Cooper's Woman
Carol Finch
Alexa Quinn wanted much more from life than a society wedding. She was determined to make her busy father see her true worth. So when secrets and lies threatened the good work he was doing, Alexa seized her chance to save not only her father, but herself as well. Enter Wyatt Cooper–ex-lawman, legendary gunslinger and a fine-looking man!He was the best in the West for stopping trouble in its tracks, but for Alexa he meant excitement, adventure and danger. Just what she was looking for. . . .
“How’d you get past the locked door?” he asked.
“I’m not completely without resources,” she murmured as she moved toward him. “I brought a bottle of wine. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m already drunk on the sight of you.”
“I didn’t come here for flattery,” she said. “I told you that I get all the empty praise I can stand from other men.”
“Then what do you want from me, princess—?”
His breath gave out when she reached up to unfasten the top button of his shirt. Then the second and third buttons came undone—along with his willpower. His heart thudded against his chest so hard he thought the blow might have broken a rib.
“I’ve decided I want the same thing from you that you said you wanted from me,” she whispered. “I want to be naked with you, Coop. Do you have any objections?”
Cooper’s Woman
Harlequin
Historical
Praise for Carol Finch
“Carol Finch is known for her lightning-fast, roller-coaster-ride adventure romances that are brimming over with a large cast of characters and dozens of perilous escapades.”
—Romantic Times BOOK reviews
McCavett’s Bride
“For wild adventures, humor and Western atmosphere, Finch can’t be beat. She fires off her quick-paced novels with the crack of a rifle and creates the atmosphere of the Wild West through laugh-out-loud dialogue and escapades that keep you smiling.”
—Romantic Times BOOK reviews
The Ranger’s Woman
“Finch delivers her signature humor, along with a big dose of colorful Texas history, in a love and laughter romp.”
—Romantic Times BOOK reviews
Lone Wolf’s Woman
“As always, Finch provides frying-pan-into-the-fire action that keeps the pages flying, then spices up her story with not one, but two romances, sensuality and strong emotions.”
—Romantic Times BOOK reviews
CAROL FINCH
COOPER’S Woman
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children
Christie, Jill, Kurt, Jon and Shawnna. And to our grandchildren,
Kennedy, Blake, Brooklynn and Livia with much love.
Available from Harlequin
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A dark, arrogant Viking swept Annis back to his homeland. Now she must choose between the lowly work that befits a captive and a life of sinful pleasure in the Viking’s arms! Viking’s slave or Viking’s mistress? Annis must choose in this powerful, sensual story!
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter One
Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory, 1880s
Alexa Quinn stood tensely in the doorway of the ballroom. Although the last half-dozen guests were milling about, her attention and her thoughts fixated on her father and Elliot Webster. The pair stood beside the fireplace, each with a drink in hand. Elliot had dogged Alexa’s steps most of the evening and she sincerely hoped he hadn’t pulled her father aside to ask for her hand in marriage. Dissatisfied as she was with her life, it would be infinitely more boring if she married Elliot. Even his dashing good looks, wealth and outward charm couldn’t overshadow the fact that Alexa didn’t like him.
She had learned to trust her instincts, as they pertained to zealous suitors, and they hadn’t failed her yet.
“You’ve done it again, my dear,” Benjamin Porter praised as he approached. “No one hosts a better party in Santa Fe. I’m sure your father is exceptionally proud of your skills.”
Alexa dragged her anxious gaze away from her father and Elliot Webster to nod graciously to the short, pasty-faced math whiz who was one of her father’s closest advisors. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate that.”
The truth was that Alexa didn’t give a whit if she could organize a political or social function for her father and see that it ran smoothly. Harold Quinn might have fulfilled his ambitions as the territorial governor’s appointed director of finance, who also served in several other capacities, and was considered the governor’s most trusted counselor. She even understood that her father was preoccupied with his administrative duties to serve the greater good. Still, it was hard on her pride to know that her father saw right past her more often than not. Furthermore, he hadn’t realized her potential. That cut her to the core.
Her ambition extended beyond social director for his political gatherings. Her soul was screaming for the opportunity to find her true calling. She definitely couldn’t find it if her father consented to a match with Elliot Webster.
After Ben Porter strode out the door, Ambrose Shelton approached. “Your party was passable,” he remarked as he straightened the cuff of his black jacket.
You sourpuss, thought Alexa. The puffy-jowled, round bellied gent never failed to find more fault than praise with his acquaintances. According to her father, Ambrose Shelton had a brilliant political mind. His perspectives and guidance were invaluable.
Alexa was in no position to argue with her father’s opinion, but she thought Ambrose had the social skills of a cranky grizzly. Keeping her observation of the dour, middle-aged, slightly balding man to herself, she said wryly, “There’s a chill in the air tonight, Ambrose. Don’t catch cold and lose your voice.”
Ambrose snapped up his double chin. His ferretlike gray eyes bore into her. He puffed up to such extremes that she thought he might pop like an over-inflated balloon.
She flashed him a teasing grin, knowing she had gone too far with her father’s valued associate. Mentally scrambling she added, “I don’t know how Papa would manage if he couldn’t hear your wise advice.”
A tense moment passed. Then Alexa noticed a small crack in his stern veneer. She thought Ambrose might have smiled slightly, but it was difficult to tell because she’d never seen the man smile. Ever.
“I’m not sure your father deserves you, young lady,” Ambrose said finally. “But then, we aren’t allowed to pick family, are we? We’re just stuck with what we get.”
“So true of our families and our family’s friends—” Alexa slammed her mouth shut so quickly that she nearly clipped off the tip of her tongue.
Usually she managed to control her thoughts before they flew from her lips. Indeed, she had years of practice at concealing her true feelings. She blamed her lack of discretion on her apprehension over her father’s continuing conversation with Elliot Webster. Either that or she had stifled her true nature for so long that it was about to burst loose.
Then the most peculiar thing happened. Ambrose Shelton, the persnickety, faultfinding advisor to Harold Quinn, snickered. Even Benjamin Porter halted on his way down the front steps, pivoted and did a double-take.
“Your poor father,” Ambrose said with a slow shake of his wiry red head. “He’s stuck with you and with me. Well, good night then.” He pursed his lips and added, “Perhaps you should put your snippy tongue to bed early.”
What an odd man, she thought as Ambrose waddled off on his tree-stump legs. Benjamin Porter scuttled alongside him, chattering nonstop, same as he did while he labored over accounts that pertained to territorial finances and budgets.
After John Marlow and William Trent, two other members of her father’s advisory committee, said their farewells and ambled off, Alexa turned her full attention to her father. She grimaced apprehensively when her father and Elliot shook hands, and then finally parted company. Alexa stared warily at the tall, swaggering gentleman, who was decked out in the finest evening wear that money could buy. Elliot paused to bow over her hand and kiss her knuckles.
She controlled the shiver of dislike and reminded herself that she had years of experience masking her hidden feelings. However, she was more than a little worried about the outburst that had tumbled off her tongue so carelessly with Ambrose. It was a sure sign that her discontent with her present lifestyle was about to erupt.
“Ah, my lovely Alexa,” Elliot purred. “I shall miss your enchanting company.”
“You’re leaving town?” She tried very hard to keep the hopeful note from flooding her voice.
“Eventually, my dear, yes. I have a mercantile business and a ranch to run in Questa Springs. However, I shall be here until the end of the week. I hope to have the pleasure of your company again before I depart.”
