The Marriage Stampede

“You...I...you’re impossible.” She kicked him with the heel of her foot and scrambled to the door of the tree house. “My ‘equipment’ is none of your business.”

Additional light poured in through the open door and Logan frowned as he looked at Merrie. “Wait a minute, you’re bleeding.”

She hesitated, one foot on the ladder. “I’m fine.”

“You need first aid.”

“Huh...I know a line when I hear one. You should know that sexually harassing an employee is against the law.”

“Lianne is my employee, not you,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Excuses, excuses.” She descended rapidly from view.

Logan sighed and followed, catching her halfway up the driveway. “It isn’t a line. You’re really bleeding.” He touched a spot on her lower back and she winced.

“See?”

Merrie shrugged when he lifted a red-stained finger. “I must have scratched myself when I fell the first time.” A screeching noise sounded from the house and her eyes widened. “But I don’t have time for that.”

“Make time.”

“Not unless you want to call the fire department. That’s your smoke alarm. I’m sorry, I forgot. I... I left a cake baking. It’s probably charcoal by now.”

“Damn!” Logan sprinted around the back of his house. A thread of smoke rolled from the kitchen as he ran inside. He grabbed a towel and kicked the oven door open, then fished for the burning pan. “Get away,” he shouted to Merrie and flung the smoking mess as far into the yard as possible.

They opened the windows to air the house, then rushed outside again and collapsed on the grass. Merrie stared at the charred remains of her culinary disaster, a funny expression on her face. “It didn’t rise.”

“What?”

“Look—it’s flat. Completely flat. Aren’t cakes supposed to be high and fluffy?”

“Theoretically.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “What the hell difference does it make, anyway? It’s toast now.”

“I just wondered.” Merrie played with the tied ends of her borrowed shirt. “Lianne said she always makes you a cake on Wednesdays, so I tried to bake you a cake. I hate cooking.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said with feeling. “I could have survived without the cake.”

Merrie gave him an irritated glance. “I promised Lianne. She says it makes the house smell homey and all. Honestly, she thinks you need mothering or something.”

Logan smiled. “What do you think?”

Merrie wiggled her toes. She could get arrested for what she thought. “I think you’re a compulsive workaholic.” And sexy as hell. If she hadn’t been raised with old-fashioned values she probably would have attacked him by now.

“That isn’t very nice for someone who tried to burn down my house. I take it you and Lianne aren’t alike in the, uh, domestic arts department?”

“Hardly.” She slumped backward and wrinkled her nose. “During the year I teach science, and I spend the summers in Montana riding horses and tending cattle. I can cook the fluffiest biscuits and the best cowboy stew you’ve ever tasted...as long as it’s over a campfire.”

“Well, you got the fire all right.”

Merrie hunched her shoulders. “If you’d gone on vacation like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have been baking a stupid cake. I’d be in Montana right now, enjoying myself.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault?”

“Well...sort of. Lianne really needed to get away and do some thinking—you know, about her busted engagement and what she wants to do with herself. Of course, if it was me I would have been glad to have gotten rid of the louse. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten engaged to such a creep in the first place.”

“Er, I don’t suppose so.”

“Anyway, Lianne had everything worked out to cover for her clients. Except you, because she thought you were going out of town. Then you canceled and she couldn’t get anyone else but me. I said she should just tell you to forget it, but she was so upset it didn’t do any good. It’s horrible. How could you cancel a vacation?”

“That’s what I want to know,” a chilly voice announced. “I waited in Cancún for three days and you never arrived.”

Logan looked at the woman standing at the edge of his lawn and shuddered. Gloria Scott—the husband-hunting maven of the Pacific Northwest—had found him.

That’s all he needed.

Chapter Two

Sophisticated and elegant.

Lianne was right about Logan Kincaid’s taste in feminine company—the newcomer qualified in every aspect. Still...Merrie cast a quick peek at Kincaid’s face. He stared at the newcomer with the glazed expression of a deer caught in oncoming headlights.

“Gloria,” he said finally. “What a surprise. You went to Cancún?”

“Obviously. Why aren’t you there?”

“Something came up. I had to cancel.”

“I can see that. Who is this?” the woman asked, pointing disdainfully at Merrie without actually looking at her.

“Merrie Foster,” he said. “She’s my, er, my housekeeper’s sister. She’s helping out.”

