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The Marriage Stampede
Julianna Morris


WRANGLERS& LaceREADY…SET…MARRIAGE!It seemed everyone wanted to marry handsome, wealthy Logan Kincaid. Everyone except Merrie Foster, his make-believe bride-to-be. Well, that was fine by Logan. Playing the enamored groom to Merrie's blushing bride was only a means of avoiding the stampede of would-be wives. Because the last thing Logan wanted was marriage.Or so he thought.Suddenly spending all his days–and his nights–with pretty Merrie on her family's Montana ranch was way too appealing. Heck, if this confirmed bachelor didn't watch out, he would be making a mad dash to the altar himself–with a certain spitfire redhead who'd wound her way around his heart….Hard to tame–impossible to resist–these cowboys meet their perfect match!







“Merrie and I are getting married,” (#u1a6af18f-d9d6-520d-9a0e-25abde990407)Letter to Reader (#ubc438ce3-b333-50c5-a3f5-f633e571a94a)Title Page (#u168cbfff-de7a-5bc3-8658-b0f449581e4b)Dedication (#ua2aec11d-39af-5867-ba70-f0a8d9019951)About the Author (#uf8962f39-74bb-5978-b047-d0784da5f46e)Chapter One (#u44f4203b-727b-5811-82a2-2a1ab64ca410)Chapter Two (#u5fc34ebb-b074-55ff-a815-ee49fc4585d1)Chapter Three (#ua55051e2-62cc-54fc-b554-d99ba67c22c8)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“Merrie and I are getting married,”

Logan suddenly announced.

Without dropping a beat, he put his arm around Merrie’s waist, pulled her close and kissed her astonished mouth.

A startled murmur rippled through the crowded yard—whispers of “Did you hear that?” and “How romantic.”

Married?

Furious, Merrie pushed at Logan’s chest without success. The miserable rat—he was just having fun at her expense. Still...she couldn’t keep from moaning at the heat of his kiss.

It wasn’t wise to get near him. She was too vulnerable...her body too responsive to his warmth and strength.

As soon as she was free, she’d throw Logan to the wolves.

Yet when his grip loosened, Merrie couldn’t help clinging to his shirt. Her knees felt funny—sort of as if they belonged to a newborn calf.

“I’ll get you for this,” she whispered.


Dear Reader,

In May 2000 Silhouette Romance will commemorate its twentieth anniversary! This line has always celebrated the essence of true love in a manner that blends classic themés and the challenges of romance in today’s world into a reassuring, fulfilling novel. From the enchantment of first love to the wonder of second chance, a Silhouette Romance novel demonstrates the power of genuine emotion and the breathless connection that develops between a man and a woman as they discover each other. And this month’s stellar selections are quintessential Silhouette Romance stories!

If you’ve been following LOVING THE BOSS, you’ll be amazed when mysterious Rex Barrington III is unmasked in I Married the Boss! by Laura Anthony. In this month’s FABULOUS FATHERS offering by Donna Clayton, a woman discovers His Ten-Year-Old Secret. And opposites attract in The Rancher and the Heiress, the third of Susan Meier’s TEXAS FAMILY TIES miniseries.

WRANGLERS & LACE returns with Julianna Morris’s

The Marriage Stampede. In this appealing story, a cowgirl butts heads—and hearts—with a bachelor bent on staying that way. Sally Carleen unveils the first book in her exciting duo ON THE WAY TO A WEDDING... with the tale of a twin mistaken for an M.D.’s Bride in Waiting! It’s both a blessing and a dilemma for a single mother when she’s confronted with an amnesiac Husband Found, this month’s FAMILY MATTERS title by Martha Shields.

Enjoy the timeless power of Romance this month, and every month—you won’t be disappointed!






Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




The Marriage Stampede

Julianna Morris







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my friends, Vicki and Carol,

who listened and believed.


JULIANNA MORRIS

has an offbeat sense of humor, which frequently gets her into trouble. She is often accused of being curious about everything...her interests ranging from oceanography and photography to traveling, antiquing, walking on the beach and reading science fiction. Choosing a college major was extremely difficult, but after many changes she earned a bachelor’s degree in environmental science.

Julianna’s writing is supervised by a cat named Gandalf, who sits on the computer monitor and criticizes each keystroke. Ultimately, she would like a home overlooking the ocean, where she can write to her heart’s content—and Gandalf’s malcontent. She’d like to share that home with her own romantic hero, someone with a warm, sexy smile, lots of patience and an offbeat sense of humor to match her own. Oh, yes...and he has to like cats.








Chapter One

“What now?” Logan Kincaid muttered as he pulled into his driveway.

A group of children were gathered beneath one of the big-leaf maple trees that shaded his property. They stared into the branches with rapt attention.

“Is something wrong?” he called and they jumped.

One of the boys faced him with a wary expression. “Our kite got stuck, sir. Merrie got it for us, but now she can’t get down.”

Logan sighed wearily. “Merrie?”

“You know, Merrie.” The kid rolled his eyes.

Shrugging, Logan joined the group and looked up as well, expecting to see the local tomboy. His eyes widened at the sight of a woman in shorts and a camisole T-shirt, squirming on the steep roof of the old tree house. He had a perfect view of silky legs, a bare midriff exposed by her struggles, and a nicely proportioned bustline... definitely not a tomboy.