Not if I can avoid it, she thought, but she said, “I’ll look forward to it. However, I must tell you that I have a busy schedule. Obligations to Papa take precedence.”
Elliot’s hazel eyes crinkled at the corners and a lock of thin blond hair tumbled over his forehead as he glanced sideways. “Of course. I understand that your father is a busy man. Invaluable to the citizens of this territory.”
“Extremely invaluable,” she confirmed.
She all but collapsed in relief when Elliot released her hand then lurched around to swagger through the door. “He is going to make some woman an annoying husband,” she said under her breath. “I pray to God that it won’t be me.”
“What do you think of Elliot Webster?” her father asked as he came to stand behind her.
Alexa spoke plainly, just in case her father had ideas about marrying her off to that cocky gent. “I don’t think much of him. Pretentious. Calculating. Premeditated charm so sticky sweet that it gives me an instant toothache and—”
“By all means, don’t hold back, dear,” Harold chuckled. “Ah, where is that tact and diplomacy that I’ve tried so hard to drill into your pretty head?”
She spun to face her father directly. This was a crucial moment and her future might be at stake. This was no time for diplomacy. “You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. I don’t like Elliot Webster and I can’t imagine that I ever will.”
She stared through the open door, watching a man in a military uniform, whose slight, lean physique seemed familiar to her, approach Elliot. The two shadowy figures spoke briefly before Elliot bounded into the carriage to return to his hotel.
“Webster expressed an interest in you, Lexi.”
“It is not returned,” she reiterated. “We are two entirely different people. At least I like to think I’m not that aloof and annoying.”
Harold’s brown eyes narrowed pensively. “He claims that he’s taken an instant liking to you and that he would like to begin a courtship that leads to marriage.”
Just as I thought, she mused uneasily. “I’m sure his supposed interest in me has everything to do with the prospect of becoming your son-in-law, not my devoted husband.”
And there was the crux of her problem with men. Alexa could never be certain if men liked her for what she was inside or because her father was powerful and influential in the territorial government. She had learned early on that she was viewed as a tool to gain favors from Harold Quinn. She had never forgotten that humiliating lesson five years earlier. Back then, she had been naive and idealistic. Now she understood that love was an illusion and that men saw her as a pawn.
Turning, Harold motioned to Maria Gomez, the housekeeper. “Please bring Lexi and me some coffee. We’ll be in the parlor.”
The Mexican housekeeper strode off as Harold guided Alexa to the tuft chair. “Actually, I’m glad you have no romantic interest in Webster. I don’t know what he’s up to or where he is getting privileged information, but it disturbs me that he knows things the rest of the public doesn’t,” he murmured.
Alexa perked up. Her father seldom took her into his confidence when it came to his business. He was usually too distracted and too busy to notice her in any capacity besides his hostess.
She savored this rare moment and vowed to do whatever was necessary to ease his concerns. She loved her father dearly, even if he had little time to spare her.
“What is it, Papa? You know I will help in any way I can.”
Harold plunked down on the sofa, then expelled a frustrated sigh. “Thank you, honey. But I’ll muddle through. No need to bother you with my concerns.”
Bother me! Include me in your life! Notice me! Please stop overlooking me! “What has Elliot Webster done to draw your concern?” she prodded. “And it best not be entangled with a scheme to marry me. I don’t want him.”
Her decisive tone drew Harold’s attention. He blinked, as if just realizing he had raised a daughter teeming with spirit and fierce independence. “When did this happen?” he mused aloud.
“About twelve years ago when Mama took Bethany and headed back East,” she replied, then wished she’d kept her trap shut. The comment caused her father to wince and shift self-consciously on the couch.
“That fiasco wasn’t fair to you, Lexi. I loved your mother, but I swear I will never understand why she left you behind.”
Alexa clasped her father’s hand, giving it a fond squeeze. “If I had been given a choice I still would have remained here with you,” she insisted. “Now tell me what Elliot Webster has done to upset you.”
Harold blew out his breath and set aside the troubled past. “In addition to his expressed interest in you, he asked about the government contracts to sell livestock to the forts and Indian reservations in the territory. The fact that I’m not satisfied with our last contract with him and have considered finding new suppliers is not common knowledge. I mentioned it at our last meeting. I fear that one of my trusted confidants has been compromised. I’d like to strangle whoever betrayed our policy of keeping such information quiet.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that Elliot has found a mole and that he might be paying for information,” said Alexa. “I don’t trust that man because I get the feeling he always has an ulterior motive.”
She also had a hunch about who might be willing to relay private information for a fistful of money. Ambrose Shelton headed up her short list of suspects. She predicted Ambrose believed himself far more capable of holding a powerful position in the territorial government than her father. Undermining Harold Quinn’s work on various government boards and committees might allow Ambrose Shelton to move up the political ladder. It was speculation, of course, but Alexa would eagerly volunteer to investigate.
“Elliot Webster will be leaving Santa Fe at the end of the week,” Harold continued. “Until he heads south to Questa Springs I will have someone shadow him.”
“Good idea. The sooner you find the snitch the better,” Alexa agreed.
“I also intend to hire an investigator to monitor Elliot’s activities when he returns to Questa Springs,” Harold confided. “I can’t entrust this inquisition to any of my associates, in case one of them is involved. That means I must enlist the help of an outside agent.”
Her father was frowning so intently that Alexa swore he was going to give himself more wrinkles. She could understand his dilemma. Everywhere Harold Quinn went the press followed. He lived under a microscope…Which made the solution to his problem so simple that she could resolve it over their evening coffee.
Excitement bubbled through Alexa while she waited for Maria Gomez to set the silver tray on the coffee table. After the servant retreated, Alexa turned to face her father directly.
“This situation can be resolved easily,” she declared while she watched her father sip his coffee.
Harold sniffed in contradiction. “I hardly think that is possible, my dear. I’m not sure who I can trust.”
“Thank you so much for the insult.”
Harold blinked owlishly then waved her off with a flick of his wrist. “Present company excluded, of course. But this is over your head, Lexi. Besides, I’d shoot myself before I placed you in possible danger.”
There he goes again, ignoring my potential.
“Who better to undertake the task of discreetly hiring an investigator to monitor Elliot’s activities?” Alexa argued. “Even you refuse to consider the prospect of sending a woman to do a man’s job.”
“But I—”
Alexa cut him off with a slashing gesture of her arm. She was bound and determined to present her case without interruption. “Perhaps I could consult the sheriff or city marshal in Elliot’s hometown to hire an investigator. Provided that Elliot doesn’t have the local lawman in his hip pocket.” If Elliot was in the habit of paying for information that was always a possibility. “Now that Elliot has expressed an interest in me, I have the perfect excuse to visit the area. I can pretend an interest in him, too.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Harold objected strenuously.
Alexa’s mind was brimming with possibilities. This was her chance to prove to her father that she had talents and abilities that extended far beyond the skill of drawing up a guest list, organizing seating arrangements and hiring entertainment for social and political gatherings. If she pinpointed the information leak, he might perceive her as what she was—a young woman aching to find a meaningful purpose in her life and accept new challenges.
“It’s perfect,” she enthused. “Kate Hampton, my dearest friend from finishing school, lives near Questa Springs. I can schedule a visit and make myself available for Elliot’s supposed courtship. I can oversee the hiring of an investigator and make certain the man does his job properly. In no time at all we will know who is leaking information to Elliot.”
“No.”
His brown eyes flashed and his thick brows swooped down in a sharp V. However, Alexa was not to be deterred by her father’s evil eye and uncompromising frown.
