He cleared his throat. “We’d better find the Hardings and explain nothing happened to us. I like your grandparents. I don’t want them to worry.”
“Okay.”
She put out her hand and he tugged her to her feet. Fractured light glinted off the pieces of the wineglass they’d broken, and they collected them with the basket and the quilt they’d been sleeping on. But before Merrie could leave, he caught her shoulders.
“Honey, about the things I said last night...I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Her eyes regarded him soberly. Silently.
“You really are special.”
Merrie sighed and bit the tip of her tongue to keep from saying something she’d regret. Special? Maybe, but not special enough. And she was a fool for worrying about it. The ranch was solid, real, not a fleeting moment of passion that would break her heart in the end.
She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to hurt your pride, either.”
“I just want you so much, I don’t think straight,” he murmured, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks and lips.
“Please, Logan. Don’t talk about that.”
“Why, honey? We aren’t a couple of teenagers with runaway hormones, we’re adults. We can talk about our needs.”
“Right, we’re adults with runaway hormones. Talk about it? That’s like putting a lighted match to gasoline.” Merrie stepped back, shaking her head determinedly. “Let’s go tell everyone we didn’t elope—though I doubt anybody’s worried about it. They must have seen us from the house.”
“If I was your grandfather, I’d have worried more about seeing us wrapped up together before the wedding.”
“You know something, Logan?” she said, glancing at him as they walked down the hill. “You’re a fraud. A prude in disguise.”
“I am not.”
“Sure you are.” Merrie surveyed him up and down. His hair was mussed, beard shadow darkened his skin, and his eyes were sleepily compelling. All man. Sex incarnated. And she decided he was still disgustingly perfect—prude or not.
“I am definitely not a prude. That’s a terrible thing to call a man.”
“Huh. It’s all fine and modern to have an affair with me, but if it was your daughter being seduced, you’d flip out and call the marines.”
“I’m never going to have a daughter.”
Her lips tightened. “Good for you.”
“Hey, it’s not a crime,” Logan protested. “I’m rotten with children. The kids in the neighborhood call me an ogre, did you know that? Would you wish that on some poor, unsuspecting child? The Ogre of Nisqually Drive for a father. What a nightmare.”
She was about to declare he deserved the title when the kitchen door opened and her grandmother appeared, full of smiles and twinkles. “Come in and have some breakfast. I wondered if you’d ever wake up.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Harding.” Logan glanced at Merrie and saw her mouth twist wryly. “Grandma,” he amended. “We didn’t intend to fall asleep out there—blame it on the champagne.”
Eva laughed and investigated the basket she’d given them the night before. She pulled out the bottle, which still held a fair amount of wine. “I think you got drunk on each other. Oh, my...I remember when Paul and I were first married.” A tender smile curved her mouth. “We’d sit out on that same hill and talk and talk.”
“We talked all right,” Merrie muttered.
“Eat, you two,” Eva urged, not seeming to notice Merrie’s discomfort.
The table was laden with crisp waffles and ham and country fried potatoes, accompanied by such treats as strawberries and peach preserves and home-churned butter. A feast by any standards, but the combination of hard work and fresh Montana air had put a healthy edge to his appetite.
A pleased smile grew on his face, despite his concerns about Merrie and the subterfuge they were perpetuating. He’d never enjoyed himself so much.
The Bar Nothing might entertain “dudes” to earn extra money, but cattle were their business. They didn’t play around, they fiercely protected their animals and conducted a full range of ranching activities. It was a far cry from making rich people richer, and lots more satisfying than manipulating stock portfolios, where money existed on paper as a kind of game. More and more, he understood Merrie’s passion for owning the Bar Nothing.
“Where did you and Mr. Harding meet?” Logan asked, gently pushing Merrie into a chair.
Eva joined them for a cup of coffee, a faraway expression on her lined face. “Paul had just graduated from an agricultural college in California, and I was traveling by train to visit a cousin in Sacramento. I got off at the wrong station and asked this giant of a man for help. He took one look at me and said ‘You’re the girl I’m going to marry.”’
“I said no such thing,” Paul Harding denied as he walked into the kitchen.
“Don’t listen to him, Logan,” Eva ordered. “He doesn’t want you to know what a hopeless romantic he used to be.”
“I was never romantic, and I remember exactly what I told you.” The elder man smiled. “I said you’d need a better sense of direction if you expected to marry me and live in Montana.”
“You were always cocky,” she scolded, but there was no anger in her words, only love.
Logan grinned and looked at Merrie. Though she must have heard it a hundred times, she was leaning forward, her eyes soft as she listened to the teasing story.
“How long before you actually got married?” he asked.
Paul shook his head sorrowfully. “Five whole days. It always takes Eva a while to make up her mind.”
Mrs. Harding shook her head. “Listen to him talk. You’d think it was all my idea to wait.”
Five days? Logan was stunned. It was obvious the Hardings had enjoyed a long, happy life, but how could you get to know another person so quickly? Enough to be sure you wanted to spend a lifetime together? Five days...most people took longer deciding what kind of car to buy.