His taste normally ran to sleek, long-legged blondes, but “Merrie” was rather attractive. Actually very attractive. She radiated a healthy sexuality that made him think of a hot fire and mulled wine.

Stop that.

Logan stomped on his baser male instincts. This wasn’t the time nor the place to admire a woman’s innate appeal. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t already have enough female trouble—his boss’s daughter had decided it was time he got married... to her. The thought sent a cold shudder down his spine.

“Er, I’ll take care of this,” he told the children. “You go on home.”

They looked at him doubtfully and Logan winced. He had a reputation as the Ogre of Nisqually Drive. It was his own fault; he wasn’t good with kids. He should never have bought a house in such a family oriented neighborhood, but it represented everything he’d never had. There weren’t too many dirt poor kids who could grow up and buy million-dollar acreage overlooking the Puget Sound.

With great reluctance they trudged away, leaving only a sandy-haired boy. The lad had a mutinous look on his face, a wordless determination to face the ogre.

“Hey, Merrie,” the boy called. “Thanks for getting our kite. Are you sure you don’t want us to call 911? It’s great when the fire truck comes. They turn on the lights and everything.”

“No, I’m fine. Go have fun.” She waved her hand.

The child cast another dubious glance at Logan. “I’ll come back later and see if you’re okay,” he assured before following his friends. He obviously didn’t trust an adult’s ability to handle the situation. At least not this adult.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asked the woman. “Why can’t you get down?”

“Uh...” She looked down and he got an impression of jade-green eyes between strands of cinnamon hair. “You must be Mr. Kincaid.”

He nodded.

“Hi. I’m Merrie Foster, Lianne’s sister.”

Another smile twitched the corner of his mouth. Lianne Foster was a quiet young woman who catered his dinner parties and cleaned his house three times a week. She seemed completely opposite to the disheveled firebrand fifteen feet above him. “Pleased to meet you. Why are you here, instead of Lianne?”

Merrie shifted, using her feet to shimmy upward a few inches. The rickety roof of the tree house creaked ominously. “Well...Lianne was supposed to get married next month, then she discovered her slimeball fiancé was sleeping with someone else. He’s a real scuzz. Of course, the whole family knew what he was like except Lianne—she’s a little naive when it comes to things like that. She always believes the best in people.”

Logan blinked, fascinated by the roundabout explanation. “I see.”

“I had him pegged immediately,” she said confidentially. “They weren’t engaged yet, but a decent man doesn’t try to grope another woman when his girlfriend isn’t looking.”

“The scuzz groped you?”

“He tried, but I stabbed his hand with a fork.” Merrie appeared quite pleased with the memory. “I think I hit a vein.”

“Oh.” Logan didn’t know whether he should offer his congratulations or review the coverage on his health insurance. “How did Lianne take the news?”

Merrie pushed her hair away from her face and wrinkled her nose. “He told her it was all a misunderstanding and how terribly sorry he felt about everything and that it was all his fault—which of course it was, but he sounded so sincere and innocent. It was disgusting.”

Logan shook his head. “She believed him?”

“Yeah,” Merrie said, annoyed. “Then she took him to get a tetanus shot.”

“Uh, a wise precaution.”

“It was a clean fork,” Merrie protested. “Right out of the dishwasher. We hadn’t started to eat yet.”

Pain twinged in his temples and Logan rubbed his forehead. It had been a frustrating week and all he wanted was some peace and quiet. But peace seemed out of the question under the circumstances. “Do you always tell total strangers about your personal business?”

“We’re not total strangers. Or least we wouldn’t be if you weren’t so stuck up.”

He glared. “I’m not stuck up.”

“Huh.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know all about it. Lianne invited you to Christmas dinner last year, but you refused even though you didn’t have any plans with your family. Then she kept worrying about you sitting alone in that great big house for the holiday. Jeez, it’s not like she was trying to seduce you or anything. She was just being friendly.”

“I never...that’s absurd,” Logan growled. “I didn’t think any such thing.”

“Better not,” Merrie warned. “Lianne isn’t your type. She wants a lot of kids and a husband who’ll spend time with her instead of trying to become the highest paid investment guru in the state of Washington. You wouldn’t do at all.”

Logan ground his teeth. This was a ridiculous conversation, and it was getting more ridiculous by the minute. “Lots of people don’t want kids. That doesn’t make me the scum of the earth, just honest. How about you? Do you really want a bunch of rug-rats interrupting you every five seconds?”

“I love kids,” Merrie said, then wrinkled her nose again. “Well...except at the end of the school year. You see, I teach junior high school.” She uttered the last part in a dire tone of voice that suggested contact with adolescents was an extremely effective form of birth control.

“Oh.”

Merrie absently combed her hair with her fingers and braided the heavy length. “I have the sixth-grade class. They’re still a little innocent at that age, but seventh and eighth are the worst. You know, I think teenagers are a different species entirely.” She looked at the end of her braid and released the unbound plait. “What do you think?”

“I think you should get down from that tree.”

“I’ve been trying to...what do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “If you had any sense you would have given those kids ten bucks for a new kite, or just told them to forget it. The children in this neighborhood aren’t exactly deprived.”