“I have spent years guarding my tongue and refraining from speaking my mind,” Alexa declared. “Even the pompous asses you deal with on a weekly basis have no idea what I think of them.”
Harold’s brows shot up so quickly that they nearly rocketed off his forehead. “My God, who are you? And what have you done with my daughter?”
Alexa sat up a little straighter on the couch. She batted her blue eyes and smiled sweetly. “Why, Papa, whatever do you mean? I am the same devoted daughter who knows her place and happily remains within the narrow confines men have established for women.”
She was very much afraid her father’s eyes were about to pop from their sockets. She had altered her persona so quickly that he couldn’t keep up. Well, too bad. It was high time Harold Quinn accepted that she had a mind of her own and ached to use it. It was also time that he realized she didn’t intend to live in his shadow, performing mundane social duties when her heart cried out for the chance to pursue a worthwhile cause.
Harold slumped against the sofa and sighed audibly. “I can’t let you do this. I promised myself the day your mother left with Bethany that I would care for, and protect you better than she ever did. I also swore to see you well schooled and properly married. You don’t have to work a day in your life or struggle to attain envied social status. Furthermore, I will not purposely plant you in harm’s way and allow you to deal with investigators of questionable background and few scruples. Bounty hunters and detectives tend to bend the law to suit their purposes.”
“Papa, I regret to inform you that the life you envision for me is in direct contrast to the one I crave for myself.” She stared intently at him as she took both of his hands in hers. “I want to do this for you. I need to do this for you. Who better to guard your back than the one who loves you most? The one who will be loyal and true-blue to the end.”
Harold grimaced. “It better not come to that. I couldn’t live with myself.”
“Please, Papa. Let me prove to you that I am your daughter, not Mama’s. When the going got tough, she packed up and left. I’m still here and I’m strong and capable. I can hire an agent to contact an investigator, who will monitor Elliot’s activities, if that will relieve your concerns.”
She could hire an agent if she were inclined, which she wasn’t. But she wasn’t about to tell her father that. She intended to be actively involved to prove her worth.
“Pretending an interest in Elliot will explain my extended visit to Kate Hampton’s family ranch,” she insisted.
Harold stared at her for so long that she squirmed impatiently. She knew he was struggling to equate his previous expectations of her with the woman who was bearing down on him. When he started to pull his hands away, Alexa clamped on to his fingers and refused to let go.
“I’ll be just fine,” she reassured him. “I can take care of myself. I certainly managed while I was away at school in Albuquerque. Why can’t you see that I’m grown up and champing at the bit to accept this challenge? You accept every challenge that comes your way. And I am the proverbial chip off the block that Mother left behind because I acted too much like you.”
Finally Harold grinned and nodded his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to debate you at board meetings. You’d plow over me.”
Alexa beamed at the rare compliment. Indeed, she lived for moments like this one.
He shook his finger in her face. “But you must promise me that you’ll hire a go-between to meet with the detective. Most of them are glorified gunslingers, paladins and guns-for-hire. Not the sort of scoundrels a lady should associate with. I don’t want you endangered in any way so I’ll send Miguel Santos along as your chaperone and bodyguard.”
Alexa didn’t want her childhood friend and playmate—not to mention her walking conscience—following her around. But she had won the major battle so she conceded this skirmish. “Agreed. After all, Miguel is exceptionally handy with a knife and a fair shot. Not that I can’t handle my own dagger and pistol.”
One dark brow elevated in wry amusement. “Finishing school must have expanded its curriculum.”
“I hounded Miguel until he taught me to use weapons,” she confided. “Every woman should know how to protect herself. A free-spirited woman doesn’t have the time or inclination to wait around for a man to rescue her.”
“This is worse than I thought,” Harold murmured with a bewildered shake of his head. “I have neglected you since I was appointed to this political position that consumes so much of my time and energy.”
That was true, but this conversation went a long way in opening her father’s eyes to the strong-willed twenty-two-year-old woman she had become. He wasn’t overlooking her or misjudging her now. Apparently he was seeing her for what she was and it scared him a little. Alexa, however, was eager to embrace the unknown and the unfamiliar. Her soul craved excitement and adventure.
“I will resolve this problem with Elliot Webster,” she vowed determinedly. “You will know which one of your business associates is passing information. I will expose him for the unscrupulous scoundrel he obviously is.”
Harold looked her over long and hard, as if reevaluating the young woman he thought he knew and understood. “All right, Lexi. But you will only be acting in an advisory capacity. From a safe distance. Let the investigator handle this case. If you come to harm I will never forgive myself. Be careful.”
She smiled brightly, knowing she did not intend to hover on the sidelines during this investigation. She figured that what her father didn’t know wouldn’t worry him. “Elliot Webster won’t suspect my ulterior reason for being in town and that will become his downfall.”
“I hope you’re right about Webster underestimating you.”
Alexa hoped she was, too. Her pride and self-esteem were riding on her ability to complete this assignment. She wanted her father to recognize her worth. She wanted him to be proud and confident in her abilities. If she fell flat on her face, it would be hell to crawl home, ashamed and unsuccessful.
If things went sour, she’d have to take an extended vacation in Europe to nurse her bruised pride.
No more of those negative thoughts, she chastised herself as she mounted the stairs to retire for the night. By damned, this was her golden opportunity and she was going to do her father proud.
She hoped…
Wyatt Cooper swung down from his horse then scanned the scenic canyon north of Questa Springs. There were some spectacular landscapes in the rugged Sacramento Mountain Range that rose up between the Rio Grande and Pecos Rivers. In the distance, he heard the murmur of rapids tumbling down the spring-fed river that meandered toward town. The vibrant colors of sunset splashed across the horizon. The setting was so awe-inspiring that he had to remind himself that he was here on business not pleasure.
Cautious by nature and by habit, he tucked himself beside a pine tree and fished out the card he carried in his vest pocket. For the umpteenth time in a week, he asked himself why he had decided to take this particular assignment. Then he studied the carefully printed card that read like an invitation to a formal social function and he remembered what had piqued his curiosity.
Whoever had contacted him anonymously at his headquarters in Albuquerque had been sending him specific instructions for this secretive rendezvous. Each elaborately written message was as impressively worded as the previous ones.
He figured he’d have to wait until dark to meet his mysterious client. It’s what he would’ve done. Sure enough, the sun dipped behind the looming precipices before a stout, round-bellied man emerged from the bushes. His hat sat low on his forehead. A gray beard and mustache concealed his facial features. Scant light reflected off his wire-rimmed spectacles. He didn’t approach, just lurked by a tree, as if prepared to bolt and run at the first sign of trouble.
“Are you Wyatt Cooper?” The hushed, gravelly voice carried an Eastern accent.
“Yes, but I prefer to be called Coop,” he insisted.
“Very well then, Coop, let’s proceed with our business. I have been hired by my client to contract you to keep surveillance on a man named Elliot Webster.”
Coop nodded his dark head in recognition of the name. Webster owned and operated a mercantile shop in Questa Springs, in addition to a cattle ranch two miles northeast of town. Coop had heard that Webster had gained the reputation of a price gouger and a ruthless competitor who tried to monopolize the dry goods business in the area.
“You want me to document underhanded business dealings?” Coop presumed.
“Yes,” the agent replied. “In addition, my employer wants to know who comes and goes from the store and the ranch. We want to know who contacts Webster personally and professionally.”
Coop arched a thick black brow. “Do you work for a branch of the territorial government?”
