The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5)

by Julianna Morris

  Bandit wumphed companionably, his tail swishing.

  Merrie and Logan filled their plates and he nudged her to a quiet corner of the tent, away from the cordial wranglers who invited them over.

  “Thanks...we’re fine,” he said.

  The men didn’t argue, though their faces were filled with curiosity. A few even snickered behind their mustaches and beards, speculation rampant in their eyes. Merrie gave them a warning glare and followed Logan. Bandit disappeared under the table, where he hoped to find scraps from plates descending in his direction.

  “How was your tent?” she asked. “Warm enough?”

  “It was great.” He grinned over the rim of his cup. “I’m glad you care.”

  “I don’t.”

  “That’s a bald-faced lie.” He moved his foot until his leg brushed along hers. “I’m a guest, and you care about all the guests.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered, shifting her leg.

  Logan cut a bite from his steak, seeming not to notice her retreat. “This is terrific. I didn’t expect that old coot to be such a good cook.”

  Merrie watched Logan eat, surprised he enjoyed the simple fare. He even seemed to like the coffee, which was an even bigger surprise. Seattle had a thing about coffee. There was an espresso stand on every corner where patrons ordered things like Mocha Java Tails and Why Bothers, which were nonfat, decaf, sugar-free lattes.

  Nope, it wasn’t just coffee in Seattle. It was a religion, and a far cry from the rough buckaroo brew served at the Bar Nothing.

  “Are all the meals like this?”

  She blinked. “Pretty much. We’re a ranch, and people expect generous portions. But I insisted we add some of the lighter stuff, like fruit and bagels. Along with some vegetarian choices in the other meals.”

  “How did the cook take that?”

  “Not well.” Merrie laughed. “Harvey never heard of low-fat cooking. And it’s a lot easier to turn a side of beef on the barbecue and stir a pot of chili than worry about such ‘fancy notions.”’

  Harvey might have disagreed with Merrie’s decision, but Logan didn’t need to see the evidence to know who had won the battle. What Merrie lacked in size, she made up for in sheer grit. Which was puzzling, considering her grandfather’s reluctance to trust her with the Bar Nothing. “I take it Harvey doesn’t have a secret heart of gold?”

  A wry smile creased her mouth. “Maybe. Somewhere. Actually he didn’t start out as a cook. He worked cattle until his burn leg got too bad. He’s had some hard times, so I guess his attitude is understandable.”

  Logan studied Harvey as he argued with one of the ranch hands about whether his steak had been rare enough. The weathered cook finally turned, speared a raw slab of beef sitting next to the grill and slapped it on the other man’s plate.

  “That rare enough for you, sonny?” Harvey bellowed.

  “Uh...”

  A wave of the butcher knife apparently decided the matter.

  “It’s just fine.” Defeated, the ranch hand slunk back to his table, amidst the general teasing of his companions.

  “Hmm,” Logan murmured. “I don’t think he’s in danger of winning any prizes for charm.”

  Merrie laughed. “No, though he doesn’t pull that stuff with the paying guests—he’s too loyal. You see, Harvey lost his own spread in the seventies... a combination of bad weather and crashing beef prices. Granddad gave him a job and he’s been here ever since.”

  “Your grandfather seems like a great guy.”

  Her smile softened. Merrie obviously loved Paul Harding, even if he threatened to prevent her dream... the dream she wanted more than anything else in the world. “Granddad believes in three basic rules—tell the truth, help your neighbor and keep your promises.”

  “That about covers things.”

  “Yeah. There isn’t any other way to survive out here.”

  She rested her chin in her hand, a faraway expression in her green eyes, and Logan stopped eating. Merrie was such an odd mixture—one minute as bright and energetic as a field of poppies waving in the sun, and in the next she glowed with mystery and magic.

  “Ranch life isn’t so different now than it was a hundred years ago,” she murmured. “We have modern conveniences and technology, but none of them make a bit of difference when the temperature drops and a blizzard is blowing. Then it’s just you and Mother Nature, fighting to see who wins.”

  He leaned forward. “I thought you only spent summers in Montana.”