“I can see that.” This time Gloria gave Merrie a thorough inspection that missed nothing...from the skimpy condition of her shorts to the open neck of the man’s shirt tied under her breasts. “Why is she wearing your clothing? Is that a fringe benefit, or just part of the ‘help’?” she asked, snide insinuation in her voice.

An edge of anger bit into Merrie’s stomach. Maybe she didn’t have a working knowledge of high fashion, but she knew when she’d been insulted. Gloria had better watch herself, or she’d be flatter than burned cake.

“Gloria...please,” Kincaid said in a weary tone. “This is my concern, not yours.”

“It’s all right, we can tell her,” Merrie assured. A vaguely alarmed expression filled his eyes. “I lost my T-shirt in the tree house, and Logan was afraid it would shock the neighbors if I came down in the nude. Isn’t that right?”

He didn’t say anything, so she prodded his knee with her foot. “I...yeah,” he muttered.

Gloria didn’t appreciate the explanation. Her lips got impossibly thinner and her eyes turned a glittering blue. “Tell me, Logan...just how did she lose her little T-shirt?” She made T-shirt sound like pasties and a G-string.

“I’m not invisible. You can talk to me,” Merrie snapped. “Somebody should teach you some manners. I’ve known two-year-olds who act nicer.”

“Logan? Are you going to let your... your maid talk to me that way?”

“You’re on your own,” he drawled. “I don’t have any control over Merrie. She’s a free agent. And she isn’t my maid.”

“Darned right,” Merrie shot back.

Gloria visibly squared her shoulders. “Never mind. It’s just as well, I hate it when you wear such old clothing. You look like a street person. That shirt—it was dreadful. And those jeans! How can you dress that way? If you have to use casual attire, at least do it with some style.”

Style? Merrie almost choked. Logan Kincaid looked better than a raspberry snow cone on a hot summer day. He’d turned her normally controlled hormones into jumping jacks. Was the woman blind, or just plain stupid?

“I dress the way I want,” Kincaid growled.

Gloria waved her hand in a coolly dismissing motion. “I’m sure you could use the company expense account for appropriate purchases...or for anything you want. Father intends to pay all the expenses of your vacation. You’re so valuable to the office, we don’t want you getting burned-out.”

Merrie smothered a laugh and Gloria gave her a drop-dead invitation with her eyes.

Logan briefly contemplated strangling Gloria. She had all the subtlety of a pile driver. If haughty condescension didn’t work, she’d use bribery. Damnation. He’d escorted her to precisely three parties—social functions connected to her father’s brokerage firm. Now she expected his nose in a ring... a wedding ring.

He’d sooner marry a porcupine.

Gloria was colder than an arctic night. He didn’t want to get married ever, least of all to an iceberg.

“I can’t talk right now,” Logan said, deciding against strangulation. It might be a little drastic, no matter how much provocation he’d been given. “We’ll chat when I get back to the office.”

“Chat?” Gloria echoed incredulously.

“Miss Foster needs some medical attention.” Logan gave Merrie a pleading glance. He didn’t expect her to understand, but he needed help, even from such an unlikely source. She uttered a convincing groan, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Uh, I hope it isn’t serious. We may have to go to the hospital.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Gloria sputtered.

“No.” He shook his head. “You can’t be too careful with these things. Thanks for stopping by. Too bad we didn’t run in to each other in Cancún. What a coincidence, both of us choosing the same place for a vacation. Merrie?”

He held out his hand and Merrie continued her performance, rising to her feet between heartfelt moans. He finally lifted her in his arms and hurried inside, kicking the door closed behind them. For an endless minute he waited, listening for the soft roar of Gloria’s sports car. When the sound of the engine faded into the distance he breathed a sigh of relief.

“You can put me down now.”

Logan grinned at Merrie. She was a mess. Her long, cinnamon hair spilled freely across them both. She had a smudge of dirt on one cheek. Her bare thighs were nestled snugly against his arms and chest. And while it was too large for her tiny frame, his shirt barely covered the most interesting portions of her anatomy...portions he’d already seen to great advantage.

“Gosh, you were in so much agony, I didn’t think you could walk.”

“I can walk. I can also kick.”

“That’s reassuring.” Logan shifted Merrie so he wouldn’t have such a tantalizing view. It didn’t help. Putting her down might help, but he was enjoying himself too much.