“I work for my employer, who will pay you handsomely to keep track of Webster’s associates, on and off his ranch,” the agent said evasively. “I require names and a detailed list of Webster’s activities so I can obtain a clear understanding of his leisure pursuits and business practices.”
The man tossed a stack of banded bank notes into the air. They landed at Coop’s feet, causing his horse to shift uneasily.
“Easy, Bandit,” Coop murmured to his black gelding.
Without taking his eyes off the short, stocky man who clung to the shadows, Coop scooped up the money. He blinked in surprise when he counted five hundred dollars. “I was only going to ask my going rate of two hundred fifty dollars a month.”
“Most detectives only charge one-fifty,” the man pointed out in his arrogant tone and thick Eastern accent.
Coop grinned. “Yeah, but you get what you pay for.”
“Then I expect quick results. I doubled your going rate since I want you to play a certain role while in Questa Springs. Because of your widespread reputation, your arrival in town might draw unwanted curiosity and suspicion. Although you are well-known in this territory, I want you to keep a low profile.”
Coop barked a laugh. “How do you intend for me to accomplish that? Cooper Investigations is a thriving business. And, at six feet two inches tall and one hundred ninety-five pounds, I’m hardly invisible and I don’t blend into a crowd.”
“That’s why I came up with a plan.”
“It better be a damn good one,” Coop smirked as he tucked the money in the pocket of his buckskin vest. “Let’s hear it…”
Chapter Two
From behind the spectacles, fake mustache and beard, Alexa Quinn appraised the powerfully built gunfighter who loomed in the shadows. She was pleased that her disguise—and the padding that made her appear overweight and barrel-bellied—protected her identity. The less Coop knew about her the better.
Despite her attempt to focus on the business at hand, her gaze kept wandering over Coop in appreciation. His coal-black hair, vivid green eyes and swarthy complexion had captured her attention when he first reached the rendezvous site. She kept recalling how impressive he looked against the pastel hues of sunset.
Wyatt Cooper looked to be in his early thirties and he possessed a striking physique. He radiated self-assurance, strength and keen intelligence. Of course, she had checked him out thoroughly before contacting him and discovered that he was considered the premier detective in the Southwest. Reportedly he was hell on outlaws and deadly accurate with the two ivory handled six-shooters strapped around his lean hips. He also carried a Winchester rifle in the sling of his saddle and he was reportedly accurate with it as well.
According to the information she had gathered on Coop, he had worked as a bounty hunter and a deputy U.S. Marshal who rode for Isaac Parker—the well-known “Hanging Judge” who presided over lawless Indian Territory. Coop’s five-year stint had earned him a reputation as law and order’s last resort against the most violent criminals plaguing society. All reports indicated that he was one of the quickest men on the trigger in the West.
No one knew where he was born and raised. It was almost as if he hadn’t come into existence until the age of eighteen. That fact aroused her concern, but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t find anyone who knew about his mysterious childhood.
He had moved to New Mexico Territory two years ago and opened his own investigation agency. It was said that the Pinkerton Detective Agency had tried unsuccessfully to hire him, but he refused. Whether it was because of his unethical methods of capturing criminals or his preference to be his own boss, she didn’t know. But the man was in constant demand, corrupt or not.
“Well? What’s this grand plan of yours?” Coop questioned impatiently. “It’s been a long ride and I’m ready to settle in for the night.”
His rich baritone voice filtered into her thoughts and Alexa forced herself to concentrate on the business arrangements at hand. Not on her unexpected and unwanted fascination with the ruggedly handsome gunfighter.
“The story is that you have come to Questa Springs to recuperate from an injured leg after your recent shootout with a band of outlaws,” she announced.
“How many cutthroats did it take to wing me?” he asked, mildly amused.
“Four, but you prevailed and won the day, of course.”
“Interesting tale, but I prefer straightforward and simple.”
“I don’t,” she insisted. “I have made arrangements for you to be the substitute bartender at Valmont Saloon during your recuperation.” She tossed a battered cane to him. Even in the gathering darkness, his lightning quick reflexes enabled him to catch it in midair.
He stared at her long and hard then glanced distastefully at the cane. “You are kidding.”
“I have no sense of humor, Mr. Cooper,” she said somberly.
“I’m beginning to realize that,” Coop muttered as he stared at the cane he was to use as a prop.
Alexa suppressed a smile. She had formed an instant liking to this brawny gunslinger. She attributed part of her attraction to his appealing physique and his deep voice. Another part of her fascination stemmed from the fact that this man didn’t treat her as if she were a socialite who was kin to a government dignitary and heir to a fortune. Of course, Coop had no idea that she was a female and he wasn’t trying to put on airs the way her wanna-be suitors usually did. This was a novel experience for Alexa and she was enjoying it thoroughly.
“As bartender and bouncer at Valmont Saloon you can monitor Webster’s activities,” she insisted. “I don’t know if the local law enforcement officer is in Webster’s pocket. That is for you to find out.”
Coop slid the cane into the leather sling that held his Winchester rifle. Absently he patted his horse. “You’ve made all the advance arrangements, I see.”
“Of course. That is my job.”
“You’re very thorough, Mr….” His voice trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Chester,” she replied without missing a beat. “My client requests that you rendezvous with me at the end of next week to report your information. Same time. Same place.”
“You want a written report, I suppose,” Coop remarked.
“Naturally. My employer and I expect it.”
“Fine, I’ll take a room at one of the hotels—”
“I made those arrangements, too,” she cut in. “You have a room facing Main Street, directly across from Webster Mercantile and Dry Goods. Room number four at Walker Hotel and Restaurant.”
“Your employer obviously hired you because of your organizational skills. Very impressive, Mr. Chester,” he praised.
“Thank you. I believe in being thorough.”
“Anything else before I go?” Coop asked.
“Yes, make sure you don’t drink your salary at Valmont Saloon. I want you to remain alert and observant at all times. I’m paying you according to your impressive reputation. Do not disappoint me.”
“Don’t worry, Chester,” he said and snorted. “This isn’t my first investigation. I’ll even tell you how many times a day Webster relieves himself and behind which tree, if you want to know.”
Alexa tried not to react to the comment. She decided there were some disadvantages to disguising herself as a middle-age, overweight man.
“Thank you, Coop, but my only interest is acquiring a list of Webster’s associates and his social activities,” she replied, careful to give nothing away. The less Coop knew the better.
Alexa’s attention remained on Coop while he swung effortlessly onto the muscular black gelding that sported four white stockings and white circles around both eyes. The horse was as striking and unique as his rider. Her gaze and thoughts remained fixed on the impressive masculine silhouette until it blended into the night.
She had a good feeling about Wyatt Cooper. With this legendary ex-lawman on the case, she could conduct her own discreet inquiries from a different angle. Of course, she would have to portray the role of a fluff-headed socialite to quell all suspicions about her real reason for being in Questa Springs. However, if it provided her with valuable information and helped her father, she’d do it.
“I do not like this, Lexi. Your father won’t, either.”
Alexa nearly leaped out of her padded disguise when Miguel Santos’s quiet voice drifted from the darkness. She clutched her palpitating chest and drew in a calming breath.
“How did you find me?” she demanded as her walking conscience approached.
“I have the nose of a bloodhound where you are concerned.” Miguel gestured in the direction Coop had disappeared. “This man, he is dangerous, querida. I can feel it. No matter how you try to sugarcoat it, he is a gun-for-hire and his kind walk a fine line between good and evil.”