  “Not always.” Merrie shook her head. “I lived here the year after I graduated from college. It was one of the worst winters on record. Of course—” she chuckled “—Granddad hoped it would discourage me.”

  “But it didn’t.” Logan’s statement wasn’t a question. He didn’t think mere blizzards would discourage Merrie Foster. She was made of far sterner stuff than anything Mother Nature could throw at her.

  “Nope,” she agreed cheerfully. “I love taking care of animals and protecting them. There’s something wonderful about being connected to the land. Fundamental. That’s part of the appeal of dude ranches. It’s so... uncomplicated.”

  That almost made Logan laugh. There was nothing uncomplicated about Merrie. She might think she was basic and down to earth, but that only made her harder to figure out.

  “You’d better finish your breakfast,” Merrie said, taking a last bite of her fruit and getting up. Despite the hearty fare offered, Logan noticed she’d eaten lightly. “Granddad assigned us to throw a circle around the northwest end of the ranch, so it’ll be a long day.”

  He hated to admit his ignorance, but it wouldn’t do any good to pretend he knew what she was talking about. “Throw a circle?”

  “Oh... yeah.” Merrie looked a little startled that he didn’t understand, and Logan took it as a compliment. “We have to move the cattle in that section to better grazing. Grandmother is packing us a lunch. We’re the only riders going that direction, so we won’t be anywhere near the chuck wagon.”

  Logan glanced at Harvey, who was standing over his gas-fired grill, muttering to himself. “I guess there are all kinds of advantages to the arrangement.”

  She smiled faintly. “Say that again when you wake up tomorrow. Eight hours in the saddle isn’t the best first day you could have.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “No doubt,” she muttered, an unexpected grimace on her lips.

  “Hey, what did I do?”

  “Nothing. I’ll meet you at the barn in twenty minutes. We’ll saddle the horses and get going.”

  Merrie turned, and Logan watched as she walked away, Bandit appearing instantly at her heels. She stopped to tease the bleary-eyed guests who were filtering in for breakfast. She already knew the newcomer’s names, and had a special greeting for each of the returning “dudes.”

  Logan’s business instincts didn’t know he was on vacation—they immediately clicked into gear. It took more than cattle savvy to make a dude ranch successful. Merrie had explained the typical stay at the Bar Nothing was Tuesday through Saturday night, and that stay didn’t come cheap. Folks might come once, lured by a set of well-chosen words in an advertisement, but they’d never return if they didn’t enjoy themselves to the hilt.

  Merrie made sure everyone had fun. Yet somehow, he thought it had less to do with her being a good businesswoman, and more to do with her being an intrinsically friendly person.

  Absently Logan took a swallow from his cup and winced as the dregs yielded a scattering of coffee grounds.

  “Put her down.”

  Startled, he looked into the glowering face of Harvey, who proceeded to slosh a stream of hot black liquid into his cup. Coffee splattered across the table and a pool of it rolled along a crease in the red-checked, plastic tablecloth.

  “Er, thanks.”

  The old man waved the battered coffeepot in his face. “Don’t you do nothin’ to hurt her, boy. I’m watchin’ ya.” A fierce scowl punctuated the warning.

 
An unbidden smile curved Logan’s mouth. The identity of “her” was unmistakable—it seemed Harvey’s missing heart of gold rested squarely in Merrie’s small hands. “Don’t worry.”

  The old man uttered an explicit word. “I was young once, too, and I seen t‘way ya look at her. Ain’t no city buck with his brains in his pants gonna do somethin’ to our Merrie-girl.”

  Logan whistled under his breath. He hadn’t thought his feelings for Merrie were so conspicuous. Damn, he should have realized it would be obvious to anyone with a suspicious mind. Particularly a suspicious fellow male mind.

  “I’m not planning to hurt her.”

  “Mind you don’t.” The cook stomped away, his hard life evident from his game leg and bony frame. Tattered but not beaten, the old fellow still possessed a basic dignity.

