Merrie bent over and swept the little girl into her arms. “Thanks, Kimmie. I’m glad to see you. Have you and your brother been good this year?”
“Uh-huh. Daddy gave me a pony.”
“Oooh...that’s exciting.” She kissed Kimmie’s cheek, inhaling the scent of powder and baby shampoo and feeling a poignant ache around her heart. She wouldn’t be having any babies, not for a while at any rate.
“I’m a real cowgirl now,” said the child.
“You sure are.” Merrie turned. “Logan, meet Grant’s daughter, Kimberly.”
“Daughter?” Logan brightened considerably. “Oh, he’s married. That’s nice.”
Merrie kissed the child again and scooted her toward the refreshment table. “Actually Grant is a widower,” she explained when they were alone again. “His wife died when Kimmie was born.”
Her “fiancé” had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry to hear that. You must be good friends.”
“We practically grew up together. Grant has a ranch just south of the Bar Nothing.” Merrie took a bite of birthday cake. Informal parties were fairly common at the ranch—vacationers loved any excuse to celebrate and the Hardings were happy to oblige.
“I haven’t seen him around. Does he work as a wrangler?”
“No, but he usually brings the kids to the Saturday barn dance. They get to play with children their own age and he can relax. It’s been hard on Grant, raising two kids on his own.”
“It’s nice he could come to celebrate your birthday.”
“And our engagement, don’t forget” Merrie grinned mischievously.
Did she mind that Grant Steele believed she was engaged? Logan couldn’t tell. The only emotion he’d recognized was the longing in her eyes when she held Kimmie in her arms. Merrie wanted a baby, and turning thirty was a worry to her, because of the biological clock stuff.
“Darlings,” Eva Harding said, coming up with a conspiratorial smile. “Why don’t you slip away for a private celebration? I have something to help.” She held out a basket containing a bottle of champagne and two tall, fluted glasses. “Find a quiet spot outside and toast the moon.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Logan declared, taking the basket and peering inside with appreciation. Nice...the Hardings knew something about wine. “You’re a woman after my own heart.”
“Save your charm for my granddaughter. Now scoot before somebody stops you.” Mrs. Harding looked significantly in Gloria Scott’s direction before walking away, making him laugh.
Everyone—from the Hardings to the guests—were trying to give them privacy. It had evolved into a sporting event. Gloria ambushed either him or Merrie, and suddenly someone appeared, cutting her off like an unruly steer. Even Bandit had gotten into the act, jumping on Gloria’s white designer pants with the muddiest feet imaginable.
Poor Bandit.
Her shrieking had bewildered him worse than any stampede. Then she’d jumped backward and landed in the horse trough. Ever helpful, Bandit had been there to lick her cheek when she came up for air, only to get shrieked at again.
And Chip...he’d remained sitting on the fence rail, chewing on a piece of straw and watching the whole thing.
“Why didn’t you do something?” Gloria had screeched at him, crawling from the trough with her blond hair draggled in spikes down her face and her white silk outfit turned an interesting shade of algae green. “Just look at me!”
Chip had methodically cut another plug of tobacco to chew. “That’s why folks love it here...lots of activity,” he’d murmured reflectively before stuffing it inside his lip. “Always something to do.”
“I’m paying you to take care of me. ”
“Naw...the Hardings are payin’ me, ma’am. You’re just an oversize pain in the butt.”
Just thinking about it made Logan want to howl. Gloria had actually been incoherent. Not speechless, incoherent. Then sweet, generous Merrie had tried to comfort her.
“Logan? What’s so funny?”
Merrie nudged him and he turned his head, grinning. “I was thinking about this morning...when Gloria tried to push you into the horse trough.”
“Oh, God.” Merrie’s cheeks turned a faint shade of apricot pink. “Honest, she tripped into that cow pie. I didn’t have anything to do with it aside from getting out of the way.”