“This man is superbly skilled and experienced and that’s all that matters,” she countered as she lumbered awkwardly toward the horse she had tethered in the trees. “And if you breathe one word about my taking an active part in this investigation to Papa I won’t speak to you for the rest of my life.”
“What will it matter?” Miguel scoffed as she shed her disguise then crammed it into the carpetbag tied behind the saddle. “If you persist in remaining in harm’s way, you’ll be dead.”
“Pfftt!” she erupted in contradiction. “You worry too much. You always have. I’ll be fine.”
“Si, you and Mr. Chester. He will be back here next week?” Miguel gave Alexa a boost onto her horse and she thanked him kindly.
“You will indeed see Mr. Chester on occasion. He can go places that I cannot.”
“Then you should be prepared for more off-color comments from your detective,” Miguel said as he mounted his horse. “Since Coop doesn’t know you’re a woman he will speak to you man-to-man.”
“I have no problem with that,” Alexa assured him as she reined toward Hampton Ranch where she was staying with her school chum, Kate, and her family. “At least he won’t be putting on airs. I’ve had plenty of that already.”
While Miguel categorically listed everything that might go wrong with her charade and her self-appointed investigation, Alexa turned her thoughts back to Wyatt Cooper. She knew she had chosen well. The gunfighter would help her ferret out information that she could take back to her father, who would undoubtedly be impressed with her abilities. Meanwhile, she had to make herself available to Elliot Webster’s courtship and pretend she enjoyed his company.
Alexa sincerely hoped her acting ability was up to snuff. Pretending to like Elliot would require considerable effort.
Scowling, Coop limped along on his cane, silently cursing that toady little Yank named Mr. Chester, who had dreamed up this stupid ruse. Coop never should have agreed to it. Yet, he had tied splints to his right knee to ensure that he didn’t forget to walk stiff legged. Mr. Chester apparently thought that a lame gunfighter-turned-bartender wasn’t as intimidating as a shootist with two good legs under him. Fact was, Coop had trained himself to be a crack shot, whether he was at full gallop on a horse, rolling across the ground to dodge bullets or squaring off for a showdown in the street.
Despite the attention he received as he hobbled down the boardwalk, he focused on familiarizing himself with the town. Questa Springs boasted a population of two thousand. One-fourth was the Mexican community that had settled the area decades earlier. Another quarter consisted of ranchers whose livestock grazed the nearby mountain slopes and grassy valleys. Another fourth of the population consisted of railroad workers who were building spurs to serve the copper and silver mines in the mountains to the west. The Johnnies-come-lately were drifters, gamblers and shysters who preyed on cowboys and miners.
Besides the bubbling springs in the town square, the community had ten saloons, four hotels, five restaurants, seven gaming halls, brothels and a lumberyard. There was also a bakery, two boutiques, a bank, livery stable, newspaper office and telegraph office. Coop had made note of the two dry goods stores—Webster’s and one that challenged its high-priced competitor.
When two women made a big production of crossing the street to avoid encountering him, Coop rolled his eyes and sighed. He’d told Mr. Chester that he was too well-known in the area not to be recognized. Obviously, word spread quickly that he was in town. The God-fearing and Cooper-fearing citizens walked on the opposite side of the street to prevent breathing the same air as a man with blood on his hands. They didn’t know the half of it.
Before Coop reached Valmont Saloon, the town marshal exited from his office—to lay down the law, no doubt. Coop blinked in surprise when he recognized the man who had a tarnished silver badge pinned on his vest.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gil Henson said as he ambled forward. “Long time no see.”
Coop surveyed the rangy, six-foot-tall man whose reddish-blond hair protruded from the rim of his Stetson. The amber-eyed, ex-bounty hunter that Coop had worked with two years earlier had added several pounds since their last meeting.
“Didn’t know you were here, Gil,” Coop said as he draped his cane over the crook of his elbow so he could shake hands.
Gil gestured toward the cane. “What happened to you?”
“I found myself in a shootout against lopsided odds and took a bullet in the knee. I don’t remember much about it because it happened so fast.” He didn’t remember anything about it because Mr. Chester had made it up. Coop inclined his raven head toward the saloon. “I thought I’d do some bartending in this mountain haven while recuperating.”
“You came to the right place to convalesce. The scenery is magnificent. You might have to break up the occasional fight between drunken cowboys and crooked gamblers, but it shouldn’t be too strenuous,” Gil replied. “With your reputation, no one with any brains will try to cause trouble on your watch….”
His voice trailed off and his attention drifted over Coop’s shoulder. Bemused by Gil’s sudden distraction, Coop half turned to see a vision of mesmerizing beauty alight from a carriage. The blue-eyed blonde, dressed in the finest silk and lace that money could buy, twirled her frilly parasol—and sent his mind into a whirl.
Coop had seen some attractive women in his day, but this shapely specimen was a feast for the male appetite. Springy blond curls surrounded her heart-shaped lips and face. Her skin was the color of cream. Her blue gown accentuated her shapely figure and matched the vivid color of her thick-lashed eyes.
“I tell you for sure, Coop, that’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” Gil breathed appreciatively. “Every time she arrives in town activity grinds to a halt.” He motioned toward the other gawking men on the boardwalk.
Coop’s attention swung back to the young woman who looked to be a decade younger than he was—and a hundred years less experienced in dealing with the hard knocks of life. Lovely though she was, she represented the hoity-toity aristocrats who hired him to do their dirty work and resolve their unpleasant problems. His wealthy clients didn’t consider a man with his background their social equal. In their opinion, he was merely a second-class servant who was handy with a gun and whose tracking skills kept him dogging the steps of wanted outlaws.
When Elliot Webster strode from his mercantile shop to bow over the woman’s hand, Coop frowned. “Who’s the woman that Webster is slobbering over?”
“That is Alexa Quinn. Her father, Harold, is the territorial governor’s right hand man and his most valued advisor. As you can plainly see, Elliot Webster is at the head of the line when it comes to offering to escort Alexa around Questa Springs. I suspect Webster is interested in marrying her and her money.”
“Not a bad combination,” Coop murmured.
And then it dawned on him who his real client probably was. No doubt, Mr. Chester worked for Harold Quinn, who wanted his potential son-in-law checked out thoroughly. Coop speculated that his true purpose was to find out how many harlots Webster kept at his beck and call and how much corruption was involved in his mercantile and ranch dealings. Harold Quinn wanted all the dirt he could dig up on Webster, just in case Alexa decided to marry him.
It made perfect sense now. The discreet and elegantly written notifications arriving at his office. A secret meeting in the upper canyon with Mr. Chester. It was understandable that the financial director of the whole damn territory would want to ensure his future son-in-law was not a crook who might become an embarrassment to the politician.
His thoughts wandered off when the enchanting female tittered and cooed at whatever Webster had said to her. No doubt, she was a spoiled, pampered tenderfoot whose world consisted of soirees, fine dining and expensive accommodations. She was everything he wasn’t and had no desire to be. For that reason, he disliked what she represented, even while her outward beauty continued to dazzle him.
“Probably as shallow as a tub of bathwater,” he said under his breath.
Gil tossed him a quizzical glance. “Pardon?”
“Nothing. Where’s the royal princess staying?”
“At Hampton Ranch. I heard that Alexa Quinn and Kate Hampton were best friends at boarding school in Albuquerque.”
Coop was sure he would have remembered this beguiling beauty if he’d seen her before. But then, they didn’t travel in the same circles and Albuquerque was a damn sight larger than Questa Springs.