  Logan shook his head and dug into his cooling breakfast. If he didn’t meet Merrie in the specified twenty minutes, she’d probably ride out without him. And Logan intended for them to spend every possible moment together. It wasn’t smart, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Merrie since finding her in his tree.

  Now that would make a great story for the grandchildren.

  Logan’s arm froze, his coffee cup lifted halfway to his mouth. His brain was completely out of control. Hell, for that matter, Harvey was right. His brains were in his pants.

  He glanced at the evil brew in his cup. Maybe if it was strong enough it would knock some sense into him.

  Chapter Five

  This is the life.

  Logan took a deep breath and grinned at nothing in particular. Everything seemed perfect, from the blue sky above, to the sway and creak of the saddle as Dust Devil stepped along the summit of a hill. Leaning over, he patted the horse’s sleek black neck.

  Despite his ominous name, Dust Devil was an amiable, well-mannered mount. He’d quickly accepted a new rider, and he had an easy gait, comfortable for someone who hadn’t ridden in a long while.

  In the distance, Bandit raced down gullies and up slopes, occasionally appearing to frisk around the horses, his mouth open in a big canine smile.

  “This is terrific,” Logan said quietly, looking at Merrie.

  She was riding beside him, her eyes half closed, her face raised to the sunshine, as though it was pouring through her in a living river of gold. Her loosely braided hair allowed wisps and curls to escape, framing her face with fire, while a cowboy hat hung down her back.

  Oh, Merrie, Logan sighed to himself, caught somewhere between appreciation and pain.

  She was so beautiful. Her body swayed with the horse beneath her, moving as one with the huge animal. Yet there was nothing careless about Merrie’s control over the palomino. Her fingers held the reins with the skill of a born rider, alert to the slightest change of direction or temper.

  “I can’t believe I resisted coming to Montana,” Logan confessed. “I was sure wrong. It’s a great place for a vacation.”

  Merrie opened her eyes and smiled lazily. “The great Logan Kincaid wrong?”

  “I never said I was great.”

  Her lips twitched. “Yeah?”

  “Certainly not. I may have implied we’d be great together in bed, but that’s completely different.”

  “I thought we buried that subject.”

  “Not as deep as I’d like to,” Logan said significantly.

  Faint color burned in Merrie’s cheeks, and he grinned. Nobody who grew up working a ranch could be ignorant of the basic facts of life, yet she still seemed innocent in so many ways.

  “Just friends, Logan. Remember?”

  “I remember.”

  I remember being awake till three in the morning and deciding friendship is for the birds.

  It was rather underhanded, planning a campaign of sensual persuasion while pretending to be friends. But she’d just go prickly again and start preaching about the differences between them. Hell, he knew all about the differences. Nobody had to paint a picture for him—get—ting involved with Merrie was just asking for trouble.

  Yet Logan couldn’t help himself...even with warnings from knife-wielding ornery cooks and his own instincts for self-preservation yelling for attention.

  “So, what does everyone do on the Bar Nothing, besides throwing a circle?”

  “Oh...” Merrie shrugged. “Ranch work is unpredictable, but there are regular tasks that have to be planned. The guests do almost everything, though some jobs are less popular than others.” She gave him a sideways glance, filled with wicked amusement. “The week we castrate and brand the calves, for example. Want to come back next spring for that?”

  “No. You have an evil sense of humor,” Logan complained; though it was without heat. “Castration isn’t anything to joke about.”

  “Feeling a little threatened, are we?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Tough guy, huh?”

  Clucking to her mount, Merrie cantered in front of him. Dust Devil pricked his ears forward., yet aside from that, he showed no interest in following the other horse.

  They had been riding for several hours over the rolling hills, rising gradually in elevation. When they reached the northernmost point of their “circle,” they would sweep back in, moving the cattle they found to fresh grazing. From what Merrie had already explained, he knew a large part of working the herd consisted of moving cattle from one place to another, to make certain they got proper feed and didn’t destroy the plant cycle.

  Which reminded him...the best way to get Merrie to open up was to talk about the ranch.

  “Hey, Merrie?” Logan called. “Did your family ever get involved in the wars between sheepherders and cattlemen?”

