The Marriage Stampede

“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.”