He was sorry to say that his thoughts scattered again when the voluptuous blonde pivoted away from Webster and swanned across the street. A short, wiry man of Mexican descent, who looked to be in his late twenties, followed ten paces behind her.
The bodyguard or chaperone, no doubt. Bodyguard, Coop decided when he noted the nasty looking, foot-long dagger strapped to the man’s thigh. Apparently Harold Quinn didn’t allow his dainty daughter to traipse around the rugged Sacramento Mountains without a competent protector watching her.
As Alexa approached, all dimpled smiles and radiant beauty, Coop forced himself not to change expression. He willfully battled down his unwanted physical attraction. In addition, he reminded himself that there were too many Alexa Quinns flitting around high society and he didn’t like any of them.
“Good morning, Marshal,” she greeted Gil then nodded politely to Coop. “And good day to you, sir.” She glanced directly at his battered cane. “I’m sorry to see you are nursing an injury. I hope it isn’t too serious.”
“Nothing I can’t live with,” he replied as she swept past.
The alluring scent of her perfume infiltrated his nostrils. Coop took a step backward to prevent the fragrance from clogging his brain and smothering his good sense. Distracted though he was, something familiar niggled him. Maybe he had seen her before in Albuquerque. Maybe he had heard her voice somewhere. No, that was impossible, he told himself. He would have remembered everything about this woman.
With her expensive hat sitting at a jaunty angle on her head, twirling her parasol on her shoulder like a carousel, she sashayed into one of the boutiques. No doubt, her greatest interest in life was shopping. Here was the crowning example of the idle rich. She might be every man’s fantasy, but he doubted she had a brain in her pretty blond head.
“Damn Webster’s luck,” Gil grumbled enviously. “Can you imagine the possibility of marrying a woman like that and bedding down with her every night?”
“Nope,” Coop replied. “Wipe your mouth, Gil. You’re drooling.”
Gil shook himself from his erotic thoughts. “Well, I won’t keep you from your part-time job. Maybe we can have dinner and a drink tonight when we’re both off duty.”
“Sounds good.” Coop cast one last glance at the boutique to note the bodyguard waiting outside with feet askew and arms crossed over his chest. As one servant of the affluent to another, Coop nodded and the Mexican nodded back.
There is one job I’d refuse to take, Coop thought as he headed for the saloon. He wouldn’t want to be Alexa Quinn’s lackey. He sincerely hoped the bodyguard was well paid for his trouble.
As for a potential match between Harold Quinn’s daughter and Elliot Webster, they probably deserved each other, he decided. Nevertheless, Mr. Chester had paid Coop considerable money to monitor Webster’s activities. Coop would do his job to the best of his ability. The last thing he needed was the high and mighty Harold Quinn spreading word that he was an incompetent investigator.
Alexa expelled a sigh of relief while she sorted through the day dresses in the boutique. She had underestimated her reaction to Wyatt Cooper. In broad daylight and at close range he was even more arresting than he’d been while he loomed in the gathering shadows of sunset. His piercing green eyes, wavy raven hair and muscular physique combined to make an impressive package of masculinity. She had noticed how other women on the street had taken a wide berth around him, but there was no mistaking the speculative glances he received from them. He might be considered a hard-edged, dangerous gunfighter, the angel of doom to outlaws, but he was still a tempting specimen.
Completely off-limits, she reminded herself sensibly. There could be no association between them whatsoever. Webster might become suspicious and she shouldn’t have spoken to Coop on the street, but she hadn’t been able to resist. From now on, she would avoid encounters with him.
A curious frown knitted her brow when she glanced out the window to see Elliot Webster striding into Valmont Saloon. She’d like to be a fly on the wall and hear what Coop and Webster had to say to each other, if anything. But she quelled her curiosity and reminded herself that tomorrow she’d have a chance to familiarize herself with Webster’s home. He had invited her to supper, as she’d hoped he would. As for tonight, Kate would be joining her in town to dine at one of the local restaurants.
Alexa sighed impatiently. She was anxious to hear what the townsfolk had to say about Webster. The more she could learn about him the better she would understand him. With that in mind, she turned a smile on the female proprietor of the boutique and made a few casual inquiries.
Coop had been on the job less than five minutes when Elliot Webster sauntered inside, looking arrogant and defensive at once. Out of pure orneriness, Coop plunked down the nameplate that said, Wyatt Cooper, Bartender and Bouncer on Duty. Provided by the efficient Mr. Chester, no doubt.
“Need a drink, friend?” Coop asked cordially.
Webster nodded his blond head and requested a shot of the best whiskey in the house—no surprise there. After he downed it in one gulp, he stared straight at Coop and said, “There’s an unspoken rule in society that states that men with your reputation don’t associate with women like my soon-to-be fiancée, Alexa Quinn. No offense intended, of course. I’m just reminding you of that fact.”
Better men than Elliot Webster had tried—and failed—to put Coop in his place. He had no respect for the rich, for they seemed to think they were entitled to privileges that he wasn’t.
“And you are?” Coop asked, as if he didn’t know.
He drew himself up to full stature and tilted his chin to an aloof angle. “Elliot Webster. I own and operate the town’s most profitable dry goods store.”
And you gouge miners, ranchers and cowboys to feather your nest, every chance you get, Coop thought.
“I also own a ranch outside of town and sell livestock to the forts and Indian reservations,” he boasted proudly.
Coop suspected this man was cheating the soldiers and Indian tribes to increase his profit. The bastard.
“Just for the record,” Coop said, “I didn’t strike up a conversation with your soon-to-be-fiancée. She spoke to me first.”
“Obviously she had no idea who she was talking to.”
“Obviously.” Coop forced a smile and envisioned himself planting his fist in Webster’s jaw. The man was an ass.
To his surprise, Webster leaned close to request another drink then said, “I wonder if I might hire you to check my neighbors’ ranching practices. A few of my cattle have gone missing lately.”
Coop suspected it was probably the other way around.
Three jobs at once? he mused. That might be an interesting twist. Mr. Chester wouldn’t like it, but he could work for the man he’d come to investigate. “You mean at night when I’m off duty at the saloon? This is gravy money. I’m not giving it up.”
“Yes, at night. That’s when the rustling takes place,” Webster replied sarcastically.
“Could be some of your own hired men,” Coop speculated as he refilled Webster’s shot glass.
“Doubt it. They are well paid to be loyal. You will be, too.”
This was too perfect to pass up, thought Coop. If he were on Webster’s payroll, he’d have an excuse to come and go from the ranch without inviting suspicion.
Coop shrugged. “Sure. Why not? As long as I don’t have to get into a foot race with rustlers. My leg won’t hold up.”
Webster grinned as he straightened away from the bar. “Just shoot them from horseback. I hear you’re good at that. And not to worry, the city marshal won’t arrest you.”
When Webster strutted off, Coop frowned warily. He was going to be disappointed if Gil Henson was on the take and had been paid to look the other way when Webster dealt severely with his competitors at Hampton, Barrett and Figgins Dry Goods Store.
Coop discarded his pensive thoughts when one of the calico queens sashayed over to introduce herself. Now this was the kind of female Coop was familiar with. This uncomplicated woman offered and expected no more than a moment’s pleasure for a price. Women like Alexa Quinn were like porcelain dolls in shop windows. Untouchable. Unattainable. Too delicate to associate with a rough-edged man like him.
So why was he giving Alexa Quinn a second thought? Damned if he knew. Coop smiled rakishly and devoted his full attention to the buxom brunette named Polly Sanders.