“That’s what made it so good.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Merrie looked a little worried herself, and a cute frown creased the space over her eyes. “You said that Gloria is the boss’s daughter. They could make all kinds of trouble for you.”
“Naw.” Logan put his arm around her shoulder and pushed her toward the door. “They need me a lot more than I need them.” It was true, he acknowledged to himself, a little puzzled by the realization. No matter what happened, the company needed him to return to work, a lot more than he needed to go back.
“But—”
“Honey, I really don’t want to talk about the office. Where can we go for the privacy Grandma mentioned?”
“I see she’s Grandma only when it’s convenient,” Merrie grumbled, allowing herself to be drawn farther from the light and activity of the barn. “You’re an opportunist, Logan Kincaid. You have no scruples.”
“Me? Nonsense.” Logan laced their fingers together. “You don’t object to missing part of your party, do you? If that’s the problem, we can go right back in—maybe we can find some more candles and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ again.”
She looked at him blackly. In the moonlight his grin was just as sexy as it was in full daylight. “You’re on thin ice, Kincaid. I might just push you into the bull paddock and leave you there.”
His chuckle was low and seductive. “I happen to know that mellow old bull is just for show. The Bar Nothing uses semen from a prize-winning bull they’ve only seen in a video—according to the boss’s granddaughter, that is.”
“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
“Come on, honey, let’s crack that bottle from your grandmother. I’ve never seen such a clear sky. It deserves a toast.” Logan kissed her temple and she shivered—he didn’t fool her for a second about any toast.
“O...kay,” she said reluctantly. Actually her mind was the only reluctant part of her—her body was screaming, What are you waiting for?
She had to be careful...her body was screaming for a lot of reasons. Hunger for a baby. A general frustration at being told to wait for years and years while she satisfied a different need. It wasn’t just Logan...yet when his leg brushed hers and a charge of electric awareness shot to her stomach, it was hard to remember anything else.
“I’ll get a quilt from the house,” she murmured.
“Wait here.”
“You’ll come back, right? You won’t chicken out?”
“Nothing is going to happen, but I’m not a coward.”
“Sure.” He stayed right on her heels as she walked into the ranch house, obviously doubtful. Merrie scowled, she wasn’t a coward and nothing was going to happen. A pair of counterfeit fiancés could toast the moon without getting carried away.
But just to be sure, she handed him the quilt and took a deep breath. “I thought we’d pick a place out by the tents. It’s nice up there.”
Logan tucked the quilt under his arm. He shook his head and smiled. “No, let’s try the hill behind the house. It’s much more private.”
Merrie scowled again. Getting private with Logan wasn’t a good idea. In fact, it was a damned lousy idea. “Believe me, we don’t need privacy.”
“Sure we do.”
“No. Please, Logan, don’t push. Not tonight.” She was too vulnerable, with conflicting needs and questions that couldn’t be answered.
“Honey?” Logan tipped her chin up, his face no longer laughing, but soberly intent. “It’s okay. It’s your birthday, and I’ll play the way you want. No kissing.”
“None at all?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Yes.”
Merrie believed him, but she wasn’t sure if it was any better than the alternative. At least when Logan kissed her, she didn’t think. Heck, she hardly breathed. There wasn’t room for uncomfortable thoughts and useless speculation.
He held out his hand. “Coming?”
Maybe the champagne would numb her brain. “Uh, sure.”
“I like this,” Logan said contentedly. They’d been lying there for hours, counting stars while the rest of the ranch slept.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He took a sip of now-flat champagne then looked back at the sky. “Not as much as kissing you, but it’s not bad. Relaxing.”
“Hmm.” Merrie lay in the opposite direction from him, her feet near his head. “I like it, too.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad.”
Bandit was the happiest of them both. He had a comfortable spot between the two humans, and Merrie’s loving touch. Every now and then the shepherd gave a snuffling sigh of satisfaction and inched closer to her...an action Logan fully understood. He wouldn’t mind her rubbing his ears, and then moving on to other portions of his body that needed attention.