Feature by feature, Merrie Foster wasn’t actually beautiful. Yet as a whole? Big green eyes dominated her face. She had a stubborn little chin. And her creamy, porcelain clear skin was highlighted by masses of cinnamon hair. She’d rate a second look in any crowd.

And a third and a fourth.

“By the way,” he murmured. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“It’s only fair,” she said. “You got me out of the tree.”

“That was easy compared to Gloria Scott. You see, she’s decided to get married.”

“To you?”

His head rested against the glass pane of the door. “Unfortunately. I’ve tried to be polite. I’ve tried to be direct. I’ve tried being downright rude. But nothing seems to work. I kept my travel plans secret and she found out anyway. So I canceled my flight, blew a hotel reservation and here I am.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Just ignore her. This isn’t the Victorian age—they don’t do shotgun weddings anymore.”

“Ignore her?” Logan repeated incredulously. “Nobody ignores Gloria. She’s exhausting; like a mosquito whining in your ear all night long. Most of the time I wouldn’t care that much, but I need a vacation. A quiet, relaxing month on a beach. Nothing but sun and sleep.”

“Tell her you’re already married,” Merrie suggested. “Or just say you have an incurable disease.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Terminal bachelorhood.”

“That’s not a lot of help.”

She wiggled and he reluctantly set her on the floor. He didn’t understand himself. Merrie Foster might be attractive, but she was just the sort of explosive, outspoken, impossible woman he made a point of avoiding. “Uh, come upstairs. I’ll put some iodine on that scratch.”

“It’s fine.”

“Naw. I can tell—you desperately need medical attention.”

“I’m not cleaning that bathroom again,” Merrie warned as she followed him up the staircase. “But I still have to finish the vacuuming. I had a little trouble with your machine.”

Since Logan took the pristine state of his home for granted, the first sight of the hallway left him speechless. “Trouble” was right. Somehow the lid of the vacuum had blown off, spewing the contents in a wide arc. He grimaced as his shoes crunched grit into the polished hardwood floor.

“I take it you’re not mechanically inclined?” he murmured.

“I’m okay. But that vacuum cleaner isn’t just any machine,” Merrie said, “it’s vicious. You should get an old-fashioned sweeper, not one of those high-tech marvels. I bet you paid over two thousand dollars for that piece of junk.”

He sighed.

“Anyway, like I said, it really isn’t my fault.”

“I know.” Logan pushed her down on a stool in the bathroom. “If I’d gone on vacation, you wouldn’t have burned that cake, or blown up my vacuum cleaner, or gotten stuck up a tree. Gee, I’m beginning to feel like pond scum.”

Merrie surveyed him critically. “No, you’re uptight and a compulsive overachiever, but I doubt if you’re pond scum.” She pulled the shirt up to reveal her injured back. “And Lianne says you’re generous with pay and bonuses and stuff. That’s kind of nice. Of course, I don’t really know you, so I can’t be sure.”

The supple curve of Merrie’s body as she leaned over triggered a gut reaction, stronger than he’d felt in a long time.

Careful, Kincaid...remember, opposites attract.

The reminder hammered in his brain as he fumbled in the medicine cabinet. Opposites might attract, but that didn’t make them compatible. His parents were on opposite ends of the spectrum and had made themselves miserable, along with everyone else in their lives.

With a wry twist to his mouth, Logan pulled out the first-aid supplies. His childhood was a sore subject. He’d never forgotten the embarrassment of being the poorest kid in school, or of having the police break up fights between his mother and father because the neighbors complained about the noise.

“This’ll hurt,” he murmured, dabbing the nasty scratch on Merrie’s spine with a cotton ball dampened in disinfectant.

“Yeow!” she shrieked.

God, he hoped she wouldn’t start crying. He awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Sorry. I’ll take you to the hospital if you want.”

Merrie hugged her knees tighter and shook her head. “Not me. I’m tough.”

“Yeah, I could tell by the way you screamed.”

“Screaming helps. It hurts less that way. Can’t you take a little noise?” Merrie turned her face and blinked. The only thing she could see was Logan Kincaid’s belt buckle...and the area below the buckle. Impressive. Who said you could have too much of a good thing?

“Noise I can take. I’m not sure about you,” he said bluntly.

“That’s a fine thing to say—especially after I started thinking you weren’t so bad.”

