The Marriage Stampede (Wranglers & Lace #5)

by Julianna Morris

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Just ignore her. This isn’t the Victorian age—they don’t do shotgun weddings anymore.”

  “Ignore her?” Logan repeated incredulously. “Nobody ignores Gloria. She’s exhausting; like a mosquito whining in your ear all night long. Most of the time I wouldn’t care that much, but I need a vacation. A quiet, relaxing month on a beach. Nothing but sun and sleep.”

  “Tell her you’re already married,” Merrie suggested. “Or just say you have an incurable disease.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Such as?”

  “Terminal bachelorhood.”

  “That’s not a lot of help.”

  She wiggled and he reluctantly set her on the floor. He didn’t understand himself. Merrie Foster might be attractive, but she was just the sort of explosive, outspoken, impossible woman he made a point of avoiding. “Uh, come upstairs. I’ll put some iodine on that scratch.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Naw. I can tell—you desperately need medical attention.”

  “I’m not cleaning that bathroom again,” Merrie warned as she followed him up the staircase. “But I still have to finish the vacuuming. I had a little trouble with your machine.”

  Since Logan took the pristine state of his home for granted, the first sight of the hallway left him speechless. “Trouble” was right. Somehow the lid of the vacuum had blown off, spewing the contents in a wide arc. He grimaced as his shoes crunched grit into the polished hardwood floor.

  “I take it you’re not mechanically inclined?” he murmured.

  “I’m okay. But that vacuum cleaner isn’t just any machine,” Merrie said, “it’s vicious. You should get an old-fashioned sweeper, not one of those high-tech marvels. I bet you paid over two thousand dollars for that piece of junk.”

  He sighed.

  “Anyway, like I said, it really isn’t my fault.”

  “I know.” Logan pushed her down on a stool in the bathroom. “If I’d gone on vacation, you wouldn’t have burned that cake, or blown up my vacuum cleaner, or gotten stuck up a tree. Gee, I’m beginning to feel like pond scum.”

  Merrie surveyed him critically. “No, you’re uptight and a compulsive overachiever, but I doubt if you’re pond scum.” She pulled the shirt up to reveal her injured back. “And Lianne says you’re generous with pay and bonuses and stuff. That’s kind of nice. Of course, I don’t really know you, so I can’t be sure.”

  The supple curve of Merrie’s body as she leaned over triggered a gut reaction, stronger than he’d felt in a long time.

  Careful, Kincaid...remember, opposites attract.

  The reminder hammered in his brain as he fumbled in the medicine cabinet. Opposites might attract, but that didn’t make them compatible. His parents were on opposite ends of the spectrum and had made themselves miserable, along with everyone else in their lives.

  With a wry twist to his mouth, Logan pulled out the first-aid supplies. His childhood was a sore subject. He’d never forgotten the embarrassment of being the poorest kid in school, or of having the police break up fights between his mother and father because the neighbors complained about the noise.

  “This’ll hurt,” he murmured, dabbing the nasty scratch on Merrie’s spine with a cotton ball dampened in disinfectant.

  “Yeow!” she shrieked.

  God, he hoped she wouldn’t start crying. He awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Sorry. I’ll take you to the hospital if you want.”

  Merrie hugged her knees tighter and shook her head. “Not me. I’m tough.”

  “Yeah, I could tell by the way you screamed.”

  “Screaming helps. It hurts less that way. Can’t you take a little noise?” Merrie turned her face and blinked. The only thing she could see was Logan Kincaid’s belt buckle...and the area below the buckle. Impressive. Who said you could have too much of a good thing?

  “Noise I can take. I’m not sure about you,” he said bluntly.

  “That’s a fine thing to say—especially after I started thinking you weren’t so bad.”

  “You really think I’m all right?” he asked, sounding pleased.

  “I’m still forming an opinion.”

  Actually she was trying to assert rational thought over renegade hormones. Sure, the man was sexy. But he still had that stupid “wife” list. She could see it from the corner of her eye—a healthy reminder that sex appeal alone did not make him a candidate for a relationship.

