“And who is this?” asked her grandmother, gesturing to Logan.
“Mr. Kincaid...the man I told you about,” Merrie explained. “Logan, meet Eva Harding. She’s the best cook in Montana. You can bet she’s never burned a cake.”
“How do you do, ma’am?” Logan smiled his devastating smile, and her grandmother melted.
“I’m fine, young man. I’ve heard about you from both my granddaughters, so it’s a real treat to meet you at last. Welcome to our home. Come up to the porch for some lemonade and we’ll get you settled.”
“Uh, Mr. Kincaid came for a vacation,” Merrie said hastily. The last thing she needed was to have him staying in the ranch house. “He wants to be treated like any other dude guest. Isn’t that so, Logan?”
“Sure,” Logan agreed, but his tone was doubtful.
Merrie resisted digging an elbow into his side. “I thought Spike or Chip, or maybe Carl could be assigned as his wrangler. What do you think?”
A thoughtful expression crossed her grandfather’s face...the kind of expression that said he knew more was going on than met the eye. “Well, now—”
“Honey, you promised to take care of me yourself,” Logan protested, sounding hurt. He put his arm around her shoulder. “My own personal wrangler. I can’t get into any trouble that way.”
Her jaw dropped, and she was about to protest when she saw a wink pass between the two men. She gritted her teeth. Men. That Y chromosome was dangerous. The entire sex bonded and acted stupid because of it.
“Sounds like a plan,” Paul Harding said with a firm nod. “Better get him set up, Merrie-girl. We can talk later.”
When the older couple was far enough away not to hear her voice, Merrie shoved Kincaid away with both hands. “Very funny.”
“I thought it was.”
“Honey?” she mimicked. “That’s disgusting. You’re not really interested in me, you just want to give me a hard time for dragging you out here.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Huh.”
Logan smiled and caught the edges of Merrie’s collar, drawing her closer. He’d figured out she always said, “Huh” when she didn’t know what else to say. “For the record, I’m very interested.”
Merrie blinked.
“Do you still want to hit me?” he murmured.
“More than ever.” She tried to untangle his fingers, without much success. “I’m not interested in a short-term fling, got that, Kincaid? I’ve got a schedule for my life, and you’re not on it.”
He sighed. That was the basic problem between them. Merrie had roots. Deep roots. She was bound to the land and her family, while he was a temporary kind of guy. Home didn’t mean that much to him, because home had always been a place of bitter arguments. Arguments over money. Over distrust. Over wanting opposite things.
It wasn’t any different for him and Merrie. He wanted New York and a high-paying career. She wanted cows and a commitment. None of that would matter, except he was incredibly attracted to her, and he’d bet she felt the same for him.
“Kincaid?” she prodded.
Logan tried to collect his scattered thoughts. “How could you possibly hope to buy this ranch?” Frustrated, he made an encompassing gesture. “I don’t know anything about land values in Montana, but I know you’ll never manage it on a teacher’s salary, no matter how much tutoring you do on the side.”
Merrie shrugged, yet a trace of uncertainty burned in her green eyes. “I’m teaching to earn the down payment. Right now I’m trying to work out a payment plan between my grandfather and the bank. I’d have an income from the ranch, and I know I could swing it if he’d just agreed.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Pain creased her mouth. “He keeps saying it’s better if he sells to an outsider, but he has to agree to my plan. Eventually. The Bar Nothing has been in our family for over a hundred years. I don’t want to lose it. I want to raise my kids here and pass it down to them.”
“Hell, Merrie, this is just foolishness.” Logan stepped back as she bristled with indignation. He wanted to shake some sense into her, so she wouldn’t break her heart over a lousy piece of land.
Good, Kincaid. Brilliant. You’re so convincing.
He gave himself a mental slap.
Treat her like a client.
Great advice. He guided his clients every day, steering them away from bad investments. Most of the time he had a better than average success rate. It took diplomacy and a clear mind, because emotion tended to cloud the issue. Merrie was just like those clients; maybe he could talk her out of this crazy idea.
Friend to friend.
After all, he really liked the Foster-Harding family. And Merrie was a breath of fresh air. An honest, desirable woman, who didn’t deserve to tear herself apart, fighting for something so hopeless.
Desirable?
Okay, so it wasn’t quite like friend to friend.
Logan closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her with as much calm as he could muster. “I’m sorry. This idea about the ranch—it’s nice, but you’re a romantic. That’s not always practical in the real world.”
“Romantic?” Merrie stared incredulously.
“Aren’t you?”
She shook her head in disgust. “I know all about the real world—ranching isn’t romantic, it’s hard work that never ends. The pay is lousy and your life is completely unpredictable. The only reason we didn’t go bankrupt years ago is because tourists think it’s romantic, so they pay big bucks to spend a week roping cattle.”
“Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say.
He still believed Merrie was looking at the ranch with stars in her eyes. It wouldn’t be hard. She’d spent all her summers in Montana, reveling in the freedom and beauty of the wild land. But owning and running a ranch on a year-round basis was a far cry from summer vacations when the weather was nice and the daily responsibility rested on someone else’s shoulders.
