“What will it be?” she asked. “Orange blossoms or horses?”
He looked at Merrie, with her eyes filled with laughter... and made up his mind. “Horses. I’ll start packing.”
Chapter Three
“How often do you do this?”
Merrie glanced at Logan Kincaid, sitting next to her in the small Cessna. He’d stared ahead with his jaw and fingers clenched during the entire flight. It was hard not to take his jitters personally. He obviously didn’t have a lot of confidence in female pilots...or at least in this female pilot. From the moment they’d gotten to the private airstrip in Rapid City he’d been full of excuses why they shouldn’t fly the second leg to the ranch.
“Do what?” She adjusted a dial and pretended to be confused by the blinking lights on the instrument panel. The plane was registered to the ranch, but she was the only member of the family with a pilot’s license, so it was available whenever she wanted.
“Fly,” he muttered. Logan peered out the window and Merrie waggled the wings out of pure irritation. He took one look at her hostile expression and made an obvious effort to relax.
“Once in a while,” she said, intentionally sounding vague. “But it’s an expensive hobby, and I’ve been saving my money.”
“Uh...yeah. To buy the ranch. A teacher doesn’t earn that much. Saving must be hard.”
The observation surprised Merrie, because she hadn’t thought he’d actually listened during their conversation about marriage lists and husbands and wives, and dreams for the future.
“You’d be surprised,” Merrie murmured. “I tutor students at night and I don’t pay rent because I live in an apartment over my mom and dad’s garage. And I earn a lot every summer working as a wrangler. I’m hoping my grandfather will be impressed by a big down payment.”
Logan shifted in the cramped seat. “How did you learn to fly?”
Her mouth tightened in disgust. “It was Granddad’s idea. He paid for the lessons, hoping I’d forget about wanting the ranch. He sure doesn’t know much about women. But he got his money’s worth, because there are a lot of tourists who don’t want to drive from Rapid City. They pay well, and that way we have the plane for emergencies.”
Logan shifted again, banging his elbow on the cockpit door. Merrie hid a smile; the compact Cessna wasn’t designed for a man with such long legs and broad shoulders.
“Was that before or after he assigned you to the cookhouse?”
“After. Granddad had got a little more subtle by the time I turned eighteen. He graduated from blustery commands to bribery. It didn’t work, but I took the lessons because I could see how handy they’d be out here.”
The radio crackled and Merrie exchanged a few words with a ham operator. Seeing the familiar landmarks, she turned into the approach for the private airfield on the Bar Nothing Ranch. Kincaid tensed again as they descended and she rolled her eyes.
“I’m very good,” she said pointedly. “Even Granddad flies with me.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Huh. Do you want to circle the ranch to see it, or go straight in?”
“Straight in. Er...down.”
“Tough guy,” Merrie muttered. The wheels touched down and she taxied to a comfortable spot near a waiting pickup. A cowboy sat slouched in the driver’s side, his hat tipped over his eyes. Probably Chip Packwood—he could sleep through anything. “We’re here,” she said unnecessarily.
“Yeah.” Secretly impressed, Logan glanced around at the rolling, tree-studded hills, all golden in the long rays of afternoon light. The small airfield was meticulously maintained. On one side stood a fuel tank next to a sturdy building, with Bar Nothing Ranch lettered neatly on its side. However chauvinistic, Merrie’s grandfather seemed to be a fine manager.
“You haven’t said much,” Merrie said, flicking switches and unfastening her belt.
He glanced back at her and shook his head. “I’ve been catching my breath. You’re sort of like a tidal wave. I haven’t had a peaceful moment in the past twenty-four hours.”
Her green eyes flashed with irritation. “You didn’t have to come.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t want to admit he’d enjoyed being caught up in Merrie’s headlong rush. He had the feeling she swept everyone along with her enthusiasm. The students she taught. Ranch guests. Everyone. In her own unique way, she was irresistible.
Uh-oh.
