“Perfectly.”
A hint of suspicion crept into her eyes, though he maintained his best poker face. Heck, he knew it was a great poker face—he could win a hand with nothing but a pair of deuces and the suggestion of a triumphant smile hovering on his mouth. Though it was probably that same smile getting him in trouble right now.
“Logan...you are going to behave? Right?”
“Don’t worry.” His tone dropped and he leaned closer. “I’m going to be very, very good.”
“That isn’t what I asked!” Merrie snapped. She set her pointed little chin and glared at him.
“But I like kissing you.”
“Rat fink,” she muttered. “I’m warning you, behave.” Giving him a final threatening look, she straightened her shirt, plastered a determined smile on her face, and waved to the approaching guests.
A rider with the lanky build of a beanpole spurred his horse into a gallop ahead of the others. “Welcome back,” he said before swinging down and giving Merrie a smacking kiss.
Logan’s muscles tensed.
“Wow! You’re here! Mr. Harding said you wouldn’t be coming for a while,” a freckled youngster exclaimed as he rode up next. He jumped from his horse and grinned happily. It was obvious he had a crush on Merrie.
“Hi, Toby. Remember...you have to keep hold of your horse,” she warned.
Toby hastily collected the dropped reins. “This is so great. I’ve been trying to convince Mom and Dad to come back later in the summer to see you—it’s no fun when you’re not here.”
A flash of guilt nagged at Logan. The unplanned change in his vacation had affected a lot of people, including this prepubescent kid with an adult-size case of puppy love.
Merrie ruffled the youngster’s hair. “I’m sure you’ve been having a great time without me.”
“Uh-uh,” Toby said earnestly. “It isn’t the same.”
“It sure isn’t,” several of the guests agreed together, and they looked at Merrie with warm affection.
“Nobody gets anything going at night. The barn dances are so dull...we just sit around staring at each other,” an older woman declared. “But it’ll be different now that you’re here.”
Logan shook his head. Evidently many of the guests returned summer after summer, so they knew Merrie quite well. She was so popular, he’d be lucky to get five minutes alone with her.
“I even learned to dance this year,” Toby said. He wrinkled his nose. “Square dancing. It isn’t so bad, not once you get started. It’s just really—”
“Square,” she finished for him.
The adults around them chuckled at the old joke and Toby shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah. It wouldn’t be so bad if the calls were different—but all that dosey-dozy stuff sounds really stupid.”
“That’s dos-a-dos, and it isn’t stupid,” Merrie said. “It’s traditional Old West dancing. Cowboys did it all the time.”
“Hey, Red!”
Another cowpoke grabbed Merrie into a kiss and Logan’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. He didn’t have any right to be possessive about Merrie, but these guys were carrying Western hospitality too far. First Chip with his condom-ringed hat, then the beanpole and now this guy.
“Hi, Spike. Keeping out of trouble?” she asked when he finally released her.
“Gee, Red. That hurts. I’m a real sweetheart.”
“I know, that’s why I asked.”
Spike grinned. “Babe, you know you’re the only woman for me. Just say the word and we’ll tie the knot.”
“Knot is right...I’d sooner hang.”
The cowboy pretended he was terribly wounded, then ambled away, heading for a shapely brunette who was giving him an inviting smile. Merrie didn’t seem perturbed and Logan got the feeling vacation affairs were the norm, rather than the exception, on the Bar Nothing ranch.
But not for Merrie.
Nope.
She had her plan, and a city slicker wasn’t part of that plan. Which definitely didn’t sit well with Logan, because he was a slicker through and through, and didn’t have any intention of changing that condition.
Or of getting married, either, which was also part of Merrie’s blasted plan.
Logan scowled, then caught Merrie looking at him with an exasperated expression. He wanted to beat his head on the barn door. Lust wasn’t a terminal condition, but he didn’t want to prove that fact for himself.