  “I don’t understand,” she said abruptly, sitting upright. “Gloria seems to meet your specifications for a woman. What’s the big deal?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Your list.” She pointed to the roughly scribbled sheet of paper hanging from the mirror. “You know, that’s a dumb way to look for a woman. You can’t order traits in a person like you’re ordering a hamburger.”

  “I’m not looking for a woman,” Kincaid said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “The list was my brother’s idea. He just got over a nasty divorce, so he wanted me to think twice before I got involved with anyone. The truth is, I’m never getting married.” He tossed the soiled cotton in the wastebasket and reached for some more.

  “Never? That seems pretty final.”

  “Believe me, it’s final.” His expression left her in no doubt about his feelings. “Marriage doesn’t work in my family. If we’re smart, we avoid it completely. If we’re not smart, we’re miserable.”

  “Oh.” Merrie thought for a second. “I don’t know, Gloria still seems perfect, and she’s rich, too. She’d be a great asset for you.”

  A peculiar expression crossed Kincaid’s face. “Thanks a lot, but I want to make my own fortune, not marry into it,” he snapped.

  Whoops.

  Her toes curled into the plush rug. “I wasn’t trying to insult you,” she murmured. “It’s just that you and Gloria seem to have a lot in common according to your dumb list.”

  “Well, we don’t.” He put a bottle of hydrogen peroxide down on the counter with a thump. “And the list isn’t dumb. I mean, it wouldn’t be dumb if I actually wanted a wife. Compatibility is important. Aren’t there certain qualities you want in a husband?”

  She shrugged. “A few.”

  “Such as?”

  Merrie gave him another examination, wishing her nerves would stop jumping—it would be a lot easier to think clearly. And it would help if Kincaid would put on a shirt. She’d seen men in various stages of undress, but none of them had done such drastic things to her breathing.

  If she did have a husband list, she’d put “not too sexy” on it. She certainly didn’t want a husband who embodied the perfect genetic specimen of feminine fantasies. No one needed that kind of stress.

  Merrie cleared her throat. “I don’t want someone who’ll die of hypertension before he’s fifty because he thinks money is the ultimate achievement in life.”

  “What’s wrong with money?”

  “Nothing.” Merrie tossed her head. “I’m reasonably fond of the stuff myself, but you can’t curl up with a bank account at night.”

  “Hmm. What else?”

  “I want to buy my grandfather’s ranch someday, so it would help if my husband wanted the same thing.”

  “See? You have a list, too, only it isn’t written down.”

  He sounded so triumphant she glared.

  “No, I don’t see. You’ve got all kinds of things on that list that are particular and picky and just plain silly. Good hostess...” She started ticking items off on her fingers. “Someone who’s tall, blond, reserved, elegant, composed, sophisticated...in short, you want Gloria What’s-Her-Name.”

  “I don’t want Gloria,” he repeated emphatically. “I never did.”

  “Then why did you date her?” Merrie asked.

  “I escorted her to some office functions. That’s all.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Trust me. I never get involved with a woman who has wedding rings in her eyes. Fun and casual is all I want from a r
elationship.”

  He looked so serious that Merrie bit her tongue and counted to ten. Okay. So the dope didn’t want to get married. So what? Her problem was a lack of a social life. If she’d been dating like a normal woman she wouldn’t have thought he was half so sexy. That was the problem with having a plan. She was scared silly she’d fall for a guy who didn’t want to live on her ranch.

  Get that...her ranch. Like she’d ever convince her grandfather to let a woman take it over. She’d only been trying to convince him since she was a kid, and she wasn’t any closer to owning the Bar Nothing Ranch than she’d been at the horse-crazy age of ten.

  The corners of her mouth turned down. Everyone kept saying she had to compromise—she couldn’t have it all. And if she held out for the ranch before getting married, she might end up with neither.

  “Why so serious?”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled.

  “Sure. Tell me about your family’s ranch.”

  Startled, Merrie looked at him. He couldn’t read her mind, could he? “It’s great. My mother is an only child, so Grandpa doesn’t have a son to give it to. Of course, that’s an archaic attitude, but he says he’s too old to join the twentieth century and that he wouldn’t want to, anyway. He keeps hoping one of my brothers will be interested in running the ranch, but I’m the only one who really cares—Cody and Daniel aren’t the ranching type.”