“You really think I’m all right?” he asked, sounding pleased.

“I’m still forming an opinion.”

Actually she was trying to assert rational thought over renegade hormones. Sure, the man was sexy. But he still had that stupid “wife” list. She could see it from the corner of her eye—a healthy reminder that sex appeal alone did not make him a candidate for a relationship.

“I don’t understand,” she said abruptly, sitting upright. “Gloria seems to meet your specifications for a woman. What’s the big deal?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your list.” She pointed to the roughly scribbled sheet of paper hanging from the mirror. “You know, that’s a dumb way to look for a woman. You can’t order traits in a person like you’re ordering a hamburger.”

“I’m not looking for a woman,” Kincaid said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “The list was my brother’s idea. He just got over a nasty divorce, so he wanted me to think twice before I got involved with anyone. The truth is, I’m never getting married.” He tossed the soiled cotton in the wastebasket and reached for some more.

“Never? That seems pretty final.”

“Believe me, it’s final.” His expression left her in no doubt about his feelings. “Marriage doesn’t work in my family. If we’re smart, we avoid it completely. If we’re not smart, we’re miserable.”

“Oh.” Merrie thought for a second. “I don’t know, Gloria still seems perfect, and she’s rich, too. She’d be a great asset for you.”

A peculiar expression crossed Kincaid’s face. “Thanks a lot, but I want to make my own fortune, not marry into it,” he snapped.

Whoops.

Her toes curled into the plush rug. “I wasn’t trying to insult you,” she murmured. “It’s just that you and Gloria seem to have a lot in common according to your dumb list.”

“Well, we don’t.” He put a bottle of hydrogen peroxide down on the counter with a thump. “And the list isn’t dumb. I mean, it wouldn’t be dumb if I actually wanted a wife. Compatibility is important. Aren’t there certain qualities you want in a husband?”

She shrugged. “A few.”

“Such as?”

Merrie gave him another examination, wishing her nerves would stop jumping—it would be a lot easier to think clearly. And it would help if Kincaid would put on a shirt. She’d seen men in various stages of undress, but none of them had done such drastic things to her breathing.

If she did have a husband list, she’d put “not too sexy” on it. She certainly didn’t want a husband who embodied the perfect genetic specimen of feminine fantasies. No one needed that kind of stress.

Merrie cleared her throat. “I don’t want someone who’ll die of hypertension before he’s fifty because he thinks money is the ultimate achievement in life.”

“What’s wrong with money?”

“Nothing.” Merrie tossed her head. “I’m reasonably fond of the stuff myself, but you can’t curl up with a bank account at night.”

“Hmm. What else?”

“I want to buy my grandfather’s ranch someday, so it would help if my husband wanted the same thing.”

“See? You have a list, too, only it isn’t written down.”

He sounded so triumphant she glared.

“No, I don’t see. You’ve got all kinds of things on that list that are particular and picky and just plain silly. Good hostess...” She started ticking items off on her fingers. “Someone who’s tall, blond, reserved, elegant, composed, sophisticated...in short, you want Gloria What’s-Her-Name.”

“I don’t want Gloria,” he repeated emphatically. “I never did.”

“Then why did you date her?” Merrie asked.

“I escorted her to some office functions. That’s all.”

“Hmm.”

“Trust me. I never get involved with a woman who has wedding rings in her eyes. Fun and casual is all I want from a relationship.”

He looked so serious that Merrie bit her tongue and counted to ten. Okay. So the dope didn’t want to get married. So what? Her problem was a lack of a social life. If she’d been dating like a normal woman she wouldn’t have thought he was half so sexy. That was the problem with having a plan. She was scared silly she’d fall for a guy who didn’t want to live on her ranch.

Get that...her ranch. Like she’d ever convince her grandfather to let a woman take it over. She’d only been trying to convince him since she was a kid, and she wasn’t any closer to owning the Bar Nothing Ranch than she’d been at the horse-crazy age of ten.

The corners of her mouth turned down. Everyone kept saying she had to compromise—she couldn’t have it all. And if she held out for the ranch before getting married, she might end up with neither.

“Why so serious?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

“Sure. Tell me about your family’s ranch.”