If possible, her expression turned frostier. “Money isn’t everything—they made that kite themselves. They’re terribly proud of it.”

“Whatever. But what’s wrong now?”

She shimmied upward again, wedging her bare foot on a tree branch extending over the roof. “I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“Stuck. As in pinned. Caught. Unable to get loose.”

He waited—one eyebrow raised—until she sighed.

“I slipped and the back of my shirt got caught between some rotten boards. But it isn’t all bad, it kept me from falling off.”

“Tear it. I’ll buy you a new one.”

She gave him an are-you-kidding-or-just-stupid? look. “I tried, but this knit stuff just stretches.”

“Then take it off.”

“No.”

With a stubborn expression on her face, Merrie wiggled again, reaching both hands around her back and tugging with all her might. The ancient tree house shuddered as she squirmed and Logan hovered between alarm and appreciation. The shirt kept edging up her stomach, exposing more and more skin—no wonder she didn’t want to take it off...she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“You’d better stop,” he said. “This is supposed to be a family neighborhood.”

Merrie paused, composing a withering remark in her head. “Family? Huh. As if you cared. I don’t—” The words strangled in her throat as she realized what Logan Kincaid meant...her top had remained stationary, but her body hadn’t. With a gasp she wiggled upward again and yanked the hem over her stomach.

This was awful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so embarrassed. Modern, intrepid women did not get into silly predicaments. And they didn’t blush, especially in front of stodgy businessmen who saw everything in terms of profit and loss. Just the same, the unmistakable heat of a blush was crawling across her face.

“You were saying?” he asked smoothly.

“Go away.”

“Easier said than done. You’re stuck in my tree. Need any help?”

Merrie lifted her chin. She’d do what every independent woman should do in a similar situation—bluff. “I’m just fine. I’ll manage.”

“What are you going to do? Wait until dark and hope the neighborhood boys don’t have flashlights? I’m sure they’d enjoy the lesson in human anatomy.”

Her toes curled. At the moment, she truly disliked Logan Kincaid. She hated cleaning his already immaculate house, trying to substitute for her heartbroken sister. She disliked the way he’d turned a lovely home into a sterile status symbol. And she especially disliked him.

Oh, yeah?

Merrie cringed at the clamor of her feminine instincts.

Okay. So Lianne hadn’t mentioned that her stuffy, uptight client had broad shoulders and a gorgeous voice. Imagine, failing to mention he looked better than Clark Gable and Cary Grant rolled up together.

Big deal. Lots of men had sexy bodies and great voices. Nice men. Different men from Logan Kincaid, whose idea of a good time was poring over a stock portfolio. Still, Merrie had envisioned him as a boring overachiever with a perpetually annoyed expression on his face. Not... this.

Not pure heartthrob.

Not a guy driving a flashy little Mercedes convertible. It was still a prestige car, but a lot more fun than a sedan. The men she knew didn’t drive prestige cars—fun or not. They drove foreign economy models or old pickup trucks, being mostly teachers and cowboys. Lianne kept saying she should get out more, but Merrie had a schedule that didn’t include a lot of time for socializing.

“That’s a very strange expression,” Logan called up to her. “Are you all right?”

No. I’m having an attack of lust, she thought, totally disgusted with herself. Brother, she had to get a grip. This wasn’t only embarrassing, it was silly. Lianne’s housecleaning client might have the body of a matinee screen idol, but he was pure poison for someone like her. She wanted someone who enjoyed the country and animals and kids, and didn’t care if he made a billion dollars by age forty.

Besides, he couldn’t actually look that good. It had to be an illusion.

“I’m coming up.”

“Don’t bother...” Merrie’s protest petered out because she didn’t have a lot of options. She’d climbed up, confident of her ability to rescue the kite and get down. She hadn’t contemplated getting caught like a treed cat. “Well...be careful,” she said lamely.

Wood scraped against bark as the ladder was adjusted against the trunk. A few seconds later Kincaid swung onto the top of the tree house with surprising ease and he inched across the neglected structure. When she didn’t move he lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Something wrong?”

Yeah. Everything.

The breath had whooshed out of Merrie’s throat as though she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Blast. Not only did Logan Kincaid look fabulous face-to-face, but he also looked...likable. Kind of tired and bored with life, but also endearing with a slightly‘crooked line to his teeth and little crinkles. at the corners of his eyes. Her sister was right, she should get out more.

“I’m...I’m fine,” she stuttered.

“Okay. Lift up a little so I can get you loose.”

With bemused obedience, Merrie turned so he could put his hand beneath her back. The contact of warm, hard fingers against her skin created another shock and she closed her eyes. It was better that way. Safer, because she couldn’t see him. Of course, she could still smell him.

God, he smelled great.

Merrie shook her head. This was crazy. Lianne had encountered a couple of his girlfriends over the years; she’d described each one as sophisticated, elegant, and possessing the personality of a dead mackerel. He even had a list of the characteristics he wanted in a woman, taped to his bathroom mirror. Merrie Foster—small town junior high-school teacher—definitely wasn’t his type.

“You’re sure stuck,” Logan muttered as he tugged at the T-shirt. To get a better grip he bunched it in his fist, dragging the hem up her stomach again.