Chapter Three
Later that evening Miguel Santos stared accusingly at Alexa. “You poisoned me!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied as she tucked the quilt under his quivering chin while he lay sprawled on the bed. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“So you can tramp about without me there to tell you that it’s too risky. I—” He moaned miserably and battled to prevent himself from losing his supper.
Alexa patted her friend’s shoulder consolingly, then surveyed the hotel room she had rented when he became ill a half hour earlier. Hurriedly she walked over to fetch a washcloth then dipped it in water so she could wipe Miguel’s clammy face. He looked as peaked as a dark-skinned man could get. Furthermore, his expression was as sour as his upset stomach.
“I did not poison you, Miggy,” she insisted, using the nickname he had acquired as a child.
While she blotted his face, someone tapped lightly on the door. “Who is it?” Alexa called out.
“Kate.” She swept into the room without waiting permission and hovered over Miguel. Her thick-lashed brown eyes were filled with concern. “You poor man. Is there anything I can get for you to make you more comfortable?”
“No, señorita, but thank you for your kind offer. I will live…I hope.”
Kate glanced at the gold-plated watch pinned to her belt. “We need to ride to the ranch before dark, Lexi. There is always the risk of bandits and rustlers in the area. Papa lost five head of cattle last week.”
“Go with her, Lexi,” Miguel beseeched. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m staying with Miguel,” Alexa told her friend. “You have your chaperone for your protection. Miguel and I will ride out to the ranch tomorrow when he’s back on his feet.”
“Are you sure about this?” Kate questioned hesitantly as she backed toward the door.
“Absolutely. I want to be close by so I can check on Miguel.”
“I’m concerned about you,” Kate said. “First you strike up a conversation on the street with that hired gun that everybody is whispering about and now you plan to stay in town when Miguel can’t defend you.”
“I believe those types prefer to be called detectives or investigators.” Alexa tossed Miguel a silencing glance so he wouldn’t chime in and tell Kate that he was worried about her reckless encounter with Coop. “Furthermore, I spoke to the town marshal on the street at the same time and it would have been rude not to speak to Mr. Cooper when he was standing right there.”
“There are certain rules we’re supposed to observe when it comes to our social class,” Kate reminded her dourly. “Never mind that I dislike that one person can’t be kind to another without inviting rumor and gossip. My father harps on the subject constantly and I heard Elliot Webster muttering when you paused to greet the marshal and the gunslinger.”
Alexa gnashed her teeth. Elliot’s snobbery was another of his annoying flaws. The man was lousy with them. Too bad that Kate’s father was also prejudiced.
Kate checked her timepiece again then glanced back at Miguel. “Well, I should be going. Papa is so overprotective that if I’m not home before dark he’ll send out a search party.”
“As well he should,” Miguel murmured weakly. “If I could, I would see you home safely.”
“You are so sweet, Miguel.” Kate surged forward to brush her hand over his forehead. “You have always been wonderful to me. Alexa is so lucky to have you.”
“Which is why I intend to stay at the hotel until he’s feeling better,” Alexa remarked.
She glanced speculatively at Kate then down at Miguel.
“I don’t trust you here,” Miguel said after Kate left.
Alexa tried to look properly affronted. “That doesn’t speak highly of your abilities as a tutor. You taught me to take care of myself. Are you saying that you failed and I’m helpless?”
“I’m saying that you’re too daring for your own good….” His voice trailed off momentarily and he grabbed his belly when another cramp clenched his abdomen. “Go to your own room and stay in it,” he wheezed. “I don’t want you to see me so miserable.”
Alexa pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back to check on you.”
“Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime,” he demanded sickly.
Deciding that she would have the local physician check on Miguel, she hurried off. Although she wasn’t responsible for what was ailing Miguel—as he accused—she did intend to take advantage of the situation. She wanted to know what Elliot did after he closed up shop for the evening. Did he frequent saloons? Hurry back to his ranch? Alexa intended to observe his after-hours routine.
Alexa paid a visit to the doctor then tramped off to position herself in the alley beside Webster’s mercantile shop. She only had to wait a quarter of an hour before Elliot locked the door and strode down the street. Enjoying her new career as a detective, Alexa darted down the alley, following at an inconspicuous distance.
Coop had been off duty at the saloon for over an hour and had dined with Gil at one of the restaurants. He was on his way to the livery stable to fetch Bandit when he spotted Webster—and the fancy-dressed female lurking in the alley. Coop was both surprised and amused at Alexa Quinn’s daring. She was amazingly swift of foot and effective at lurking in the shadows so Webster wouldn’t realize he was being followed.
Although Coop hadn’t given the socialite credit for processing much thought in that pretty blond head of hers, she wasn’t as naive as she let on. Coop veered into the alley to follow the woman who was trailing her soon-to-be-fiancé—or so Webster claimed. When Webster scurried across the street toward the dimly lit brothel on the edge of town, Alexa hiked up her cumbersome skirts and darted toward the side window of the brick building that housed Lily’s Pleasure Resort.
“See anything interesting?” Coop whispered as he stepped up beside Alexa.
She yelped in surprise and clutched her chest. “You scared ten years off my life. What the blazes are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he pointed out.
He grinned at the pinched expression on her shadowed face. Her clipped tone of voice and her unconventional antics offered him insight into this woman’s complex personality. She didn’t seem to fit the expected mold. Which was too bad because he really didn’t want to like this wealthy heiress.
“Sorry, Mr. Cooper. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“No problem. But I’m dying to know why a proper lady is playing Peeping Tom at a bordello window. You might get far more of an education than you bargained for…unless you like to watch.”
“You are an ass,” she sputtered as she brushed past him.
He wasn’t sure if her elbow accidentally jabbed him in the belly or if she had done it on purpose. He suspected the latter.
“I only followed Elliot to confirm what I expected to be true,” she said as he fell into a limping stride behind her. “Like all of my other suitors, who were supposedly smitten with me, Elliot is undoubtedly after my social connections and my money. He will never be faithful. But whether he likes me at all has nothing to do with anything. I only wanted to be sure we were both playing by the same rules.”
Coop clucked his tongue. “So cynical for one so young. I didn’t expect that.”
When Alexa stopped short Coop did, too. The light from the street lamp illuminated her enchanting face and highlighted her soft, kissable mouth. Lust sucker-punched him so hard that he staggered back a step.
Damn! Coop didn’t recall other women making such a fierce and immediate impact on him. And hell, he could list a score of reasons why he should keep his distance from Alexa. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from gazing down into those incredible blue eyes and craving a taste of those honeyed lips.
“And what of you, sir? What do you see when you look at me? Dollar signs? Invitations to high society’s soirees?”
A slow smile worked its way across his mouth. “All I want is to see you naked with me,” he told her frankly.
That should scare the dickens out of her and send her scuttling off, frightened and embarrassed, he predicted. Which would guarantee that she would never allow herself to be alone in the dark with him again. Then he wouldn’t be tempted and tormented with the want of this forbidden female.
To his stunned amazement, she met his rakish grin and didn’t recoil in shock and indignation. “You would hang the money and the prestige?”
“From the tallest tree in the territory,” he assured her. “No reason you shouldn’t give good ole Webster the same lack of fidelity he’s practicing right now.”
She chuckled when he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You are an unabashed scoundrel, Mr. Cooper.”
“Coop,” he corrected. “An honest scoundrel.”
She studied him pensively. “You consider appeasing your lust more important than wealth and status?”
“Tonight I do,” he teased playfully.
