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