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Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!
“I like hearing your laughter. It opens up a whole new world.”
Startled, Hope stared at him, the amusement dying as she gazed into his eyes. Flames licked over her nerves at his intense perusal. Awareness flickered between them, as insistent as heat lightning in a summer storm.
With effort, she looked away.
“It isn’t going to disappear,” Collin said, his voice rich with nuances that hinted at future bliss…and reckless, impossible complications.
She thought of pretending not to know what he meant, but discarded the notion. “Nothing is going to come of it,” she said instead.
“Nothing?”
“No. The Baxters and Kincaids will always be on opposite sides.”
A wry smile curved his expressive lips.
“You’re wrong. And soon I’ll prove it.”
Outlaw Marriage
Laurie Paige
MILLS & BOON
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LAURIE PAIGE
“One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from RT Book Reviews for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette Book in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list.
Settled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will bring.
To Sonja and her runaway groom
Best Wishes
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
One
H ope Baxter exhaled a pensive sigh, her gaze on the mountains to the west of Whitehorn. Today the lofty peaks didn’t comfort her troubled spirit. Neither did they gain her any perspective on the problems confronting her.
Not that the problems were personal, she hastened to assure herself.
The elaborately hand-carved sign on the lawn that proclaimed the building to be the new headquarters of the Baxter Development Corporation reminded her of her duties. She squared her shoulders and glanced toward the neatly arranged papers on her desk.
As the chief attorney on the case of Baxter versus Kincaid et al, she had to be cool, decisive and firm in the meeting with Collin Kincaid. She wondered where he was. Punctual in their prior meetings, he was ten minutes late for this one and he was the one who had requested it.
A movement caught her eye. She paused, her attention on the street in front of the building, and watched as a tall, agile rancher climbed out of a battered pickup, the standard mode of transportation for about ninety percent of the rural residents of Montana. He walked up the sidewalk toward the entrance of the building.
Collin Kincaid. Handsome, as all the Kincaid men were. Eyes like blue sapphires. Dark, almost-black, hair. Half a foot taller than her own five-seven stature, giving him the height advantage even when she wore high heels. He was also muscular. His palm had been calloused when they had shaken hands at their first meeting. He was a working rancher, not an armchair cowboy.
Collin was also the only legitimate grandson of Garrett Kincaid. Garrett was trying to buy the old Kincaid spread from the trustees who managed the ranch for seven-year-old Jenny McCallum, the heir to the throne, so to speak. The grandfather wanted to provide a legacy for the other six grandsons—a seventh hadn’t been found yet but was thought to exist—all of whom were the bastard offspring of Garrett’s deceased son, Larry Kincaid.
Oh, what tangled webs we weave…
Not just Larry with his profligate womanizing, she mused, but all humans. She gave a snort of amusement. My, but she was waxing philosophical today.
Because Collin Kincaid made her nervous? Because she’d felt the unmistakable pull of male-female interest between them the first time they’d met? Because they were enemies?
Impatient with her thoughts, she resumed her seat in the executive chair and pulled herself closer to the desk. It was an effective shield, she’d found, for dealing with those who didn’t take her seriously as an attorney.
The secretary—another indication, along with the sign and new building, of the corporation’s affluent image, one her father wanted to project these days—buzzed her on the intercom and announced Kincaid’s arrival.
“Send him in,” she requested. She didn’t stand when the door opened. Keeping her seat kept her in the position of authority. In this
