The Marriage Stampede

“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.”