Outlaw Marriage Read online

  “Did you see his eyes when they danced?” Meg went on as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “No.”

  “He’s in love with her, Jordan. You’re going to have to accept that. Hope loves him, too.”

  “To hell with that.” Fury burned in him at the betrayal of his own flesh and blood.

  Meg sighed and snuggled close. She planted kisses on his chest and rubbed his back as if he were a child. She confused him with her quick barbs and her tender ways.

  “Look into your heart,” she advised. “Are you being fair to Hope? She could have a future with Collin.”

  “What makes you think his intentions are honorable? He’s using her to gain insights into how we’re going to present our case.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so. Kurt taped a conversation of him talking to his grandfather, telling him how he had Hope eating out of his hand.” He shook his head. “I’m disappointed in Hope, falling for the Kincaid charm.”

  Meg was silent for a minute, her expression pensive. He supposed he’d better get up and go home. The closeness induced by their lovemaking was gone.

  “What are your intentions toward me and my son?” she asked before he could move.

  “I—” He tried to think, but the question had thrown him for a loop. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” he said slowly, watching her green eyes as he spoke.

  She sighed. “I can’t allow you a place in my life if it’s going to be a here-today-gone-tomorrow relationship. My son is young enough to form a lasting attachment. It would hurt him too much. Neither will I be a convenience for you.”

  He flung himself out of bed. “Women always have to complicate things,” he muttered, throwing his clothes on as fast as he could.

  She rose and pulled on a robe. “No. I merely want to be up front with you,” she corrected, a smile tinged with sadness playing over her expressive lips. “It isn’t all going to be your way. I have needs, too. So does my son. If you want to be in our lives, you have to earn the right, then you have to respect it.”

  She spoke firmly, but her eyes were lambent. He felt their caress as if she stroked his heart. There was no anger in her, only an honesty that was open and refreshing. He couldn’t just walk away.

  He dropped his shirt and peeled off his jeans. “It’ll be on your terms,” he heard himself say.

  She smiled and held out her arms. Grateful, he stepped into the embrace and felt her heat warm him all the way through. It had been a long time since he’d felt so…so…

  Welcome.

  Yeah, that was the word.

  “I want you and the boy to move in with me. My house is big enough for all of us.”

  “That can only be through marriage,” she murmured, kissing his throat.

  His body hardened with need. “Okay.”

  She pressed her hands to each side of his face. “Let’s think this through carefully. I don’t want to make any mistakes. And we have Hope to consider.”

  Confused, half angry again, he lifted her in his arms. “I’m considered a good catch by some women.”

  “Huh,” she snorted. “You’re arrogant and obsessed with a piece of land not much good for anything. But there’s goodness in you, too. I think you can be saved in spite of yourself.”

  He didn’t understand that at all, but he would think about it later. Much later. He carried the frustrating, utterly fascinating woman to bed and using all his powers of persuasion tried to convince her marriage was the best thing for them. Dumbfounded, he realized he meant it.

  Hope pushed the papers into her briefcase and headed for her car. It was nearly 9:00 p.m., and she was dead-tired. After a restless night spent dreaming of a duel between Collin and her father—she didn’t need a psychologist to figure that one out—she’d had another confrontation with Jordan over Kurt’s involvement in the case.

  Her presentation was clear and logical. Even her father had conceded that. She didn’t need a man to do the opening statement for her. Kate Randall Walker was known to be scrupulously fair as a judge. They would be lucky to get her.

  Right now, the court was tied up with the Nighthawk case. It didn’t look good for the young doctor. He needed a break, some bit of evidence that would definitely clear him. Not even Perry Mason could make a case out of thin air for Nighthawk.

  Another thing that bothered Hope was her father’s suggestion that Collin had danced with her yesterday at the tribal festivities only to embarrass the Baxters. She had turned the tables when she’d asked him why he had stayed with her and Meg all day.

  He had actually blushed. So there had been something to her intuition about them.

  “Don’t hurt Meg,” she’d advised him coolly. “She doesn’t need a short-term romance.”

  “I’m not offering one,” he’d said just as icily. “Our relationship is none of—”

  He’d stopped before finishing the sentence. Even he could see the double standard in declaring his relationship off limits while hers was fair game.

  “’Relationship’?” she’d asked, pouncing on the word as she’d been trained by some of the finest legal minds in the world. “Has it gone that far?”

  They had reached an impasse. She had looked him straight in the eye, then walked out of his office.

  Sighing tiredly, she realized she hadn’t had anything since a light lunch. She hadn’t anything she could prepare quickly at the condo. Seeing a parking space, she pulled into it and walked across the street to the Hip Hop. They made excellent soup.

  At thirty minutes before closing, the odd little diner had few customers. Hope took a seat at the counter, ordered the soup special of the day with cornbread, then stared at the wall when the waitress left.

  Only it wasn’t the wall. It was a mirror. Reflected in it was a man she would recognize on the dark side of the moon. Collin. He was with a woman.

  The pain was so swift, so violent, it was as if she’d been shot in the abdomen. She looked away, staring at anything but the man and the woman seated at an intimate table for two in the far corner.

