Читать книгу: «The Marriage Stampede»

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.