You don’t have a drink.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

She linked an arm with his. “An admirable quality.”

He glanced down to where her fingertips trailed flirtatiously along his bicep. “You know you don’t mean that.”

Her laughter tinkled. “Sorry. Ingrained habit.” She disentangled her arm. “You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“You catching flies tonight?”

“Liberty Ballet doesn’t survive without donations. No offense to your gender, Reed. But men are more likely to pull out their checkbook for a vivacious woman.”