“Tell me something,” Merrie said, sitting up and pouring herself another glass of champagne. “Why are you so dead set against marriage? Your family might have had some bad luck in that direction, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t make it work.”
“Why, are you interested?”
Merrie choked, spraying champagne across his legs. “Good God, no. It was just a theoretical question...like do you think intelligent life exists on other planets?”
Her vehement denial stung his pride. “Thanks. I’m not the worst husband you could have.”
“Right, you don’t smoke, gamble or rob convenience stores for a living. That’s quite a recommendation.”
“Sheesh.” Logan sat up and glared. “If I ever do get married it won’t be to someone like—” He stopped, because even in the moonlight he could see her eyes flashing, and he had the feeling he was about to make a mistake.
“Like me?” Merrie said, her words clipped.
“Well, I’d want someone calmer. Not that I’m saying you aren’t stable, but I’ve seen relationships with someone who’s a bit hot-tempered. Life is always a drama.”
“Oh, you want a boring wife. You should have said so. When you get home, add ‘boring’ to your list.”
The wife list.
Logan had hoped she’d forgotten that stupid piece of paper.
Damn. If he hadn’t said the wrong thing, they could still be peacefully sipping wine and counting the stars. But he’d screwed things up, and kept making it worse.
“Honey, please, I think you’re very special. Maybe if things were different...” He shrugged.
“Different? Not a chance,” she snapped. “Heaven knows, I don’t even have one of the qualities you require in a wife.”
“Why are you so hung up on that list?”
Merrie closed her mouth tightly.
“I agree it was dumb. But Sully and I were drunk—he’d just signed his divorce papers and was bitter as hell. He didn’t want me to repeat his mistakes.”
“Fine. Make your own mistakes.” Merrie jumped to her feet, too restless to think straight. “I’m going to bed,” she muttered. “Come, Bandit.”
She slapped her hand on her leg to encourage him, but the shepherd merely cocked his head in confusion and yipped.
“Fine, stay if you want. Men always stick together.”
“Merrie... wait.”
At his urgent plea she paused, putting a hand to her stomach. It wasn’t Logan’s fault. She’d overreacted. She had too much to deal with—too much to lose by making the wrong decisions. And her thirtieth birthday was the last night to sit under a moonlit sky and think about her dreams.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Lightly Logan put his hands on her arms and rubbed. Her wineglass slipped from her fingers to the grass below and she swayed against him, lured by the heat of his body. “My pride got hurt,” he whispered. “So I hurt you back. The truth is, I think you’re wonderful.”
“Logan...” she sighed, and his arms slid around her waist, pulling her to him. She felt him, the hardness of his thighs against her bottom, and the growing bulge of his arousal. “Is...is that what we were arguing about?”
“This?”
His hips moved and she moaned. “Yes.”
“I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you,” he whispered into her neck. “And you want me. It’s the one part of our engagement we’re not faking.”
Ice condensed in Merrie’s stomach. That was the problem—a part of her wished they weren’t faking anything. It scared her. Falling in love with Logan would be so foolish. He was smart and ambitious and had New York City written into his future.
New York.
Miles and miles of concrete. No meadows or endless, unbroken skies. People said the snow in New York wasn’t even white, it was gray. The Big Apple might be a wonderful city, but she was sure she’d suffocate there.
It shouldn’t worry her; she was the last woman Logan would ever marry. But if the impossible happened—if they fell in love with each other—then she’d have to choose between him and the ranch. Merrie shivered for a far different reason than sensual awareness.
“Don’t worry, honey.” His hands still soothed her...warmed her. “I promised.”
Promised?
Oh, his promise not to kiss her.
“Lie down again,” he breathed, easing them back to the quilt, but this time holding her tightly to him. It was sexual and comforting and so achingly tender that her throat hurt with suppressed emotion.