Merrie tried to pretend it didn’t matter. Her breasts were cupped by the soft fabric. They were mostly covered except for the rounded underswell, and the tiny front buttons were too closely spaced to gape. Besides, Kincaid didn’t seem to notice her impending exposure. Now that irritated her. She might not be his type, but she wasn’t chopped liver, either.

“You’re right, this stuff doesn’t like to rip,” he muttered. “And if I pull too hard we could both go flying.”

She peeked beneath her lashes and saw a look of electric concentration in his brown eyes. He nudged her hip with his knee and she bit her lip. Hard.

“Uh, do you have a knife?” Merrie mumbled, feeling a little desperate. She’d never felt such heart-fluttering attraction in her life. It was embarrassing. Silly. Sophomoric. She was a twenty-nine-year-old woman, for heaven’s sake! Almost thirty, though she didn’t like thinking about that despised birthday.

“No knife,” he said, frowning in concentration. “Maybe it will help if I pull up, instead of out.”

He nudged her again and she almost screamed. She should have let the kids call 911; a fireman in full gear would have been lots better than Logan Kincaid in jeans and a faded shirt that fit like a second skin. How could Lianne have spent four years doing his housekeeping and cooking for his dumb parties without experiencing meltdown?

“This isn’t working,” she said distinctly.

“I know. I’m going to give it a good yank, but I want you to hang onto that tree branch, just in case.” He shifted position again, gathering the back of her shirt with both hands.

Merrie hooked her arm around the branch, telling her overheated mind to forget the show of concern for her safety. Kincaid was just worried about his homeowner’s insurance. He didn’t want a claim for injuries if she fell on his property; it wouldn’t look good and would raise his premiums.

“Here goes,” he murmured.

He yanked and the crack of splintering wood filled the air. The tree house roof disintegrated instantly and Merrie lost hold of the branch as they crashed down. With a powerful twist of his body, Kincaid rolled in the air to avoid landing on her. Instead she landed on him in an ignominious heap. Luckily the floor was a lot sturdier than the roof.

“Umph,” she gasped, trying to get oxygen into her lungs. She wasn’t sure if hitting the ground wouldn’t have been softer. Logan Kincaid had a hard, fit body without an excess ounce.

“Are you all right?”

Putting her hands on his shoulders, Merrie pushed up to look at him. The rat didn’t even look startled and he was breathing just fine. “I’m...phhft...dandy.”

“Anything hurt?”

“L-like my pride?” she asked, still breathless.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I was thinking more along the lines of cuts and bruises and broken bones.”

“Oh...” Merrie shrugged. “Nothing to worry about. During the summer I normally work as a wrangler on my grandfather’s dude ranch. I’m used to stuff like this.”

His gaze drifted down. “That’s interesting. Exactly like this?”

“You know... it happens. Falls and tumbles of various kinds. Even the best riders get thrown.”

“I see.”

Abruptly Merrie realized the intent of his question and she plastered herself to his chest again. Her pride wasn’t the only thing she’d injured—her T-shirt had disappeared completely. But the worst part was the temptation to take advantage of the situation and discover if Logan Kincaid kissed as good as he looked. Men were fairly predictable, after all. He probably wouldn’t mind a taste, even if she didn’t meet his basic qualifications.

Ugh. Merrie gave her forehead a mental slap. If nothing else, that fall had done serious damage to her common sense.

“Where is it?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Five feet up. It’s stuck on what’s left of the roof.”

She cautiously turned her head and saw the ruined remnants of her shirt hanging above them. The buttons had apparently popped in lieu of ripping the back.

“Swell.” Dust filtered down from the gaping hole and she sneezed. “Lianne owes me big time for this.”

Logan’s teeth gleamed whitely in the dim light. “Don’t worry. You can wear mine.”

His fingers slid between them, tickling her bare skin as he unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt. He had two popped open before Merrie could think clearly and comprehend the direction he was taking—a little higher and he’d be tickling more than just her ribs.

“No, you don’t, buster.” In a single motion she rolled to the floor and turned her back. She crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled at the wall.

“That’s gratitude for you.”

“The longer I live, the more I realize that men are all alike,” she announced.

“Ah, Methuselah talking. The wisdom of the ages.”

“Very funny.”

“Isn’t ranch work a strange occupation for a teacher?” he asked. “You’re a, um, you seem a little too small,” he said, apparently qualifying his original thought, which undoubtedly included a reference to the fact she was a woman and shouldn’t be doing a man’s job.

Merrie scowled harder. “You sound like my grandfather. When I was a kid we spent every summer at the ranch. Then one day he realized I was growing up and decided I should be assigned to the cookhouse instead of riding fences. I had to burn four pots of chili and put salt in the coffee before he backed down.”

The shirt, still warm from his body, settled over her shoulders and she stuffed her arms through the sleeves. It hung on her like a tent, but she tied it securely at the waist. She turned around and tried to ignore the sight of Logan’s firm muscles and flat stomach. A wedge of brown hair on his chest tapered into a narrow line, disappearing into his jeans—which just made her wonder how he’d look without those jeans.

Lord... she was out of her mind.

He grinned and leaned back. “Do you hate all men? Or just those of us who are old enough to notice women, and young enough to do something about it?”

