The Marriage Stampede

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.”