Julianna Morris - The Marriage Stampede

“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?”