Merrie blinked and took a calming breath. “I don’t hate men. I’ve known a lot of louses, but I haven’t given up on the sex completely.”

“I haven’t given up sex, either.”

She gave him a repressive stare—the kind she usually reserved for unruly students. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“You mean you have given it up?” Logan shook his head, enjoying the furious flash of Merrie’s green eyes. Damn, she was feisty. A lot of women would have been hysterical after nearly breaking their necks. “You might want to rethink that choice. As activities go, sex has a lot to offer. And it would be a shame to waste your equipment.” He gave her a significant glance. “If you know what I mean.”

“You...I...you’re impossible.” She kicked him with the heel of her foot and scrambled to the door of the tree house. “My ‘equipment’ is none of your business.”

Additional light poured in through the open door and Logan frowned as he looked at Merrie. “Wait a minute, you’re bleeding.”

She hesitated, one foot on the ladder. “I’m fine.”

“You need first aid.”

“Huh...I know a line when I hear one. You should know that sexually harassing an employee is against the law.”

“Lianne is my employee, not you,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Excuses, excuses.” She descended rapidly from view.

Logan sighed and followed, catching her halfway up the driveway. “It isn’t a line. You’re really bleeding.” He touched a spot on her lower back and she winced.

“See?”

Merrie shrugged when he lifted a red-stained finger. “I must have scratched myself when I fell the first time.” A screeching noise sounded from the house and her eyes widened. “But I don’t have time for that.”

“Make time.”

“Not unless you want to call the fire department. That’s your smoke alarm. I’m sorry, I forgot. I... I left a cake baking. It’s probably charcoal by now.”

“Damn!” Logan sprinted around the back of his house. A thread of smoke rolled from the kitchen as he ran inside. He grabbed a towel and kicked the oven door open, then fished for the burning pan. “Get away,” he shouted to Merrie and flung the smoking mess as far into the yard as possible.

They opened the windows to air the house, then rushed outside again and collapsed on the grass. Merrie stared at the charred remains of her culinary disaster, a funny expression on her face. “It didn’t rise.”

“What?”

“Look—it’s flat. Completely flat. Aren’t cakes supposed to be high and fluffy?”

“Theoretically.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “What the hell difference does it make, anyway? It’s toast now.”

“I just wondered.” Merrie played with the tied ends of her borrowed shirt. “Lianne said she always makes you a cake on Wednesdays, so I tried to bake you a cake. I hate cooking.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said with feeling. “I could have survived without the cake.”

Merrie gave him an irritated glance. “I promised Lianne. She says it makes the house smell homey and all. Honestly, she thinks you need mothering or something.”

Logan smiled. “What do you think?”

Merrie wiggled her toes. She could get arrested for what she thought. “I think you’re a compulsive workaholic.” And sexy as hell. If she hadn’t been raised with old-fashioned values she probably would have attacked him by now.

“That isn’t very nice for someone who tried to burn down my house. I take it you and Lianne aren’t alike in the, uh, domestic arts department?”

“Hardly.” She slumped backward and wrinkled her nose. “During the year I teach science, and I spend the summers in Montana riding horses and tending cattle. I can cook the fluffiest biscuits and the best cowboy stew you’ve ever tasted...as long as it’s over a campfire.”

“Well, you got the fire all right.”

Merrie hunched her shoulders. “If you’d gone on vacation like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have been baking a stupid cake. I’d be in Montana right now, enjoying myself.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault?”

“Well...sort of. Lianne really needed to get away and do some thinking—you know, about her busted engagement and what she wants to do with herself. Of course, if it was me I would have been glad to have gotten rid of the louse. But then, I wouldn’t have gotten engaged to such a creep in the first place.”

“Er, I don’t suppose so.”

“Anyway, Lianne had everything worked out to cover for her clients. Except you, because she thought you were going out of town. Then you canceled and she couldn’t get anyone else but me. I said she should just tell you to forget it, but she was so upset it didn’t do any good. It’s horrible. How could you cancel a vacation?”

“That’s what I want to know,” a chilly voice announced. “I waited in Cancún for three days and you never arrived.”

Logan looked at the woman standing at the edge of his lawn and shuddered. Gloria Scott—the husband-hunting maven of the Pacific Northwest—had found him.

That’s all he needed.


Chapter Two

Sophisticated and elegant.

Lianne was right about Logan Kincaid’s taste in feminine company—the newcomer qualified in every aspect. Still...Merrie cast a quick peek at Kincaid’s face. He stared at the newcomer with the glazed expression of a deer caught in oncoming headlights.

“Gloria,” he said finally. “What a surprise. You went to Cancún?”

“Obviously. Why aren’t you there?”

“Something came up. I had to cancel.”

“I can see that. Who is this?” the woman asked, pointing disdainfully at Merrie without actually looking at her.

“Merrie Foster,” he said. “She’s my, er, my housekeeper’s sister. She’s helping out.”

“I can see that.” This time Gloria gave Merrie a thorough inspection that missed nothing...from the skimpy condition of her shorts to the open neck of the man’s shirt tied under her breasts. “Why is she wearing your clothing? Is that a fringe benefit, or just part of the ‘help’?” she asked, snide insinuation in her voice.

