The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5)

by Julianna Morris

  Merrie shook her head. This was crazy. Lianne had encountered a couple of his girlfriends over the years; she’d described each one as sophisticated, elegant, and possessing the personality of a dead mackerel. He even had a list of the characteristics he wanted in a woman, taped to his bathroom mirror. Merrie Foster—small town junior high-school teacher—definitely wasn’t his type.

  “You’re sure stuck,” Logan muttered as he tugged at the T-shirt. To get a better grip he bunched it in his fist, dragging the hem up her stomach again.

  Merrie tried to pretend it didn’t matter. Her breasts were cupped by the soft fabric. They were mostly covered except for the rounded underswell, and the tiny front buttons were too closely spaced to gape. Besides, Kincaid didn’t seem to notice her impending exposure. Now that irritated her. She might not be his type, but she wasn’t chopped liver, either.

  “You’re right, this stuff doesn’t like to rip,” he muttered. “And if I pull too hard we could both go flying.”

  She peeked beneath her lashes and saw a look of electric concentration in his brown eyes. He nudged her hip with his knee and she bit her lip. Hard.

  “Uh, do you have a knife?” Merrie mumbled, feeling a little desperate. She’d never felt such heart-fluttering attraction in her life. It was embarrassing. Silly. Sophomoric. She was a twenty-nine-year-old woman, for heaven’s sake! Almost thirty, though she didn’t like thinking about that despised birthday.

  “No knife,” he said, frowning in concentration. “Maybe it will help if I pull up, instead of out.”

  He nudged her again and she almost screamed. She should have let the kids call 911; a fireman in full gear would have been lots better than Logan Kincaid in jeans and a faded shirt that fit like a second skin. How could Lianne have spent four years doing his housekeeping and cooking for his dumb parties without experiencing meltdown?

  “This isn’t working,” she said distinctly.

  “I know. I’m going to give it a good yank, but I want you to hang onto that tree branch, just in case.” He shifted position again, gathering the back of her shirt with both hands.

  Merrie hooked her arm around the branch, telling her overheated mind to forget the show of concern for her safety. Kincaid was just worried about his homeowner’s insurance. He didn’t want a claim for injuries if she fell on his property; it wouldn’t look good and would raise his premiums.

  “Here goes,” he murmured.

  He yanked and the crack of splintering wood filled the air. The tree house roof disintegrated instantly and Merrie lost hold of the branch as they crashed down. With a powerful twist of his body, Kincaid rolled in the air to avoid landing on her. Instead she landed on him in an ignominious heap. Luckily the floor was a lot sturdier than the roof.

  “Umph,” she gasped, trying to get oxygen into her lungs. She wasn’t sure if hitting the ground wouldn’t have been softer. Logan Kincaid had a hard, fit body without an excess ounce.

  “Are you all right?”

  Putting her hands on his shoulders, Merrie pushed up to look at him. The rat didn’t even look startled and he was breathing just fine. “I’m...phhft...dandy.”

  “Anything hurt?”

  “L-like my pride?” she asked, still breathless.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I was thinking more along the lines of cuts and bruises and broken bones.”

  “Oh...” Merrie shrugged. “Nothing to worry about. During the summer I normally work as a wrangler on my grandfather’s dude ranch. I’m used to stuff like this.”

  His gaze drifted down. “That’s interesting. Exactly like this?”

  “You know... it happens. Falls and tumbles of various kinds. Even the best riders get thrown.”

  “I see.”

  Abruptly Merrie realized the intent of his question and she plastered herself to his chest again. Her pride wasn’t the only thing she’d injured—her T-shirt had disappeared completely. But the worst part was the temptation to take advantage of the situation and discover if Logan Kincaid kissed as good as he looked. Men were fairly predictable, after all. He probably wouldn’t mind a taste, even if she didn’t meet his basic qualifications.

  Ugh. Merrie gave her forehead a mental slap. If nothing else, that fall had done serious damage to her common sense.

  “Where is it?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

  “Five feet up. It’s stuck on what’s left of the roof.”

  She cautiously turned her head and saw the ruined remnants of her shirt hanging above them. The buttons had apparently popped in lieu of ripping the back.

  “Swell.” Dust filtered down from the gaping hole and she sneezed. “Lianne owes me big time for this.”

  Logan’s teeth gleamed whitely in the dim light. “Don’t worry. You can wear mine.”

  His fingers slid between them, tickling her bare skin as he unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt. He had two popped open before Merrie could think clearly and comprehend the direction he was taking—a little higher and he’d be tickling more than just her ribs.

  “No, you don’t, buster.” In a single motion she rolled to the floor and turned her back. She crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled at the wall.

  “That’s gratitude for you.”

  “The longer I live, the more I realize that men are all alike,” she announced.

  “Ah, Methuselah talking. The wisdom of the ages.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Isn’t ranch work a strange occupation for a teacher?” he asked. “You’re a, um, you seem a little too small,” he said, apparently qualifying his original thought, which undoubtedly included a reference to the fact she was a woman and shouldn’t be doing a man’s job.

  Merrie scowled harder. “You sound like my grandfather. When I was a kid we spent every summer at the ranch. Then one day he realized I was growing up and decided I should be assigned to the cookhouse instead of riding fences. I had to burn four pots of chili and put salt in the coffee before he backed down.”

  The shirt, still warm from his body, settled over her shoulders and she stuffed her arms through the sleeves. It hung on her like a tent, but she tied it securely at the waist. She turned around and tried to ignore the sight of Logan’s firm muscles and flat stomach. A wedge of brown hair on his chest tapered into a narrow line, disappearing into his jeans—which just made her wonder how he’d look without those jeans.

  Lord... she was out of her mind.

  He grinned and leaned back. “Do you hate all men? Or just those of us who are old enough to notice women, and young enough to do something about it?”

  Merrie blinked and took a calming breath. “I don’t hate men. I’ve known a lot of louses, but I haven’t given up on the sex completely.”

  “I haven’t given up sex, either.”

  She gave him a repressive stare—the kind she usually reserved for unruly students. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “You mean you have given it up?” Logan shook his head, enjoying the furious flash of Merrie’s green eyes. Damn, she was feisty. A lot of women would have been hysterical after nearly breaking their necks. “You might want to rethink that choice. As activities go, sex has a lot to offer. And it would be a shame to waste your equipment.” He gave her a significant glance. “If you know what I mean.”

  “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.”