  She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t leave. She sat there, grounded to the spot by forces too powerful for her to overcome at that moment.

  “Here you go, ma’am,” the waitress said, placing her food in front of her. After asking if Hope needed anything more, she went back to cleaning behind the counter.

  Hope picked up the spoon. An icy rage settled around her heart. She would eat the soup if it choked her. Never would she break and run in front of an enemy. Especially a Kincaid. She forced one spoonful down. Another. Then another.

  She was almost finished when she heard footsteps behind her. They stopped at the cash register, which was at the counter three stools from her.

  “Hello, Hope,” Collin said in a quiet voice.

  She looked at him then. He was dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. The sleeves were casually rolled back, disclosing corded muscles. She looked at his hands, which had several little scars from various encounters in his ranch work—a stubborn cow and a barbed-wire fence, a horse who’d bit him when he was a kid, a fish hook—

  Looking up, she met his eyes. “Good evening.” She sounded haughty and disapproving. Unable to hold his gaze, she glanced away, then looked quickly down at her bowl.

  The woman, young and pretty, stood by the door, waiting while the waitress accepted payment from Collin, then counted out his change. Collin took the money, but didn’t leave.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Of course.” But she wouldn’t have been surprised to find her lifeblood pooling at her feet, she felt so wounded, so betrayed, so incredibly hurt.

  “Did you have a good time at the reservation?”

  “It was fine.”

  She heard him release a deep breath, but she didn’t look at him. Neither could she think of anything to say.

  “I’ll be at Whitehorn for a couple of days, then I’ll have to spend the rest of the week in Elk Springs. I’l
l come back next Saturday.”

  Please go away. “Yes, well, have a nice trip,” she said, swallowing against the tears suddenly blocking her throat. Why wouldn’t he leave?

  Finally she heard him walk off. She managed to breathe once more. She glanced at her watch, then laid a ten on the counter. “Here’s my money. Keep the change,” she called to the young waitress who was cleaning off Collin’s table.

  “Thanks. Have a nice evening,” the waitress called, flashing Hope a smile.

  She hurried out into the night, glad for the darkness, glad for the chilly wind that cooled her hot face and stanched the bleeding of her heart. She made it home and to her condo without seeing another person.

  Inside, she showered and changed into a nightgown, then took two aspirin and drank a glass of milk. Her stomach formed a knot around the food and hurt. She sat in the darkness and argued with her foolish, foolish heart.

  He was with another woman.

  Maybe it was his sister or another relative.

  He doesn’t care.

  He asked about your health. He thought you looked ill.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  Maybe it did.

  Go away. Leave me alone. I can’t bear it.

  You could have had him. Him and his love. You threw it away.

  I didn’t. It was never there. He was using me, just as my father said.

  And in the end it wasn’t Collin and thoughts of him with another woman that broke through her reserve. It was the message on her answering machine from Meg. The thought of little Gabe, of having sweet babies with a loving man—that was what dealt the final blow to her control.

  Harsh, gasping sounds tore from her body, but her eyes stayed dry as dust. She pressed a hand to her heart and by trying with all her might, forced the pain at bay. Dawn streaked the sky before she fell asleep.

  Eleven

  Hope approved a revision in wording to the company’s policy and procedures manual and laid the document in her Out basket for Selma to handle. She pinched the bridge of her nose where a headache pounded.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw she’d worked through dinner again. She’d been doing that often of late. She’d cleared every memo and letter and e-mail. Her desk was as pristine as new-fallen snow.

  Swiveling the desk chair, she studied the night sky. No stars gleamed through the clouds that had gathered all day. In midafternoon, a hailstorm had blown through, leaving hard white balls of ice on the streets and lawns of the town, pinging against windows and roofs with a harsh wintry sound, the herald of the season to come.

  It was only September.

  Ranchers were busy getting the last hay harvest baled. Cattle were being moved down from the high ranges to home pastures. The brood cows would be separated from their babies and the calves sold to feed lots.

  Recalling the soft brown eyes of the yearlings at the Kincaid ranch, she experienced a moment’s sadness, then hardened her heart. It was the way of things.

  A knock brought her around to face the door. “Come in.”

  Kurt entered her office. “Hi,” he said. His smile was tentative, almost shy. “Thought I saw you burning the midnight oil. Finished?”

  “Yep, all done.” She consciously injected a note of friendliness in her tone. She’d been pretty distant to everyone this week, ever since the day after Labor Day when she’d seen Collin with the Native American woman.

  “You, uh, interested in dinner?”

  “Yes,” she said, determined to get over the depression that had haunted her since that night.

  Kurt looked so surprised, she had to smile. “How about the Black Boot? It’s supposed to have great steaks.”

  The Black Boot was a honky-tonk out on the highway popular with the cowboys on weekends. “It’s Friday. The place will be crowded,” she reminded him. Besides, she didn’t want to be around cowboys and ranchers. “How about the Hip Hop?”

  “Sure.”

  His tone was casual, but his smile was so grateful, she felt guilty at being so cold to him lately. He was really a nice guy and a smart attorney. Her father was probably right. She would go far before finding someone else so suited to her in interests and loyalties.