  Up ahead, Merrie tightened her fingers on the reins. Sun Spot snorted, resenting the brief restraint. He was more spirited than the mounts used by the dudes—an excellent cutting horse, but not overly complacent.

  “Easy, boy,” she soothed, and Sun Spot tossed his silvery-gold head as though he understood. “You had a nice gallop this morning, and it’s getting too hot to race right now.”

  A long run would have suited Merrie, too. She wanted to get far away from Logan Kincaid. It was the smartest thing she could do, except it was her responsibility as a wrangler to take care of him. Though...it didn’t seem Logan needed taking care of—he’d saddled Dust Devil without help and mounted the horse as easily as though he’d been doing it every day.

  Naturally.

  Logan did everything well.

  She turned and watched him ride closer. His face was relaxed, with none of the anxiety most of the dudes exhibited for the first day or two. His summers working a feedlot must have been more educational than he’d let her think.

  “What was that about sheep?” she asked.

  “I just wondered if the Hardings got involved in the range wars,” he answered. “Weren’t things pretty violent back then? All that Wild West stuff?”

  “Wild West? Let’s see...” Merrie said thoughtfully. “According to Granddad, my great-great-uncle was killed in a crooked poker game out behind the old barn.”

  Logan grinned his mind-numbing grin. “I’ll bet that didn’t have anything to do with sheep.”

  “Not unless one of them had an ace up its fleece. Uncle Ezra didn’t tolerate cheating. Unfortunately he was also a heavy drinker and a lousy shot.”

  “Oops...bad combination.”

  “You said it.” Merrie blew a strand of hair from her damp forehead, then lifted her hat over her head to block the growing heat of the sun. “As for the battle between sheep and cattle, a lot of the early ranchers were involved at one time or another.”

  “Was it that serious?”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “Of course it was. They had open-range grazing, and sheep do more damage to the range than cattle. Sheep also paid off a lot of mortgages because they’re more profitable.”

  “Does the Bar Noth—”

  “Nope. No sheep,” Merrie said, anticipating the question. “Not ever. I’m not sure
, but it’s probably written into my great-grandfather’s will that any descendant who brought a would on his land would be struck down by lightning.”

  Logan reached over and tugged the braid hanging over her shoulder. “A man of conviction.”

  “We’re fighters,” she warned, yet her voice held a wry acceptance. Logan’s sensual advances seemed inevitable. And breathtaking. It had never been that way with a man before. While she’d dated a few guys, she’d never really gotten involved. Most men were put off by her dream of owning the ranch—they didn’t think it was feminine or something.

  Only Logan didn’t seem to care. It wasn’t that he wanted to live on the ranch or marry her...he just wanted to make love. With her.

  Simple, unadorned desire.

  Last night her grandmother had called it a compliment, one of the most honest compliments a man ever paid a woman. Of course, she’d also said that didn’t mean the woman had to go along.

  Blast.

  Grandmother was practical and down-to-earth. But Grandmother wasn’t sitting in Merrie’s shoes being tempted by the sexiest man in Montana or Seattle.

  “Merrie? You seem a million miles away. Is everything all right?” Logan sounded genuinely concerned and she shook her head.

  “I’m fine. If you’re ready for lunch, we can eat up there.” Merrie pointed to a lofty outcropping.

  A few minutes later they tied their horses to a tree and Merrie walked to the edge. The land fell away in a sea of hills...an endless pattern of gold and green, spiked by cottonwoods and pines and rock. Yet it was all dwarfed by the vastness of the sky.

  And nowhere, in any direction, could you see the impact of “civilization.” Merrie often thought this was exactly how the first settlers had seen Montana, and why they’d named it big sky country.

  “I love it here,” she murmured. “It’s the highest point on the ranch. And the most beautiful.”

  Logan looked out across the landscape and saw a hawk in the distance, wheeling through the blue expanse, proclaiming its freedom. The wild cry sank into him, and the tight knot of tension in his body eased more than he’d thought possible. The demands of clients, the rise and fall of stock prices and the need to prove himself, seemed far away.