Logan took a deep breath. Irresistible wasn’t a good word to attach to a woman, especially Merrie. Irresistible suggested acceptance and commitment. Even if he wanted to get married, it wouldn’t be to someone so intense. Still...it might be interesting getting to know her.
“I’m here now, so I may as well make the best of things.” he said casually. “How do I get the door open?”.
“It’s easy, like this.” Merrie leaned across him and felt for the latch on the door. Logan immediately put his hand on her waist and grinned at the startled surprise in her face.
“Nice view,” he drawled, his gaze flicking over the shadowed opening of her plaid shirt. She’d undone the top few buttons after they’d left Rapid City, saying it took a while to acclimatize to the heat of Montana after rainy Seattle. “Of course, it would be even better without the shirt...I should know.”
“Fink,” she growled, withdrawing immediately to her own side of the plane.
“For shame, you ought to be more polite to the paying guests.”
“For your information, wrangler isn’t spelled h-o-o-k-e-r,” she snapped. “And don’t you forget it.”
“I didn’t think it was,” Logan said mildly. “You’re awfully touchy about sex. It makes a guy wonder...are you a virgin?”
A brief flare of color hit Merrie’s cheeks. “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed.
His eyes widened. He’d just been teasing, but something in the tone of her voice and the instant flush made him wonder. “Uh, how old are you?”
“Never mind that.”
Logan rubbed his forehead. In her tight jeans, Merrie looked like a sexy college freshman, yet she had to be older. And if she was still a virgin...he felt embarrassed and hot and hungry, all at the same time. “How old, Merrie?”
“All right. Twenty-nine.” She fidgeted with the belt snapped across her waist. “Actually I’ll be thirty next week.” The gloomy emphasis she placed on the word thirty made him grin.
“Hey, I’m thirty-six,” he said. “It’s great to be thirty. People don’t treat you like a kid anymore.”
“You wouldn’t understand, you’re a man.”
Oh. Logan nodded his head. He’d heard this argument before. “Let’s see...the biological clock? Aren’t you about ten years too early to be stressing out about it?”
“That isn’t it at all. Well...maybe a little bit,” Merrie qualified. “But you don’t have to worry about being too old to have babies and making a success of yourself all at the same time.”
Logan had heard this one, too—how men could put off getting married and starting a family, so they couldn’t understand how hard it was for a woman. “Since I don’t plan on having kids, that isn’t much of a problem,” he remarked.
“Yeah, but you have loads of time to change your mind.” Merrie chewed on her bottom lip. “It isn’t turning thirty, it’s not...” Her voice trailed and she smiled brightly, determinedly. “Never mind. Everything’s going to work out. I’ve got a plan.”
He lightly tugged a lock of her cinnamon hair. It wasn’t his concern, but he felt an affinity with her. They both had big plans for the future.
“Let’s see,” he said. “You’re twenty-nine. You want to buy your family ranch. You want kids, which presumably includes a husband in the equation. And you’re a virgin.”
“I’m not...huh.” Merrie crossed her arms over her stomach and scowled. “That’s none of your business.”
“I think your plan needs some tinkering.” Logan leaned closer and caressed the curve of her neck. She swatted his hand b
ut he didn’t move.
“I’m not tinkering with you, so forget it. And my virginity—or lack of it,” she added hastily, “is my own concern. Check out the other guests if you’re that desperate. We usually have a couple of single women.”
“I’m not desperate. And how do you know I wasn’t talking about something else?”
“Because men always think about sex. It’s your first, last and middle thought of the day.” Merrie shimmied away, leaning against her side of the plane and looking hopefully at the nearby truck.
Logan spared the vehicle a brief glance. The sleeping driver hadn’t moved a muscle. “No help there.”
“I could scream.”
“I don’t think you will.”
“You...you arrogant jerk,” she huffed, not looking particularly worried. “I’ll scream if I want, and Chip will beat you into a pulp. He’s very protective.”
He tried not to smile. “Chip?”