Even if he believed in marriage, he’d take a lot longer to decide. Wouldn’t he?
God, he was confused.
A week ago he would have said there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever think of getting married. Now he wasn’t so sure; meeting Merrie had changed everything. He could almost believe in a happy marriage with her. And it wasn’t only because she was beautiful...it was because of everything that made her so special—her laughter and determination and honesty, the way she had of making everything fun.
Marriage might not be that bad.
Right?
Of course, he might be a little euphoric. Vacations could do that to a person. Yet he could almost see it working.
Aware of Merrie’s gaze upon him, Logan took a long swallow of coffee. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she seemed different this morning. Uneasy. He didn’t blame her—they both disliked the deception they were playing on her grandparents. It had started out innocently and snowballed into a gigantic muddle.
“Er, what are we assigned to do today, sir?” he asked Mr. Harding. “I know we’re late getting started.”
“Late indeed,” scolded Paul, though his eyes gleamed. “But that’s all right. You can ride the fence lines to the west.”
Merrie straightened in her chair and hastily swallowed the bite of waffle in her mouth. She didn’t mind occasional busywork when they were keeping vacationers happy, but she didn’t enjoy doing it for no reason.
“Granddad—the dudes just moved the cattle in that section two days ago, and you had Spike ride the fences at the same time. They’re fine.”
“Check ‘em again.”
“But—”
“Now, Merrie,” he chided gently. “Half the day is gone already, and you’ve both worked hard since getting here. You and Logan just have a relaxing time together. Don’t worry about the ranch for once. It’ll keep.”
“I...okay.” She glowered and bit her tongue against another protest. Paul Harding was the boss. She might be a relative, yet like everyo
ne else working on the Bar Nothing, she did what he said.
“Yes,” urged her grandmother. “You should enjoy yourselves more. You only get engaged once.”
Merrie pressed her fingernails into her palm. She’d gotten herself into this mess—with a little help from Logan—and she’d have to get herself out. Only how? That was the big question. They could pretend to have a fight and break off the engagement, except that would mean telling another lie. On the other hand, revealing the truth didn’t seem any easier.
“We’ll be happy to ride the fence lines,” Logan said, putting his hand over hers and squeezing softly. “Maybe we could have another picnic.”
Merrie snatched her hand away. “I don’t think so.”
“Wonderful,” Eva enthused, as though Merrie hadn’t said anything. “I’ll pack a lunch right now.”
Swell.
She gave Logan a look that no one could interpret as friendly. Luckily he was the only one watching. “Uh, finish your breakfast. I’ll meet you at the corral in an hour,” she told him.
He smiled complacently.
“Merrie?”
Merrie peered over the edge of the loft. It was peaceful and shadowy this high in the barn. Maybe if she kept quiet, Logan wouldn’t be able to find her and she could spend the day without his annoying, upsetting presence.
Except he wasn’t that annoying, and she was mostly upset by daydreams of brown-haired, brown-eyed children, all with Logan Kincaid’s devastating grin.
“Honey?”
She sighed. “Here.”
Logan appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the brighter daylight outside the barn. “Where?”
“Up here.” She leaned farther out, holding on to one of the roof beams. “I had some extra time, so I’ve been searching for Pidge’s family.”
He found the steps to the loft and climbed up. “And who is Pidge?”
“Pidge is a cat—the best mouser ever born,” Merrie explained. “She had her babies a few days ago, but I haven’t been able to find where she’s hidden them. Mother cats are extremely protective, and she doesn’t like all the comings and goings of visitors. You can’t blame her, it’s instinctive.”
“This seems like a good hiding place. Very...private.”
Merrie groaned. She recognized that particular look in Logan’s eyes. The close intimacy of the loft was the last place she wanted to be when he was thinking about privacy. “We’d better head out,” she said quickly. “Grandfather wants those fence lines checked.”
“No rush. They just want us to spend the day together. Our engagement has been awfully nice—everyone gives us time alone. It’s so considerate of them.”
“Our fake engagement,” she felt obliged to point out, rather unnecessarily since Logan wasn’t likely to get married to anyone, especially her.
Logan leaned against a bale of hay and glanced around. “It’s nice up here. Tidy, practical...I like that about the Bar Nothing. There aren’t any neglected corners.”
“Thanks.” Merrie squirmed restlessly. She’d have to climb over his legs to get to the ladder, something he’d probably realized when he sat there. His “no kissing” promise had been limited to her birthday, and it wasn’t her birthday anymore. Which was a problem, because she wanted Logan to kiss her.
No doubt about it—she was an idiot.
Though he’d apologized for his comments the night before, it didn’t change the truth of what he’d said. If Logan ever got married, it would be to someone completely opposite than herself. Someone calm and unemotional, who didn’t turn everything into a “drama.”
It made a peculiar kind of sense, considering what he’d revealed of his childhood. Drunken fights between his parents. The humiliation a child would feel at having the police come to the door for any reason. Merrie Foster—with her tendency to speak before thinking—was the last woman he’d want for a wife.