An edge of anger bit into Merrie’s stomach. Maybe she didn’t have a working knowledge of high fashion, but she knew when she’d been insulted. Gloria had better watch herself, or she’d be flatter than burned cake.

“Gloria...please,” Kincaid said in a weary tone. “This is my concern, not yours.”

“It’s all right, we can tell her,” Merrie assured. A vaguely alarmed expression filled his eyes. “I lost my T-shirt in the tree house, and Logan was afraid it would shock the neighbors if I came down in the nude. Isn’t that right?”

He didn’t say anything, so she prodded his knee with her foot. “I...yeah,” he muttered.

Gloria didn’t appreciate the explanation. Her lips got impossibly thinner and her eyes turned a glittering blue. “Tell me, Logan...just how did she lose her little T-shirt?” She made T-shirt sound like pasties and a G-string.

“I’m not invisible. You can talk to me,” Merrie snapped. “Somebody should teach you some manners. I’ve known two-year-olds who act nicer.”

“Logan? Are you going to let your... your maid talk to me that way?”

“You’re on your own,” he drawled. “I don’t have any control over Merrie. She’s a free agent. And she isn’t my maid.”

“Darned right,” Merrie shot back.

Gloria visibly squared her shoulders. “Never mind. It’s just as well, I hate it when you wear such old clothing. You look like a street person. That shirt—it was dreadful. And those jeans! How can you dress that way? If you have to use casual attire, at least do it with some style.”

Style? Merrie almost choked. Logan Kincaid looked better than a raspberry snow cone on a hot summer day. He’d turned her normally controlled hormones into jumping jacks. Was the woman blind, or just plain stupid?

“I dress the way I want,” Kincaid growled.

Gloria waved her hand in a coolly dismissing motion. “I’m sure you could use the company expense account for appropriate purchases...or for anything you want. Father intends to pay all the expenses of your vacation. You’re so valuable to the office, we don’t want you getting burned-out.”

Merrie smothered a laugh and Gloria gave her a drop-dead invitation with her eyes.

Logan briefly contemplated strangling Gloria. She had all the subtlety of a pile driver. If haughty condescension didn’t work, she’d use bribery. Damnation. He’d escorted her to precisely three parties—social functions connected to her father’s brokerage firm. Now she expected his nose in a ring... a wedding ring.

He’d sooner marry a porcupine.

Gloria was colder than an arctic night. He didn’t want to get married ever, least of all to an iceberg.

“I can’t talk right now,” Logan said, deciding against strangulation. It might be a little drastic, no matter how much provocation he’d been given. “We’ll chat when I get back to the office.”

“Chat?” Gloria echoed incredulously.

“Miss Foster needs some medical attention.” Logan gave Merrie a pleading glance. He didn’t expect her to understand, but he needed help, even from such an unlikely source. She uttered a convincing groan, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Uh, I hope it isn’t serious. We may have to go to the hospital.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Gloria sputtered.

“No.” He shook his head. “You can’t be too careful with these things. Thanks for stopping by. Too bad we didn’t run in to each other in Cancún. What a coincidence, both of us choosing the same place for a vacation. Merrie?”

He held out his hand and Merrie continued her performance, rising to her feet between heartfelt moans. He finally lifted her in his arms and hurried inside, kicking the door closed behind them. For an endless minute he waited, listening for the soft roar of Gloria’s sports car. When the sound of the engine faded into the distance he breathed a sigh of relief.

“You can put me down now.”

Logan grinned at Merrie. She was a mess. Her long, cinnamon hair spilled freely across them both. She had a smudge of dirt on one cheek. Her bare thighs were nestled snugly against his arms and chest. And while it was too large for her tiny frame, his shirt barely covered the most interesting portions of her anatomy...portions he’d already seen to great advantage.

“Gosh, you were in so much agony, I didn’t think you could walk.”

“I can walk. I can also kick.”

“That’s reassuring.” Logan shifted Merrie so he wouldn’t have such a tantalizing view. It didn’t help. Putting her down might help, but he was enjoying himself too much.

Feature by feature, Merrie Foster wasn’t actually beautiful. Yet as a whole? Big green eyes dominated her face. She had a stubborn little chin. And her creamy, porcelain clear skin was highlighted by masses of cinnamon hair. She’d rate a second look in any crowd.

And a third and a fourth.

“By the way,” he murmured. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“It’s only fair,” she said. “You got me out of the tree.”

“That was easy compared to Gloria Scott. You see, she’s decided to get married.”

“To you?”

His head rested against the glass pane of the door. “Unfortunately. I’ve tried to be polite. I’ve tried to be direct. I’ve tried being downright rude. But nothing seems to work. I kept my travel plans secret and she found out anyway. So I canceled my flight, blew a hotel reservation and here I am.”

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 relationship.”

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 shoved 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.

“What will it be?” she asked. “Orange blossoms or horses?”

He looked at Merrie, with her eyes filled with laughter... and made up his mind. “Horses. I’ll start packing.”


Chapter Three

“How often do you do this?”