“Yeah, in the truck. You can tell by his hatband.” She wrinkled her nose, temporarily forgetting her anger. “He always keeps a strip of condoms beneath the band, and they make these round patterns in the leather. I guess he thinks it’s sexy or something, because it’s obvious what’s in there even when the edges don’t stick out.”
Logan hesitated. Merrie Foster was perfectly capable of pulling his leg, and this sounded like a Wild West tall story. “That’s an odd place to keep something like that. Surely cowboys don’t wear their hats to bed.”
She shrugged, an enigmatic smile on her mouth. “Cowboys wear their hats everywhere.”
“Oh.” Logan didn’t like the smile. “I guess ol’ Chip is protective. It sounds like he’s got lots of protection, except it isn’t the kind an innocent young thing needs to stay innocent. If you know what I mean...?”
She blinked, then laughed. “Forget it. I’m not talking. As far as the hat goes, you’ll see for yourself. This is Montana—anything can happen out here. It’s a land of individuality.”
“Right.” Logan unlatched his door and swung it open. Time for a change of subject. A safer subject. “So tell me, how did you choose teaching for a career? Ranching and teaching don’t seem compatible.”
“No, it’s perfect!” Merrie followed him out of the plane, carrying some blocks connected by ropes. “We’re really isolated on the Bar Nothing, so I can do home instruction when I have my own kids. See? It works out great.”
In a strange way, he had to agree. It also made sense that Merrie had never made time for having intimate male friends, though he didn’t think she’d admit to the fact.
He sighed, but it was a happy sigh. For someone whose vacation plans had been ruined, he wasn’t having a bad time at all. This dude ranch thing seemed to be working out better than he’d expected.
Chip the sleeping cowboy didn’t stir as Merrie placed the blocks against the plane wheels, at the same time explaining the maintenance building also included a hangar area in case of bad weather. She seemed a little nervous, which he understood. He’d really pushed her with that virgin bit. After all, a lot of men would probably consider virginity an affront, or maybe even a challenge.
Now he was different.
It wasn’t a challenge, though it made him curious.
Curious? his conscience screamed. Right. It made him...invigorated. Anyway, Merrie certainly didn’t seem virginal. She was confident and self-aware, which didn’t mean she wasn’t innocent, but it made him wonder.
“Well, if it isn’t the Red Bombshell,” a lazy voice announced.
“Hey, Chip.” Merrie waved.
The cowboy unfolded himself from the cab of the truck and ambled over to Merrie, lifting her into a huge bear hug. He then tipped her backward and planted a dramatic kiss on her lips, all without disturbing the hat perched on his head. Logan felt his eyes narrow.
“Glad to have ya back,” Chip said when he was done. “The boss sent me out to pick you up. Who’s the slicker?”
“Logan Kincaid.”
“Howdy, Kincaid.” The cowboy held out his hand, which Logan grabbed and slowly squeezed. They were about the same height and age, though Chip’s skin had clearly been weathered by a succession of long summers and harsh winters. That wasn’t all. Obvious circles were clearly visible beneath the Montanan’s hat. Sure enough, the man kept a supply of condoms, right where he could always count on finding them.
Logan squeezed harder.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. He just didn’t enjoy thinking about that kiss Merrie had received. Not that he was jealous. Not him! But he wondered how closely Chip met her idea of the perfect husband. Their discussion about her husband specifications had been rather vague.
Let’s see...
She didn’t want someone who’d die of hypertension at an early age. Logan remembered that, because a subtle criticism had been included in the requirement.
She didn’t want someone interested in making a lot of money, because you couldn’t curl up with a bank account. Okay...he could imagine curling up with Merrie would have a few advantages over a bank account, even a huge account. Though he didn’t see why the two should be mutually exclusive.
And there was the ranch.
She wanted someone who would like the ranch and want to live there with her. Which qualified Chip, all right. He was all cowboy—right down to his scuffed boots and the plug of tobacco stuffed in his cheek. Of course, Logan didn’t know what kind of man appealed to her. She hadn’t included any physical attributes in their discussion.
The muscles in his arm bunched as he increased the pressure of their “friendly” handshake.