He stepped closer and lifted an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, babe? You said you wanted to get married, then you rejected that attractive proposal. I’ll bet Spike wouldn’t mind staying on the ranch and giving you a couple dozen children.”
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up.”
Merrie turned on her heel and stalked away from Logan Kincaid, muttering dire things about his life expectancy, ancestry and his generally bleak hope of surviving the next few days without broken bones.
Men were all the same. They didn’t want you—not really—but they didn’t want anyone else to want you, either. Not even in play. And that’s all it was with the guys on the ranch...playtime. They kidded around and gave her mock kisses. They certainly didn’t make her feel...well, like the kiss Logan had given her.
Merrie shoved the thought away with equal amounts of embarrassment, wonder and pure vexation. Logan’s interest in her was limited—comparable to a short-term lease. Partial rights, but no permanent responsibility. He was on vacation and wanted to loosen up.
Fine.
He could loosen up with someone else.
She had bigger fish to fry.
Fish? Oh, God. She was thinking in clichés. That wasn’t good. She must have been crazy to bring Logan Kincaid to Montana. He scrambled her brain—like an electric egg beater with a defenseless egg. Merrie set her jaw. This was one egg who wasn’t getting beaten.
“Come on, folks, let’s get these animals rubbed down,” she called briskly. “Cowboys take care of their horses before anything else.”
The guests groaned.
“Don’t blame me. There isn’t an automatic car wash in over a hundred miles. Well...at least fifty,” she said.
The good-natured groans turned into laughter and everyone followed their respective wranglers. Care and feeding of the horses was an important feature of life on the Bar Nothing Ranch. The dudes were responsible for their mounts the same as anyone, though they got a lot of assistance, particularly at the beginning of their visit.
“What can I do?”
Merrie peeked at the source of her irritation. For all the world, Logan looked eager and willing to help, which she knew couldn’t be true. Curry combs and sweat were a long way from a posh resort in Mexico.
“Leave me alone.”
He grinned...his slow and lazy grin that turned her inside out. “Now, honey, that isn’t very nice—you’re my personal wrangler. You wouldn’t abandon me, would you?”
She coiled a rope over her arm. “I’d like to drop you off a cliff.”
Logan clucked at her. “That isn’t a nice thing to say. If you’re not careful, you’ll shock the other guests.”
“Like you’d care,” Merrie muttered, at the same time glancing around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear them. “And I’m sure they’d sympathize about the cliff. They might even help.”
“Shame on you.” Logan hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, enjoying himself too much to heed the annoyed look in Merrie’s green eyes. “Is that Western hospitality at work?”
“Now, listen—”
“Merrie! You’re back!”
Logan glared at yet another cowboy ambling toward them. “So help me, they’re everywhere,” he muttered. He changed his stance, putting one hand on the fence rail and leaning subtly closer to Merrie.
The cowboy stopped cold. The two men measured each other for a long second, then the ranch hand gave Merrie a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Glad to see ya, Red.”
“Likewise.”
The man hastil
y retreated and she sighed. “Okay. What did you do?”
Logan lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Merrie rolled her eyes. “Right. You warned him off somehow. This may be a ranch, but I’m not a cow, and no one puts a brand on me. Got it?”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “A brand, honey? You’re confused. Remember me? The guy with terminal bachelorhood? I’m not interested in putting a brand on any woman. Or a cow, for that matter,” he added thoughtfully.
She shoved the rope into his chest and Logan grasped it automatically. His nose wrinkled slightly, because the worn hemp had a certain distinctive aroma he remembered from his summers at the feedlot—manure.
“What should I do with this, honey?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Sure, Red.”
“Urggh!” she yelped. “My hair isn’t red.”
He tossed the coiled rope over a fence post and caught her arm before she could escape. “You’ve got cinnamon hair and a flaming temper—which naturally makes a man wonder how much other heat you keep hidden.”
Merrie trembled, feeling a searing blast of the heat Logan was talking about. She was coming to the dismal realization that it wasn’t self-control that had kept her focused on owning the ranch, but lack of any real temptation. Temptation like Logan Kincaid.
