Katrina didn’t want to be a trophy wife. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Really? What about all those debonair rich guys who go to the same parties as you?”

“None of them have asked me out.”

“They have so,” Mandy contradicted.

“Okay, some of them have. But nobody lately.” Unless you counted Quentin Foster. Katrina shuddered at the mere thought of the offensive man. He hadn’t asked her for a date. His had been a bald proposition, followed by an unsettling threat.

“New York men don’t know a good woman when they see one,” Mandy put in staunchly. “Aha. Here we go.”

Katrina banished thoughts of Quentin, coming up on her toes to peer over a wooden crate. Sure enough, there was a sturdy-looking mountain bike propped up against a workbench. She normally rode a stationary one at the gym a few blocks from her apartment, but she was willing to adapt.

“Will we be able to get it out of there?” she asked Mandy.

“Easy.” Mandy hoisted it in the air, over the clutter and outside. There she pumped up the flat tires at the compressor.

Katrina was more than a bit in awe of her older sister. “I can’t believe you did all that.”

“All what?”

“Pumped up the tires. You actually know how to run a compressor.”

“You actually know how to stand up in toe shoes. So, what’s the plan? How far do you want to ride?”

Katrina shrugged. “Fifteen, twenty miles.” Then she’d limber up, work on her arms a bit, and see how her ankle was holding up.

“I’m going up to Caleb’s later,” said Mandy.

“That’s nice.”

Mandy glanced at her watch. “If you wait until afternoon to leave and take the river trail, I can meet you at the Terrells’ and drive you home after dinner.”

Katrina hesitated. She wasn’t wild about spending more time with Reed. The man made her jumpy and self-conscious. But Mandy was the closest thing she had to a buffer against her other siblings. If Mandy wasn’t around, she feared her brothers would try to railroad her into something uncomfortable, like riding a horse.