Startled, Merrie looked at him. He couldn’t read her mind, could he? “It’s great. My mother is an only child, so Grandpa doesn’t have a son to give it to. Of course, that’s an archaic attitude, but he says he’s too old to join the twentieth century and that he wouldn’t want to, anyway. He keeps hoping one of my brothers will be interested in running the ranch, but I’m the only one who really cares—Cody and Daniel aren’t the ranching type.”

“What about Lianne?”

“She’d rather be boiled in oil.”

Merrie rested her elbow on her knee, watching as he methodically laid out a pad of gauze, then cut strips of adhesive tape.

“So it’s you, Lianne, Cody and Daniel?”

“Yup. Mom wanted to go for five, but Dad said enough was enough after Lianne was born.”

The grim set to Kincaid’s mouth suggested that even one baby was one too many, and that four must indicate mental instability. She frowned.

“Does your grandfather want to retire?”

“Sometimes. He talks about selling the ranch so he and Grandma can move someplace warm, especially during the winter. Montana gets pretty cold.”

“I’ll bet.” Kincaid dabbed fresh disinfectant on the scratch and then blew across her skin to take the sting away. Merrie buried her face again, trying not to think about the pleasant masculine scent rolling from his body. An eternity later he finished bandaging the injury.

“All done,” he announced.

“I suppose you want your shirt back,” she said, sitting up and moaning. They’d hit the floor of the tree house with a bang, and despite her assurances of being tough, it had been over eight months since she’d ridden a horse or worked hard in a physical sense.

“Would you hit me if I said yes?”

“Most likely.”

“Then you’d better keep it.” He gently tugged the shirt over the bandage and smiled. Merrie bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Drat. Drat. Triple drat. She didn’t want to feel something for him. Sensual meltdown from a smile didn’t mean anything. Not really. It was just because her thirtieth birthday was coming, reminding her about the biological clock. Men could father babies at any age, but a woman had to have a schedule if she wanted a family. And she really wanted children—three at the very least.

“Forget about the vacuuming,” he murmured. “I’ll get someone to take care of the house.”

Merrie stiffened. It was a good thing she hadn’t started trusting Kincaid. He’d probably been nice to make sure she didn’t file a lawsuit for getting injured on his property.

“No way,” she said stubbornly. “Lianne is a great housekeeper. You’re not replacing her because of me.”

“I’m not replacing anyone. I just said—”

“No.” Merrie rubbed the side of her neck, thinking furiously. All at once a devilish idea struck her. “I know, you can come to Montana for your vacation. That’s the answer to both our problems. It might not be a fancy resort on a sunny beach, but dude ranches are all the rage right now. It’s trendy to get dirty.”

“Getting dirty isn’t a problem, but I—”

“It’s okay,” she assured. “Grandfather won’t mind. The more the merrier.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Kincaid said, exasperated.

Merrie grinned, thinking of all the ways a down-and-dirty holiday at the ranch could knock some holes in Logan Kincaid’s arrogant attitude. It might be fun—not that she’d let him get hurt. Wranglers prevented tender-footed guests from ending up on the wrong side of a horse, or a bull.

She’d make sure a good wrangler was assigned to look out for him...it just couldn’t be her. It wouldn’t be smart to expose herself to an excess of Logan Kincaid. He could make a woman’s heart do funny, stupid things. So she’d keep her distance and they’d both have a great time. After all, sleeping on a beach sounded boring. A waste of a perfectly good vacation. He needed to be saved from himself.

“It’s expensive,” she said cheerfully. “But I’m sure you can afford it. I usually drive to Montana, only we’d better fly to save time. A friend of mine is a travel agent—I’ll call her and get two tickets to Rapid City. That’s in South Dakota, but it’s the nearest commercial airport to the ranch.”

“I know where Rapid—”

“We can probably leave tomorrow if we hurry. It’ll be great,” Merrie enthused. “You’ll love it. And I’m sure Grandfather will give you a discount, especially if you stay for the month.”

Logan shook his head. He’d grown up in the cattle country of eastern Washington. He’d even worked at a feedlot for a couple of summers, earning money for college. It was a long time ago, but he didn’t have any illusions about cattle drives and the romance of the Old West.

He bent forward, fixing Merrie with his eyes. She was impetuous and completely unsuitable. She made a prudent man want to run in the other direction... which just went to prove he wasn’t prudent, because he also wanted to bury his fingers in her wild hair and taste her impudent mouth.