  “What about Lianne?”

  “She’d rather be boiled in oil.”

  Merrie rested her elbow on her knee, watching as he methodically laid out a pad of gauze, then cut strips of adhesive tape.

  “So it’s you, Lianne, Cody and Daniel?”

  “Yup. Mom wanted to go for five, but Dad said enough was enough after Lianne was born.”

  The grim set to Kincaid’s mouth suggested that even one baby was one too many, and that four must indicate mental instability. She frowned.

  “Does your grandfather want to retire?”

  “Sometimes. He talks about selling the ranch so he and Grandma can move someplace warm, especially during the winter. Montana gets pretty cold.”

  “I’ll bet.” Kincaid dabbed fresh disinfectant on the scratch and then blew across her skin to take the sting away. Merrie buried her face again, trying not to think about the pleasant masculine scent rolling from his body. An eternity later he finished bandaging the injury.

  “All done,” he announced.

  “I suppose you want your shirt back,” she said, sitting up and moaning. They’d hit the floor of the tree house with a bang, and despite her assurances of being tough, it had been over eight months since she’d ridden a horse or worked hard in a physical sense.

  “Would you hit me if I said yes?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Then you’d better keep it.” He gently tugged the shirt over the bandage and smiled. Merrie bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

  Drat. Drat. Triple drat. She didn’t want to feel something for him. Sensual meltdown from a smile didn’t mean anything. Not really. It was just because her thirtieth birthday was coming, reminding her about the biological clock. Men could father babies at any age, but a woman had to have a schedule if she wanted a family. And she really wanted children—three at the very least.

  “Forget about the vacuuming,” he murmured. “I’ll get someone to take care of the house.”

  Merrie stiffened. It was a good thing she hadn’t started trusting Kincaid. He’d probably been nice to make sure she didn’t file a lawsuit for getting injured on his property.

  “No way,” she said stubbornly. “Lianne is a great housekeeper. You’re not replacing her because of me.”

  “I’m not replacing anyone. I just said—”

  “No.” Merrie rubbed the side of her neck, thinking furiously. All at once a devilish idea struck her. “I know, you can come to Montana for your vacation. That’s the answer to both our problems. It might not be a fancy resort on a sunny beach, but dude ranches are all the rage right now. It’s trendy to get dirty.”

  “Getting dirty isn’t a problem, but I—”

  “It’s okay,” she assured. “Grandfather won’t mind. The more the merrier.”

  “I’m sure he won’t,” Kincaid said, exasperated.

  Merrie grinned, thinking of all the ways a down-and-dirty holiday at the ranch could knock some holes in Logan Kincaid’s arrogant attitude. It might be fun—not that she’d let him get hurt. Wranglers prevented tender-footed guests from ending up on the wrong side of a horse, or a bull.

  She’d make sure a good wrangler was assigned to look out for him...it just couldn’t be her. It wouldn’t be smart to expose herself to an excess of Logan Kincaid. He could make a woman’s heart do funny, stupid things. So she’d keep her distance and they’d both have a great time. After all, sleeping on a beach sounded boring. A waste of a perfectly good vacation. He needed to be saved from himself.

  “It’s expensive,” she said cheerfully. “But I’m sure you can afford it. I usually drive to Montana, only we’d better fly to save time. A friend of mine is a travel agent—I’ll call her and get two tickets to Rapid City. That’s in South Dakota, but it’s the nearest commercial airport to the ranch.”

  “I know where Rapid—”

  “We can probably leave tomorrow if we hurry. It’ll be great,” Merrie enthused. “You’ll love it. And I’m sure Grandfather will give you a discount, especially if you stay for the month.”

  Logan shook his head. He’d grown up in the cattle country of eastern Washington. He’d even worked at a feedlot for a couple of summers, earning money for college. It was a long time ago, but he didn’t have any illusions about cattle drives and the romance of the Old West.