Merrie marched toward the tent-covered hillside. Giving her a good lead, Logan followed, a wry smile creasing his mouth. Tents? Naturally. He’d canceled his reservations at the most comfortable, expensive resort in Cancún, Mexico. Now he was going to sleep in a tent
On the ground.
And he’d bet they didn’t even have air mattresses.
At the beginning of the encampment Merrie stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Grab an end,” she muttered, pointing to a canvas roll.
Fatalism descended. Not only had he traded an opulent hotel for a tent, but he’d have to set it up himself. And tents weren’t the most private places in the world, which made it a little difficult to have a romantic encounter. An image of Merrie, warm and willing in his sleeping bag, spun through his brain. Well...maybe they could work it out.
Moron. Idiot. Sexist jerk
Wonderful. He could call himself every name in the world, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Virgin or not, she appealed to him in the most basic of ways. Boy, he was stupid. He’d gone mushy over a woman he barely knew. A woman who literally wanted it all...a ranch, marriage, children. Everything.
With careful planning and a lot of sacrifice, he could almost see her getting the ranch. Almost. But he believed in practical dreaming, not building castles in the air. That was part of what had destroyed his parents’ lives. Besides, she didn’t trust him worth a lick. She didn’t approve of his career, or his house, or anything.
So he shouldn’t like Merrie Foster...yet he did. He liked her too damned much.
“Does this look good?” Merrie pointed to a clear area at the top of a small hummock.
“Sure. Let’s get that tent up.” Logan smiled his most charming smile. It didn’t work—she had an “I’m going to be nice to the dumb tourist even if it kills me” expression on her face.
Dredging up memories of long-ago camping trips with school groups and childhood friends, he managed to assist without looking too inept. It was easier to look skilled when she dragged him to
one of the barns and picked out a horse for him to ride.
“Dust Devil...this is Logan Kincaid. You’re going to be friends,” Merrie announced, patting the velvety nose of the animal.
“Dust Devil?”
“He’s a little skittish.”
“Right.” Logan didn’t believe her. She knew it had been a while since he’d done any riding. One thing he was certain about, Merrie wouldn’t take any risks with a “tenderfoot.” She prided herself on being a good wrangler.
Dust Devil snorted softly and nudged Logan’s shoulder with his head, then methodically checked his pockets for any tasty morsels that might be lurking there.
“Rub his nose and let him smell you. But use a firm approach,” she advised.
Logan lifted his eyebrows. “What does that do?”
“It’s a matter of establishing dominance.”
“I see.” Grinning, Logan patted Dust Devil’s neck, then ducked under the horse’s black head and approached Merrie. “Dominance, huh?”
“With horses,” she snapped.
“I thought it sounded too easy.”
“Logan Kincaid, you’re a...a...”
“Yes?” He stroked his forefinger down the curve of Merrie’s cheek and let it rest in the fluttering hollow of her throat. “What deadly insult do you want to heap on my head?”
“Remember that list of yours. I don’t have any of the qualifications. I’m not blond, or tall, or anything on that stupid thing.”
“My brother’s idea, not mine.”
She inched backward until she came up against one of the stalls at the back of the barn. “That’s right, you’re not getting married. Ever. You don’t want a wife, so that list doesn’t mean anything.” She sounded willing to be convinced.
“But you want a husband.”
With Logan Kincaid staring at her with such blatant hunger in his face, Merrie didn’t know what she wanted. She’d never considered herself particularly attractive. Nice enough looking, with an acceptable figure. But she was too short, her eyes were too big, and she had a pointed chin. Pixieish, according to one former boyfriend.
In other words, cute.
Cute was death to a woman’s confidence. Kittens and newborn foals were cute. She wanted to be sexy. And when Logan Kincaid looked at her, she felt sexy. This definitely wasn’t good, because he wasn’t in her plan, and he wasn’t going to change, so it didn’t matter what he made her feel.
“Kincaid.”
“Call me Logan.” He leaned closer, filling her senses with warmth, trailing the back of his fingers across her lips. “You smell good,” he whispered.
“So do you,” she couldn’t help saying. “But it isn’t me, it’s the hay. Hay always smells good.”
Logan lifted her chin and smiled. “It isn’t the hay, but I’ll check for sure.” He edged even closer and put his face against her hair, inhaling deeply. “Nope, just you. Mmm, this feels nice.”
Nice? Merrie frowned. He’d gotten her all hot and bothered, but he just felt nice? There wasn’t any justice in the world. “Are you going to kiss me or not?” she demanded.
“I was thinking about it.”
“Stop thinking.” She slid her fingers through the rough silk of his hair and pulled, at the same time knowing she wouldn’t have much luck if he didn’t actually want to kiss her. There was too much difference in height and strength.
Then suddenly the difference didn’t matter, because her feet left solid footing and Logan Kincaid was wrapped around her. Holding, supporting...burning.
Small, gentle kisses coaxed her lips, a tingling contrast to the power of his grasp and the unyielding wood pressed against her back. Of course, she saw strong men every day at the ranch. Cowboys needed to be tough. But Logan didn’t do that kind of work, so it was surprising that he would be so...she moaned when he shifted, pressing the evidence of his response against her.