  “I’ll meet you there in…five minutes?”

  “Right on.” He gave her a two-fingered salute and disappeared, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Hope sighed, then realized that she had. No being in the doldrums, she admonished as she locked up. Adopting a cheerful pose, she headed out to her car and drove the short distance to the local restaurant. Kurt was already there.

  He stood until she was seated, then handed her a menu. She laid it aside. “I’ll have vegetable soup and cornbread.”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  It irritated her that he had copied her order. She quelled the feeling. Why was she being so critical? Assuming a relaxed smile, she inquired, “So, how’s it going with the bank merger? Dad said you were advising on that.”

  Kurt waggled his hand, fingers spread. “So-so,” he admitted. “The directors of the smaller bank are making some unreasonable demands.”

  “My father must find that annoying,” she said blandly.

  “Somewhat.”

  Their eyes met in mutual understanding of Jordan Baxter when he was thwarted. Hope smiled. A grin split Kurt’s face.

  He was a good-looking man with his stylishly cut brown hair and light blue eyes. He was sharp and sophisticated, with the same basic background as she had—an Ivy League education, a career in law and a position at Baxter Development Corporation. They had similar interests.

  He was also ambitious and cunning, another part of her warned, refusing to embrace her father’s trusted advisor.

  “My secretary tells me you’ve bought a place in the complex where I live,” she mentioned, turning the conversation from corporate interests.

  “Yes, directly across the lake from your place. I decided it was time to put down roots.”

  They discussed the advantages of a town house over an apartment. Whitehorn was not exactly a mecca of modernity when it came to places to rent. Most apartments were in converted Victorians left from early mining days when sapphire prospectors thought they were going to be rich forever. That had quickly petered out.

  The meal passed pleasantly enough, Hope decided. Kurt insisted on paying for both of them. She didn’t argue, but again it annoyed her. The event wasn’t a date, but a casual meal between two colleagues. For now, that was the way she wanted to keep it.

  He followed behind her on the way home. Another vehicle followed behind Kurt’s expensive sedan. When she’d driven off from the Hip Hop, a pickup, coming down the street, had made a U-turn and fallen in behind them.

  Her heart pounded hard when she pulled into her garage. Kurt stopped in guest parking and joined her.

  “Am I supposed to be doing anything else on the Kincaid case?” he asked. “Do you want me there when it goes before the judge?”

  “I thought my father had assigned you to assist.”

  “You’re the leader of the team. What do you want?”

  She was touched by his concession. “To get it over and off my back,” she answered with total candor. Again they smiled at each other in understanding of the elder Baxter’s ways. “Would you like to come in for coffee? I have the file with me. We could go over our arguments.”

  “Great. I’ve been worried that you might get run over by a logging truck or decide to quit suddenly and I’d be left holding the bag.”

  While she put on coffee, she contemplated Kurt’s casual remark and why he thought she might quit. Because of her difficulties with her father over Collin Kincaid, no doubt, but did everyone in the company know that? Or only her father’s right-hand man?

  Resentment sizzled through her like the bright red-and-gold pinwheels of her favorite fireworks. Her father confided in Kurt, evidently trusted him more than he did her.

  Why should that surprise her? Jordan had always wanted a son to
carry on his various business enterprises.

  Kurt fed that vanity by being Johnny-on-the-spot to her father’s demands. Instead of disagreeing or pointing out flaws in Jordan’s thinking, he found ways to make the older man’s wishes feasible.

  Dislike rose in her once more. She quelled it, recalling her decision to be kinder and more open-minded where Kurt was concerned. After all, the man was simply doing his job, pleasing his employer with his skills and knowledge. It was a fault within herself that she couldn’t do the same.

  But more and more, she thought her father was wrong. About the Kincaids. About the company’s rampant development. Of course, they were conducting environmental studies. That was good. The influx of wealthy baby boomers spurred the town’s economy and added to the tax roles.

  Still she worried. Was there too much growth, too soon? New schools and parks had to be planned and built. That took time. Roads and street congestion had to be considered.

  She shook her head as she poured the coffee and joined Kurt in the living room. He had turned on the CD player, which now played soft classical piano melodies in the background.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, gesturing toward the machine. “I find music soothes the soul after a busy day fighting the corporate enemies.”

  Hope nodded. “Did you get the permit for the final phase of the condo complex from the city? Dad was worried about that.”

  “Yes, it came through. No problem.”

  “Did you buy off the commissioners?” she asked suddenly, for no reason other than the question popped to the top of her head.

  His smile was conspiratorial. “Now that would be telling.”

  She laughed when he did, as if they were joking, but an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. Why did she distrust everything Kurt did for no reason while she’d trusted Collin when she had every reason not to?

  Kurt closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the sofa. She was silent as the music, soft and seductive, wafted around them. It didn’t reach the emptiness inside her.

  When he opened his eyes as the melody died away, she saw desire in the pale blue depths. Her insides tightened nervously. “I’ll get my notes,” she said, putting them firmly on a business basis. “We can use the dining room table. It has more room.”