Merrie put her arm across Logan and closed her eyes, breathing the cool night air...breathing his scent. He flipped a corner of the quilt over her legs and she heard the tinkle of his wineglass as it went flying.
“Uh, those weren’t family heirlooms, were they?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Good.” He stroked his fingers over her hair, playing with the long strands. “I think your grandmother would forgive me, but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for breaking something special.”
Family...Merrie pressed her palm over Logan’s heart. It beat with a steady, strong rhythm. “Tell me something,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you come to Christmas dinner when Lianne invited you?”
She could tell the question surprised him. His body tensed, and for an instant Merrie thought she’d ruined everything again. He’d get angry and offended and they’d fight. Risking a peek, she looked at his face, staring at a lone cloud drifting across the moon.
A ragged sigh welled from his chest. “I hate to admit it, but I was...embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? Because your housekeeper was inviting you to dinner?” She took a deep breath, counting to ten and waiting for an answer. There had to be an answer—for all his status house, and status job, and status life, she knew Logan wasn’t a snob.
“Jeez, Merrie,” he muttered. “That wasn’t the reason. I don’t know how to act around a friendly, normal family. I would have made everyone uncomfortable and spoiled your Christmas.”
Merrie blinked. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “But you have a family, don’t you? At least a brother—Sully, right?”
“Yeah, I have a brother and a couple of sisters, and my parents are still very much alive. Unfortunately they never got divorced. They’re still destroying what’s left of their lives by staying together.”
The weary, bitter acceptance in his voice made tears burn in her eyes.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” he said. “Your family isn’t like anything I’ve seen. God, you actually like each other.” He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and stroked his thumb across her lips.
“Logan?” she whispered.
“You want to know why it’s so important I make a success of myself? Simple—I was the dirt poor kid from the wrong side of town, Merrie. My dad wasn’t unemployed, he just didn’t want to w
ork. And the police...they had a regular stop at my house every Friday and Saturday night to break up drunken fights between my parents. The neighbors were always complaining about them disturbing the peace.”
The pain in his words cut through Merrie’s heart and she kissed Logan’s throat. None of it mattered to her—not the poverty or unhappy family.
“It’s all right,” she whispered.
“No, it isn’t. Hell, I didn’t want you to know all that stuff. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I’m having trouble doing that tonight.”
“Logan, you should be proud of yourself,” she insisted quietly. “You got through college and you work hard. I may not agree with using money as a scorecard, but you’ve changed your life—not too many people do that.”
He didn’t say anything for a long while, but the tension in his body eased. “You’re amazing, do you know that Merrie Foster?”
“I’m just me.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Chapter Eight
“Honey, wake up.”
Merrie mumbled something and curled tighter against him. It was pleasant, but it didn’t help matters.
“We fell asleep. It’s morning.” Logan consulted his watch. “Damn, they’ll think we eloped. It’s almost eight-thirty.”
“Can’t be.” Her eyes stayed closed. “I never oversleep.”
“There’s always a first time.”
Grumbling, Merrie rolled over and sat up. “It’s morning,” she said with some surprise.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying. I’ll bet they’ve sent out the posse or lynching party, or whatever it is they do to misbehaving suitors.”
“You didn’t misbehave—you were a perfect gentleman.” Was it Logan’s imagination, or did she sound a little disappointed about the “gentleman” part?
“Well, I thought about misbehaving.”
“Huh...” She yawned and stretched, her body arched gracefully. “If thinking was against the law, they’d have to lock up the entire male population. You’re safe.”
But for how long?
Logan squirmed, because seeing Merrie stretch was guaranteed to make him even hotter and more uncomfortable, and he’d already been pretty hot and uncomfortable. Her hair was all rumpled from sleeping in his arms. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup, though with her flawless complexion, she really didn’t need any. Her green shirt was practical, yet it matched her eyes. Her jeans were quite a turn-on, but it was the woman who made the jeans, rather than the other way around.
The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5) Page 11