“That isn’t any of your concern,” she mumbled.
“I wouldn’t say that.” He rubbed his thumb across the soft skin at the base of her wrist. Her pulse quickened, skipping faster with each feathered stroke.
“Logan,” she moaned. “Stop. This isn’t...everyone will think we’re involved.”
“Aren’t we?”
She opened her eyes, pleading with him. “Please don’t do this. I can’t get distracted.”
“I think that’s an insult. Don’t you like me, honey?”
Merrie shrugged. “I like you. Well...sort of.” She bit her lip, trying to decide how much she should admit—it it could be like setting fire to dry grass. Only she’d never been good at hiding her feelings. “I’d probably like going to bed with you, but it would create all kinds of problems.”
“What kinds of problems?”
Heart failure.
Bliss.
Oh...tarnation. She blinked at her unruly thoughts and tried to focus on something else.
“Think about it, Logan. You’re good at affairs. I’m not. I don’t go into anything halfway, planning to get out in a couple days. If it wasn’t for Gloria What’s-Her-Name, you wouldn’t be in Montana at all.”
Logan shifted his feet uneasily. He didn’t know what would have happened if Gloria hadn’t shown up, giving him an excuse to go with Merrie. And it was a damned lame excuse, too.
Hell, she’s been honest. What’s wrong with you? his conscience screamed, and it slowly worked through Logan’s brain that he would have found a reason to go to Montana, even if Gloria hadn’t arrived at his house at such an opportune instant. The realization sent a cold chill down his spine.
“I...” He cleared his throat.
“Exactly.”
Though they had been saying and thinking different things, the fundamental meaning was the same. Merrie was as enduring as a clear mountain lake, he was as temporary as a wave flowing across a sandy beach. Yet when he looked at her, his normally logical thinking got completely tangled.
“So,” he said slowly, “what do we do?”
“For starters, let go of my hand.”
Belatedly Logan realized he was still caressing Merrie’s wrist, stroking the tips of his fingers across her delicate skin. “Oh...sorry.”
Merrie pulled her arm back and thrust both hands into her back pockets for safekeeping. “We’ll pretend we’re two old friends while you’re here, and when you leave, we never have to see each other again.”
Logan had news for Merrie—he’d never kissed a friend like that, and he’d never been good at pretending. But what the hell? He was on vacation, ready for new experiences. He could. always try, and getting to know Merrie would be a very intriguing activity.
“Friends,” he agreed, mentally crossing his fingers, just in case. “Only you still have to be my wrangler. I’m not doing this dude ranch thing alone. You got me here, so I’m your responsibility.”
Merrie regarded him for a wary minute. “Okay. But right now I have to check in with my grandparents. And...and work on tonight’s entertainment. I’ll see you later.”
Oh, yeah. The boring barn dances that wouldn’t be boring now that Merrie was here.
Logan nodded. “Sure.”
He watched Merrie climb the slope to the house and nearly groaned.
Why was he doing this to himself?
For a smart guy, he was acting awfully dumb—positively begging for the worst kind of frustration. Merrie might think she was a tough ranching type, yet everything about her was womanly and inviting. She couldn’t even walk up the hill in jeans and boots without letting her hips sway in unconscious provocation.
It was hard to believe that she and Lianne were sisters. Lianne was determinedly feminine, from her eyelet blouses to her calico skirts. Only he’d never felt the slightest sexual interest in her—a nice woman, that’s how he thought of Lianne Foster.
But Merrie...Logan sighed. Merrie with her fiery hair and green eyes, her delectable little body—she made him burn like blue blazes. And she wasn’t even a tall blonde. She was a stubborn redhead.
My hair isn’t red.
He grinned reluctantly. Merrie didn’t seem to mind being called “Red” when she wasn’t upset, yet the nickname didn’t sit well when her temper was roused. He should threaten her with a cold shower when her mouth got all stubborn and angry like that.