  He bent forward, fixing Merrie with his eyes. She was impetuous and completely unsuitable. She made a prudent man want to run in the other direction... which just went to prove he wasn’t prudent, because he also wanted to bury his fingers in her wild hair and taste her impudent mouth.

  “I’m not interested in going to a ranch,” he said, far less emphatically than he’d intended. “And certainly not for a month.”

  “No?” The tip of her tongue flicked across her lips and along the glistening edge of her teeth.

  “No.” His firmness was spoiled by the beginnings of a smile, and Logan groaned silently. He could swear Merrie didn’t have any idea how tempting she was, sitting in his bathroom with her short-shorts and rumpled hair. That hair...he shook his head. It was long and loose, and would look fabulous spread across a man’s pillow in the morning.

  Except it wasn’t possible.

  The Fosters were clearly an old-fashioned family, with close ties and relationships he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Merrie’s sister was a creative woman who thought only of babies and a husband. Merrie might dream of owning the family ranch, but she had “forever” written all over her delicious little body...forever as in marriage.

  If there was one thing he knew, Logan Kincaid wasn’t a forever kind of guy. His notion of a long-term relationship was including nightcaps after dinner.

  Schmuck.

  Logan rubbed the back of his neck. From a certain point of view, his attitude didn’t read so great. But it wasn’t as though he pretended something different. The women he dated shared his aversion to marriage. Gloria Scott was just a nuke—she didn’t count.

  “Hey, are you catatonic?” Merrie waved her fingers in front of his face, one eyebrow lifted.

  He shook his head. “Just thinking.”

  “About Gloria?” she asked, her face bright with amusement.

  “Sort of. The next few weeks are going to be tough. I feel like a trophy she’s trying to win. ‘No’ isn’t in the woman’s vocabulary.”

  Merrie wiggled on the stool, her breasts swaying against the fabric of her borrowed shirt. The tips peaked against the light abrasion and Logan shifted uncomfortably with the sudden, tight fit of his jeans.

  “She’s really that persistent?”

  He sh
oved the medicinal supplies back into the cabinet. “You have no idea. I may have to move to New York sooner than expected if things get too tense. It’s awkward since Gloria’s father owns the firm.”

  Merrie fidgeted with the ends of the knot tied beneath her breasts. “You’re moving to New York?”

  “Sooner or later. I grew up in a small town and hated it. I prefer big cities.”

  She made a disgusted sound. “Seattle isn’t big’ enough? Seattle is huge. We’ve got espresso stands on every corner and professional baseball, what else could a bona fide city lover want?”

  Logan shrugged. “I want to work on Wall Street. It’s the pinnacle in my kind of career.”

  “Boy, sounds exciting. You certainly know how to live. Traffic, noise, pollution—just wonderful.” Merrie’s voice was flat; she obviously didn’t think much of Wall Street and New York. “So, are you really going to make a billion dollars before you’re forty?”

  “Not much danger of that.” Logan leaned against the edge of the sink and crossed his arms over his chest. “But I’m making progress. I’m a good stockbroker.”

  “Who needs a vacation...” Merrie laced her fingers and stretched her arms over her head. It did intriguing things to her body and Logan narrowed his eyes.

  “I told you, I’m not going to Montana.”

  “I know what you said. But on the other hand, would you rather stay here in Washington and wait for Gloria What’s-Her-Name to come back and nag you about marriage?”

  Logan stared at Merrie for a long minute, confused emotions racing through his head. Dismay, amusement... desire. She had a drastic effect on him—an effect bordering on pure anarchy. Gloria Scott was just annoying, but Merrie Foster could do serious damage to his peace of mind.

  Still, she was right about Gloria—the lady was nothing if not tenacious. No one could force him into getting married, but he might have to quit the firm if things got too unpleasant. Besides, he really needed a vacation.

  He’d been distracted lately. Bored. Hell, he might as well admit he’d gotten disgusted with his wealthy clients. They were irritating. They wanted to get richer, then whined because they failed to follow sound advice. Time-off was definitely a good idea. And it wouldn’t be easy to get reservations anywhere decent, not at this late date.