The Marriage Stampede. Julianna Morris
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