Yet all that stuff about being the Ogre of Nisqually Drive...did that mean he was thinking about having a family? Was he questioning his ability to be a good father? Interesting...not that she cared, of course. But it was very interesting.
“I take it you didn’t find Pidge?” Logan asked.
“Er, no.”
“Do you think she’s all right?”
Merrie played with the ends of the bandanna tied around her neck. “She’s been coming up to the house to eat. Pidge just doesn’t like to share her kittens till they’re older. Cats are very independent, you know. Naturally when females are in heat things get pretty rowdy.”
Babbling, she thought. She was babbling because Logan was getting closer and closer to her heart, and she didn’t want him anywhere near that vulnerable organ.
Logan smiled lazily. “Isn’t it great the way sex stirs things up?”
Warmth burned in her cheeks. “Sex must be better for the male, than the female. After all, it’s the female who ends up pregnant—not too many tomcats stick around to play papa.”
“Maybe they don’t think they’d be any good with babies,” Logan suggested, and they both knew he wasn’t talking about tomcats.
Merrie regarded the toes of her boots. “I’ll bet if they stuck around, they’d discover they weren’t that bad with...kittens.”
“I don’t know. Papas lack the necessary equipment to keep babies happy.” Logan sent a significant look to her bustling.
“Excuses, excuses.” She took a shaky breath and crawled over his outstretched legs. “I don’t want to talk about cats or their sex lives. Let’s get going.”
“I don’t want to talk, period.” He deftly caught one of the belt loops of her jeans and tipped her backward to the floor.
“Logan!”
“Merrie!” he mimicked in the same tone. “I just want a private moment with my fiancée.” He leaned over her, tracing the curve of her face with his finger.
“We just spent the night together,” she said carelessly. “What more could you want?”
“Hmm. I must have slept through the fun part of that activity. Let’s try a repeat on that pile of hay in the corner. I’m sure I’ll remember this time.”
Merrie wanted to be angry. She really did. Men had their minds permanently engraved with one thought...sex. Though, she had to admit she’d been guilty of that herself lately. Except...it wasn’t just sex. It was so easy talking to Logan, laughing and sharing her dreams. Even fighting with him was fun, though she preferred the alternative.
Why couldn’t he see that? Fights didn’t have to be destructive. You could disagree with a person and still care about them...still have a normal, happy life.
Damn.
The closer she got to Logan, the more she started thinking impossible things. Where was her common sense? She didn’t want to choose between Logan and the ranch, and she’d have to choose if they fell in love.
“How about it, honey?” He fiddled with the top button of her shirt, and for the life of her, she couldn’t push him away.
“You don’t really expect me to say yes?”
He shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
“Well, think again.” But an unwilling smile brightened her face, and he kissed the corner of her mouth.
“You don’t sound convinced,” Logan whispered. “How about it? Everyone should have a roll in the hay to remember in their old age.”
“Huh. Rolling in the hay isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. It’s messy and it pokes you—especially when you aren’t wearing any clothes.”
“Really?” Logan looked at the golden mass of straw with a speculative eye. “Are you speaking from experience, or did someone tell you about it?”
“That’s privileged information.”
“Even for a fiancé?”
“You aren’t—”
All at once Merrie froze, hearing a sound in the barn below them. They both turned their heads and listened warily.
One of the horses neighed.
A board creaked.
A scrabbling sound came from the staircase, a
nd Bandit’s friendly face appeared over the top step.
The shepherd “woofed” and they laughed with relief. It would be hard enough coming clean about their supposed engagement, without the truth being accidentally overheard.
“I think Bandit is anxious for us to get out riding,” Merrie whispered. She started to edge away from Logan, only to have him catch her arms.
“Merrie...you seem different today. Is something wrong?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Aside from the fact I’m lying to my grandparents and friends? Or the minor detail that I’m thirty years old and am no closer to owning the ranch other than a discussion with Grandfather? And that—”
“Okay,” Logan said quickly. “I get the picture. To be honest, I was afraid you were still angry about last night, but I guess you have bigger worries.”
To her surprise, Merrie almost giggled, because one of her “big” worries was pressing alongside the worn denim covering her thigh...and Logan didn’t even seem aware of his condition. She looped her arms around his neck and smiled. He was a nice man. A little mixed up and dangerous to her peace of mind, but darned nice all the same.
“I’m not angry about anything.”
“Good.”
The warmth and closeness of the loft had put a damp sheen on his upper lip, and Merrie fought the temptation to lick it off. It would be erotic and sinfully delicious. And it would start his thoughts headed toward rolling in the hay again.
“We’d better go down,” she murmured. “The horses are saddled and waiting.”
“Yeah, I guess we’d better,” Logan agreed, but he didn’t move any more than she did.
“We’re not accomplishing anything.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” And he rubbed against her thigh in a way that said he’d never forgotten the dominantly male part of his anatomy, he’d just been biding his time for a better moment to bring it to her attention.
The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5) Page 12