Thinking of which...Logan glanced toward the utilitarian facilities the Bar Nothing Ranch offered their guests. Merrie had pointed them out earlier. Very basic and unembellished. Commodes and showers, and the showers had limited hot water.
Oh, well.
He shrugged with philosophical acceptance. Trying to be friends with Merrie was going to take a lot of work and effort. He’d probably need a few cold showers before his vacation was over.
Like a few thousand.
Merrie sighed and rolled over in bed. She hadn’t slept well. And as much as she’d like to blame Logan, it was her own fault. She should have been able to dismiss him from her mind. After all, he was a temporary fixture on the ranch.
There were several women visiting the Bar Nothing who were perfect for him—women wanting nothing more than a casual affair. People went on vacation for different reasons. Fun. Rest and relaxation. Adventure and excitement. Romance. Uncomplicated sex.
She’d seen a lot of it over the years. And while she didn’t condemn their fleeting encounters, she’d never been tempted herself.
Until now.
Until Logan Kincaid.
Merrie sighed again and kicked the blankets away from her body. The dog sleeping next to the bed raised his head and quietly woofed.
“It’s okay, Bandit. I’m just confused, and I’m not used to feeling that way.” She dropped her hand over the mattress and a large canine tongue licked her fingers.
Dogs gave such unqualified love. Bandit had been her devoted companion since the day she’d taken the orphaned German shepherd puppy into her arms and nursed him from a bottle.
In the past three years they’d been through a flash flood, kicks from ornery steers, long dusty rides and a few bucking horses together. She hated leaving him behind each fall, but it wasn’t fair to take a ranch dog to Washington. Even though her parents had several acres, he wouldn’t have the kind of freedom he enjoyed in Montana.
The cool, predawn air flowed through the open window and Merrie stretched. She had some lingering aches from the tumble in the tree house, but she was almost back to normal.
Logan had to be even worse off. After all, he’d landed on the floor and she’d landed on him. Then she’d made him sleep on the ground
in a tent, which couldn’t have helped his aching muscles in the slightest.
No doubt he’d get up, cranky and sore. He’d walk into the mess tent hunched over and stiff. Mr. Perfection would be a disaster, because he didn’t have room service or the usual hotel amenities out here in the wilds of Montana.
Yup.
The women who’d been flirting with him last night would be in shock. And he might not even notice because he’d be so miserably uncomfortable.
Merrie tucked her hand against her cheek and smiled.
“Good morning,” said a low, intimate voice.
Merrie jumped as a warm hand settled on her waist. Logan leaned across her, grabbing a coffee cup from the serving table and touching her every inch of the way.
“Uh, good morning.”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” she lied.
“Me, too.” Only Logan’s statement sounded like the truth, because he was bright-eyed, clean shaven and looked like the Gentlemen’s Quarterly idea of a cowboy.
Merrie scowled. It wasn’t fair.
How did he do that?
At her best she’d never looked that neat and stylish. And certainly never on the ranch. It would be nice to think her rumpled appearance was sexy, but Merrie knew better. It was just rumpled.
“Come git yer breakfus. Ain’t fixed this stuff fer my health,” bellowed the cook. “An’ if you don’t like it, keep the news ter yerself.”
Logan lifted an eyebrow at the grizzled old man standing by the food table, a butcher’s knife in one hand, and a long, two-tined fork in the other. “Is he for real, or the dude ranch version of the Hollywood trail cook? Rough and salty, but with a heart of gold?”
“For real,” Merrie said, trying to stay annoyed. And failing.
It was still early, and the tent was occupied only by ranch employees. The guests would wander in over the next hour, many just for tea or coffee. Breakfast was one of the less communal meals since most people weren’t accustomed to rising at dawn and eating like lumberjacks.
“Hi there, Bandit,” Logan said, leaning over to ruffle the fur between the shepherd’s alert ears. They’d been introduced the previous evening.
The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5) Page 6