Merrie glanced at Logan Kincaid, sitting next to her in the small Cessna. He’d stared ahead with his jaw and fingers clenched during the entire flight. It was hard not to take his jitters personally. He obviously didn’t have a lot of confidence in female pilots...or at least in this female pilot. From the moment they’d gotten to the private airstrip in Rapid City he’d been full of excuses why they shouldn’t fly the second leg to the ranch.

“Do what?” She adjusted a dial and pretended to be confused by the blinking lights on the instrument panel. The plane was registered to the ranch, but she was the only member of the family with a pilot’s license, so it was available whenever she wanted.

“Fly,” he muttered. Logan peered out the window and Merrie waggled the wings out of pure irritation. He took one look at her hostile expression and made an obvious effort to relax.

“Once in a while,” she said, intentionally sounding vague. “But it’s an expensive hobby, and I’ve been saving my money.”

“Uh...yeah. To buy the ranch. A teacher doesn’t earn that much. Saving must be hard.”

The observation surprised Merrie, because she hadn’t thought he’d actually listened during their conversation about marriage lists and husbands and wives, and dreams for the future.

“You’d be surprised,” Merrie murmured. “I tutor students at night and I don’t pay rent because I live in an apartment over my mom and dad’s garage. And I earn a lot every summer working as a wrangler. I’m hoping my grandfather will be impressed by a big down payment.”

Logan shifted in the cramped seat. “How did you learn to fly?”

Her mouth tightened in disgust. “It was Granddad’s idea. He paid for the lessons, hoping I’d forget about wanting the ranch. He sure doesn’t know much about women. But he got his money’s worth, because there are a lot of tourists who don’t want to drive from Rapid City. They pay well, and that way we have the plane for emergencies.”

Logan shifted again, banging his elbow on the cockpit door. Merrie hid a smile; the compact Cessna wasn’t designed for a man with such long legs and broad shoulders.

“Was that before or after he assigned you to the cookhouse?”

“After. Granddad had got a little more subtle by the time I turned eighteen. He graduated from blustery commands to bribery. It didn’t work, but I took the lessons because I could see how handy they’d be out here.”

The radio crackled and Merrie exchanged a few words with a ham operator. Seeing the familiar landmarks, she turned into the approach for the private airfield on the Bar Nothing Ranch. Kincaid tensed again as they descended and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m very good,” she said pointedly. “Even Granddad flies with me.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Huh. Do you want to circle the ranch to see it, or go straight in?”

“Straight in. Er...down.”

“Tough guy,” Merrie muttered. The wheels touched down and she taxied to a comfortable spot near a waiting pickup. A cowboy sat slouched in the driver’s side, his hat tipped over his eyes. Probably Chip Packwood—he could sleep through anything. “We’re here,” she said unnecessarily.

“Yeah.” Secretly impressed, Logan glanced around at the rolling, tree-studded hills, all golden in the long rays of afternoon light. The small airfield was meticulously maintained. On one side stood a fuel tank next to a sturdy building, with Bar Nothing Ranch lettered neatly on its side. However chauvinistic, Merrie’s grandfather seemed to be a fine manager.

“You haven’t said much,” Merrie said, flicking switches and unfastening her belt.

He glanced back at her and shook his head. “I’ve been catching my breath. You’re sort of like a tidal wave. I haven’t had a peaceful moment in the past twenty-four hours.”

Her green eyes flashed with irritation. “You didn’t have to come.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t want to admit he’d enjoyed being caught up in Merrie’s headlong rush. He had the feeling she swept everyone along with her enthusiasm. The students she taught. Ranch guests. Everyone. In her own unique way, she was irresistible.

Uh-oh.

Logan took a deep breath. Irresistible wasn’t a good word to attach to a woman, especially Merrie. Irresistible suggested acceptance and commitment. Even if he wanted to get married, it wouldn’t be to someone so intense. Still...it might be interesting getting to know her.

“I’m here now, so I may as well make the best of things.” he said casually. “How do I get the door open?”.

“It’s easy, like this.” Merrie leaned across him and felt for the latch on the door. Logan immediately put his hand on her waist and grinned at the startled surprise in her face.

“Nice view,” he drawled, his gaze flicking over the shadowed opening of her plaid shirt. She’d undone the top few buttons after they’d left Rapid City, saying it took a while to acclimatize to the heat of Montana after rainy Seattle. “Of course, it would be even better without the shirt...I should know.”

“Fink,” she growled, withdrawing immediately to her own side of the plane.

“For shame, you ought to be more polite to the paying guests.”

“For your information, wrangler isn’t spelled h-o-o-k-e-r,” she snapped. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Logan said mildly. “You’re awfully touchy about sex. It makes a guy wonder...are you a virgin?”

A brief flare of color hit Merrie’s cheeks. “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed.

His eyes widened. He’d just been teasing, but something in the tone of her voice and the instant flush made him wonder. “Uh, how old are you?”

“Never mind that.”

Logan rubbed his forehead. In her tight jeans, Merrie looked like a sexy college freshman, yet she had to be older. And if she was still a virgin...he felt embarrassed and hot and hungry, all at the same time. “How old, Merrie?”

“All right. Twenty-nine.” She fidgeted with the belt snapped across her waist. “Actually I’ll be thirty next week.” The gloomy emphasis she placed on the word thirty made him grin.

“Hey, I’m thirty-six,” he said. “It’s great to be thirty. People don’t treat you like a kid anymore.”