Instinctively she dropped her head backward, and he rewarded her with murmuring sounds of encouragement.
Another moan welled deep in her throat and was lost in a renewed assault upon her mouth. It wasn’t gentle, yet it didn’t hurt. She was caught in a storm that was hot and violent and exciting, all at the same time.
“Logan....”
“Yes,” he whispered, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips. He tasted incredible. Right. Perfect. And she shivered between long, slow strokes that sent streams of fire through her veins, filling her with a restless, aching need.
A faint “yee haw” in the distance barely registered, nor did the answering nicker of the horses remaining in the barn. But the snuffle of a large, equine nose in her neck restored reality in a hurry.
“Logan?”
“Mmm.” His left hand moved up her rib cage.
“Logan!”
“I’m here, honey.”
Exasperation dampened the turmoil still churning in her body, and she pushed his wandering fingers away. “I know you‘re here. But it’s getting late, so in a minute a lot of other people are going to be here, too.”
“What?”
Merrie wiggled until her feet touched the floor of the barn. “Everyone’s coming back.”
Logan turned his head and listened for a moment to the faraway noises made by a happy, tired group. He smiled. “We’ve got plenty of time.” He cupped her face in his palms and kissed her again.
Her resolve weakened and she swayed. It was so nice, this funny, uncontrolled excitement. And it seemed inevitable. There had been an awareness between them from the beginning, something that defied understanding, but existed just the same.
All at once Merrie pulled away and stared at Logan’s face. Inevitable?
“Uh-oh,” she gulped, and bolted for the door.
Chapter Four
Logan caught up with her ten feet away from the barn and pulled her to a stop. “I don’t think Dust Devil is the skittish one around here,” he said.
Merrie crossed her arms over her stomach and lifted her chin defiantly. “Dust Devil is gelded. I don’t think he’s capable of getting skittish.”
“Gelded?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “Rough stuff.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
“I’m not forgetting anything.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “And I’m especially not finished discussing what happened in there.”
“Jeez!” Merrie choked on an exasperated shriek. According to the books about such things, men weren’t talkers. They didn’t discuss feelings or any of the things important to a woman, so Logan probably just wanted to know when they could have a cozy repeat. “I’ll save us both some time—it’s not happening again.”
“The hell it isn’t,” he said bluntly.
Her mouth dropped open. “I’m saying no. Get it? No.”
Logan gave her a level look. “Uh-uh. You’re saying you’re scared.”
“Wrong.” She poked her finger in his chest for emphasis. “This isn’t fear, this is self-preservation. I can’t afford to get mixed up with you, Logan Kincaid.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing you’re too pretty.”
He gaped at her. “Pretty? I’m a man. I’m not pretty. I’m...rugged.”
Merrie bit the inside of her cheek. Pretty had been the wrong word. Logan wasn’t pretty, he was perfect. Great hair, terrific body—even his smile, with the slightly uneven edge to his teeth, was perfect. Too perfect for a would-be woman rancher. He was smart and ambitious, and he wanted to live in New York and make a zillion dollars.
“Okay, you’re not pretty.”
“Thank you very much,” he snapped, seeming equally irritated with the retraction.
Ego. She grimaced. “I just meant that you’re a loner. You’re champagne and expensive cars and big cities. I’m...this.” Merrie gestured around the ranch complex. “I don’t want to get involved with someone so different from me, because it can’t come to anything.”
“Damn,” Logan muttered under his breath. Merrie had. picked the
exact argument hammering in his own head.
They were different. Opposites. As much as she attracted him, he wouldn’t offer white lace and wedding rings. It wouldn’t be fair to start thinking that way—he wasn’t the best husband prospect. Cripes, he didn’t even know how a good marriage worked.
“And you’re not a bad guy, but—”
“I know this speech,” he interrupted. “You’re going to suggest we be friends, not lovers.”
“Becoming lovers was never a possibility,” she said sweetly. “And I’m not even sure about friendship.”
His lips twitched. Merrie didn’t give an inch. The lady had an obstinate determination that went beyond mere stubbornness. But then...maybe she was right. Maybe they shouldn’t take the chance of becoming too attracted to each other. It was a good way to ruin their lives.
No.
You can handle it.
Logan sighed at the insistent, persuasive voice. Rational thinking had nothing to do with it—the voice came from a much lower place than his head...it was centered in the pit of his belly and controlled by physical need. He reached out and tugged a shimmering strand of her hair.
“An impasse?” he murmured.
“Sounds like it.”
Like hell, he thought, getting annoyed. People could enjoy each other without planning to get married, as long as they were straight with each other. They just had to remember they were having a summer flirtation... no commitments or ties. It would be good for both of them—Merrie needed to relax and have fun just as much as he did. All she needed was convincing.
In the back of his mind Logan realized there was a flaw in his reasoning, but he didn’t care.
Neither of them moved as riders began appearing over the hill, bringing dust and cheerful greetings. A number of them called to Merrie, welcoming her “home.”
“You’re on,” he murmured. “Do your wrangler thing.”
Merrie’s gaze flicked to the approaching guests and back to Logan. “So...we understand each other?”
The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5) Page 5