“Stop it!” Menie double punched them in the shoulder and glared until they stopped squeezing and released their clenched fingers.
“Aw, Red, don’t get your tail in a spin.”
“My hair isn’t red, and stop behaving like an obnoxious big brother. Honestly, you all act like I’m still sixteen. Now get the luggage and let’s go.”
Merrie stomped toward the truck and leaned against it, arms crossed. She tapped her foot, her hair a fiery halo around her head, shimmering in the late Montana sun.
“Looks red to me,” Chip mumbled, looking thoroughly cowed.
Big brother?
Sixteen?
Logan shook his head. He had news for Menie—brothers didn’t go around kissing their sisters that way, and they didn’t broadcast their interest in safe—and frequent—sex on their hats.
“Well?” she called, tapping her foot harder.
The two men exchanged commiserating glances. When it came to a woman’s temper, they stood together. Still—not to be outdone—Logan jostled past Chip on the way to the plane, and grabbed their luggage before the cowboy could claim any kind of priority...like saying it was his job.
Logan dropped the bags in the bed of the truck next to a bale of hay, and some of the tension in his body eased as he drew a deep breath of air into his lungs. Merrie kept glaring, but he just grinned and pushed her into the cab ahead of him. There were worse ways to spend a vacation.
Chip was already behind the wheel, looking almost asleep again. He seemed to have two conditions—lech—erous or somnolent. The hat was tipped over his eyes as he steered the truck, though how he could see what direction they were going defied imagination.
The working center of the ranch was less than two miles from the airstrip, and Logan’s appreciation grew as they passed over cattle grids, between neat fences and well-kept outbuildings. A sprawling house stood on a slope, shaded by cottonwoods, and overlooking the surrounding hillsides.
It was an attractive setting, the ideal picture of a self-contained ranch. The one incongruity was the tentstudded field on the opposite side from the corrals. The tents weren’t fancy. Just white canvas, shelter-style units that looked practical, without providing any semblance of luxury.
All at once Merrie began waving frantically at a tall man standing in the middle of the yard. She scooted over Logan’s lap and out the door before the vehicle had
even stopped moving. He followed at a slower pace, attempting to quell his heated response to having her bottom slide across his thighs. The woman was impossible. He doubted she had any concept of what she’d just done to his self-control.
“Granddad!”
The white-haired giant turned and caught her in his arms.
“How’ve you been?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
“Gettin’ along. Now, is this that Kincaid fellow you told me about?” he asked, releasing her with a final squeeze. He inspected Logan with a careful eye.
“Oh...” Merrie turned. “Yes. Logan Kincaid, meet Paul Harding, my grandfather.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
The “sir” came naturally. Paul Harding was a man who commanded respect, and judging by the stubborn line to his jaw, he shared Merrie’s iron will. Stalwart and honest. This wasn’t someone Logan would care to cross, because if he did, he’d probably be in the wrong.
“Hmm.” They measured each other until Harding finally smiled and held out his hand with typical Western hospitality. “Welcome to the Bar Nothing Ranch.”
“You’ve got quite an operation,” Logan said. “I’m really impressed. I didn’t expect anything like it.”
“We’re meetin’ the payroll.” Harding’s voice sounded modest, but the gleam of pride in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. “That’s the important thing.”
“Merrie!” A tiny woman, no bigger than Merrie herself, waved from the porch of the house before darting down the hill and enveloping her in another hug. “Lord, girl, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Grandmother...I missed you so much.”
“Us? Or the ranch?” Paul Harding asked.
“Both.” Merrie wrinkled her nose and smiled fondly. She got awfully frustrated with her grandfather, but he meant the world to her. She just wished he’d realize you didn’t have to be a man to love ranching, or to be good at it. Brute strength wasn’t everything.
From a practical standpoint, Merrie understood the business and people end of the ranch as well as anyone. And she was willing to try new technologies, like hooking into the computer world to have online reservations and information services—it didn’t do any good to have a fabulous dude ranch, if nobody ever heard of you.
The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5) Page 4