“You wouldn’t understand, you’re a man.”

Oh. Logan nodded his head. He’d heard this argument before. “Let’s see...the biological clock? Aren’t you about ten years too early to be stressing out about it?”

“That isn’t it at all. Well...maybe a little bit,” Merrie qualified. “But you don’t have to worry about being too old to have babies and making a success of yourself all at the same time.”

Logan had heard this one, too—how men could put off getting married and starting a family, so they couldn’t understand how hard it was for a woman. “Since I don’t plan on having kids, that isn’t much of a problem,” he remarked.

“Yeah, but you have loads of time to change your mind.” Merrie chewed on her bottom lip. “It isn’t turning thirty, it’s not...” Her voice trailed and she smiled brightly, determinedly. “Never mind. Everything’s going to work out. I’ve got a plan.”

He lightly tugged a lock of her cinnamon hair. It wasn’t his concern, but he felt an affinity with her. They both had big plans for the future.

“Let’s see,” he said. “You’re twenty-nine. You want to buy your family ranch. You want kids, which presumably includes a husband in the equation. And you’re a virgin.”

“I’m not...huh.” Merrie crossed her arms over her stomach and scowled. “That’s none of your business.”

“I think your plan needs some tinkering.” Logan leaned closer and caressed the curve of her neck. She swatted his hand but he didn’t move.

“I’m not tinkering with you, so forget it. And my virginity—or lack of it,” she added hastily, “is my own concern. Check out the other guests if you’re that desperate. We usually have a couple of single women.”

“I’m not desperate. And how do you know I wasn’t talking about something else?”

“Because men always think about sex. It’s your first, last and middle thought of the day.” Merrie shimmied away, leaning against her side of the plane and looking hopefully at the nearby truck.

Logan spared the vehicle a brief glance. The sleeping driver hadn’t moved a muscle. “No help there.”

“I could scream.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“You...you arrogant jerk,” she huffed, not looking particularly worried. “I’ll scream if I want, and Chip will beat you into a pulp. He’s very protective.”

He tried not to smile. “Chip?”

“Yeah, in the truck. You can tell by his hatband.” She wrinkled her nose, temporarily forgetting her anger. “He always keeps a strip of condoms beneath the band, and they make these round patterns in the leather. I guess he thinks it’s sexy or something, because it’s obvious what’s in there even when the edges don’t stick out.”

Logan hesitated. Merrie Foster was perfectly capable of pulling his leg, and this sounded like a Wild West tall story. “That’s an odd place to keep something like that. Surely cowboys don’t wear their hats to bed.”

She shrugged, an enigmatic smile on her mouth. “Cowboys wear their hats everywhere.”

“Oh.” Logan didn’t like the smile. “I guess ol’ Chip is protective. It sounds like he’s got lots of protection, except it isn’t the kind an innocent young thing needs to stay innocent. If you know what I mean...?”

She blinked, then laughed. “Forget it. I’m not talking. As far as the hat goes, you’ll see for yourself. This is Montana—anything can happen out here. It’s a land of individuality.”

“Right.” Logan unlatched his door and swung it open. Time for a change of subject. A safer subject. “So tell me, how did you choose teaching for a career? Ranching and teaching don’t seem compatible.”

“No, it’s perfect!” Merrie followed him out of the plane, carrying some blocks connected by ropes. “We’re really isolated on the Bar Nothing, so I can do home instruction when I have my own kids. See? It works out great.”

In a strange way, he had to agree. It also made sense that Merrie had never made time for having intimate male friends, though he didn’t think she’d admit to the fact.

He sighed, but it was a happy sigh. For someone whose vacation plans had been ruined, he wasn’t having a bad time at all. This dude ranch thing seemed to be working out better than he’d expected.

Chip the sleeping cowboy didn’t stir as Merrie placed the blocks against the plane wheels, at the same time explaining the maintenance building also included a hangar area in case of bad weather. She seemed a little nervous, which he understood. He’d really pushed her with that virgin bit. After all, a lot of men would probably consider virginity an affront, or maybe even a challenge.

Now he was different.

It wasn’t a challenge, though it made him curious.

Curious? his conscience screamed. Right. It made him...invigorated. Anyway, Merrie certainly didn’t seem virginal. She was confident and self-aware, which didn’t mean she wasn’t innocent, but it made him wonder.

“Well, if it isn’t the Red Bombshell,” a lazy voice announced.

“Hey, Chip.” Merrie waved.

The cowboy unfolded himself from the cab of the truck and ambled over to Merrie, lifting her into a huge bear hug. He then tipped her backward and planted a dramatic kiss on her lips, all without disturbing the hat perched on his head. Logan felt his eyes narrow.

“Glad to have ya back,” Chip said when he was done. “The boss sent me out to pick you up. Who’s the slicker?”

“Logan Kincaid.”

“Howdy, Kincaid.” The cowboy held out his hand, which Logan grabbed and slowly squeezed. They were about the same height and age, though Chip’s skin had clearly been weathered by a succession of long summers and harsh winters. That wasn’t all. Obvious circles were clearly visible beneath the Montanan’s hat. Sure enough, the man kept a supply of condoms, right where he could always count on finding them.




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