Then the most astonishing thing happened. Alexa Quinn, who was rather tall for a woman—perhaps five feet eight inches, give or take—pushed up on tiptoe and pressed those dewy, heart-shaped lips against his. Coop stood frozen to the spot. His eyes flew wide-open and he stared incredulously at her while he accepted the quick taste of her kiss. Her shapely body brushed against his masculine contours and white-hot sensations bombarded him from every direction at once. He’d never been lightning struck but he was pretty sure this was what it felt like.
She dropped back on her heels and gave him that killer smile that cut dimples in her cheeks. “Good thing my chaperone is under the weather this evening,” she murmured. “I would have missed out on this grand adventure.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Coop questioned, his voice wobbly, despite his attempt to appear unaffected.
“He claims I poisoned him.”
She pivoted to amble down the street.
“Did you?” he called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder. There was a flicker of mischief in her gaze. “Poison Miguel? My childhood friend and companion? Really, Mr. Cooper—”
“Just Coop,” he reminded her. He studied her thoughtfully, fascinated by the contradictions that he saw in this breathtakingly beautiful woman.
“Well then, good night, Coop.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.
She tossed him another impish smile as she passed beneath the second street lamp. Then she was gone and he was left to wonder if Alexa had doctored her bodyguard’s food or drink so she could dart off in the night to do as she pleased.
Right there and then, Coop made a mental note not to eat or drink anything that passed this siren’s hands…just in case.
Two hours after Alexa’s encounter with Coop she checked on Miguel and was relieved to find him sleeping comfortably. The bottle sitting on the nightstand indicated the physician had paid a visit and prescribed medication to soothe Miguel’s stomach.
When Alexa returned to her own room, she doffed her gown. She smiled impishly, remembering her conversation with the ruggedly attractive detective. Matching wits with Coop had been more fun than she’d had with a man in years. Her longtime friendship with Miguel being the exception. He was like the brother she never had.
Coop had teased her and tried to shock her rather than bowing and scraping, attempting to win her favor. She had teased him right back, especially when he quizzed her about poisoning Miguel. Which of course she hadn’t. Miguel was sensitive to certain foods but he refused to consider the possibility because the reactions weren’t long-lived or serious. She’d known when he’d ordered the main dish smothered with a sauce containing pecans and almonds at dinner that he’d be down for the count.
She’d never been able to convince him that something as simple as eating walnuts caused his stomach ailments. Therefore, his temporary illness was self-inflicted. He couldn’t exactly call that her fault, now could he? She had mentioned the possibility years ago, but he refused to believe it and she had stopped bringing it to his attention.
Her smile faded as she brushed her fingertips over her lips, remembering the impulsive kiss she had bestowed on Coop. She knew she had no business making the slightest contact with Coop, for fear of complicating this case. Not only had she struck up a conversation with him on the street that morning, but she had also kissed him that night. Perhaps she’d been caught up in the exciting intrigue of following Elliot and talking her way out of the situation with Coop. Maybe that had led to her impulsive embrace.
Although her father forbade her from taking an active role in the investigation, she had discovered that she thrived on the challenge and adventure. She had also experienced the most delicious tingles of desire when she brushed against Coop’s masculine body and tasted his sensuous lips. That kiss in the dark was guaranteed to incite erotic dreams tonight—
“Stop that,” she ordered herself sensibly.
Her startling reaction to Coop was one-sided, she knew. No doubt, he’d been with his share of women. One brief kiss wouldn’t turn his world upside down and she was determined not to let it upend hers, either.
“You have another objective to accomplish while Miggy is out of commission tonight,” she reminded herself.
She was on a crusade to help her father and to prove to him that she was worthy of his respect and his pride.
Alexa dug into her carpetbag to retrieve the second disguise she carried with her. Not Mr. Chester, but rather the elusive cloaked rider who blended with the darkness. She fastened herself into the trim black breeches, black shirt, boots and cap. Then she donned the cape that concealed her size and shape and gender. She had rented a mount from the livery on her way back to the hotel and tethered the steed in the alley. It was ready and waiting for the midnight jaunt.
She planned to be at the brothel when Elliot exited so she could follow him to his ranch, which was located two miles northeast of town. She was curious about other activities on his agenda before he bedded down for the night.
Five minutes later Alexa crept down the back steps of the hotel to retrieve her waiting horse. She followed the alley to avoid notice. When she reached the four brothels in the red light district, she veered toward a nearby grove of bushes to hide. Elliot had entered the most respectable-looking brothel of the four. If you could call any house of ill repute respectable. The other three were hastily constructed clapboard buildings into which dusty cowboys, miners and railroad workers came and went.
She waited ten minutes before Elliot appeared. He weaved a bit unsteadily as he hiked off to the mercantile shop to fetch his horse. Impatiently she waited for Elliot to mount up, light his cigar then trot away from town. She perked up immediately when he veered off the path leading to his ranch house and headed due east. Five minutes later, he dismounted to relieve himself then entered a shack nestled against the hillside.
She assumed it was on his land. Perhaps a line shack or abandoned bunkhouse, she speculated.
Another horse was tied to a scrub bush near the shack. Alexa was anxious to know who was waiting for Elliot. This could be the mysterious informant or his agent. If she could crack this case wide-open in less than a week all by herself, her father would be impressed and she would be assured that she was capable of handling an investigation alone. Nothing would please her more.
Her thoughts skittered off when her horse whinnied at the two mounts near the shack. She cursed her horse silently then hurried to take cover in a nearby stand of cottonwood trees. If she wanted conclusive evidence then she had to slither on her belly to eavesdrop at the window.
Securing her horse, Alexa dropped onto hands and knees and moved forward until she ran out of the cover of bushes. Then she sprawled in the grass to slither toward the window.
Coop scowled as he stared at the unidentified rider who dismounted in the trees. He appeared to be keeping surveillance, same as Coop was, on the shack that Webster had entered a moment earlier.
“Damn that Mr. Chester,” he muttered under his breath.
Coop stationed himself at a point near a cedar tree so he’d have a clear view of the door of the shack and the caped crusader who slithered on his belly like a snake. It was glaringly apparent that the Yank, Mr. Chester, didn’t trust Coop to do the job he’d been paid to do. Chester had obviously hired a second detective to tail Webster. Either that or someone else had hired an investigator to monitor Webster’s activities for other reasons.
Earlier, he had seen Webster leave Lily’s Pleasure Resort and he had decided this would be the perfect time to hammer out the details of his employment and insist on advance payment. That was when he first spotted the unidentified rider, who dressed in black and wore a cape that flapped in the breeze like bat wings.
It was turning out to be an interesting evening, thought Coop. First he had watched Alexa spy on her wanna-be fiancé. Now someone else was hot on Webster’s heels. Hell, there might be so many people trailing Webster that it caused a traffic jam.
Coop jerked to attention when the door creaked on its rusty hinges and two shadowed silhouettes appeared on the rickety stoop.
“I’ll be in touch in a few days,” came a quiet voice Coop didn’t recognize.
He watched Webster fish into his pocket then place what Coop presumed to be several coins in the man’s hand. “You tell our mutual friend that the last tidbits of information aren’t enough to satisfy me. I’m paying for better tips than this.”
“I’ll relay the message,” the other man murmured so quietly that Coop barely made out his comment.
Webster lurched around and staggered clumsily toward his horse. He belched loudly then scooped up the reins. Coop smirked, wishing Alexa were here to see this jackass at another of his defining moments. She might as well know what she was getting if she decided to marry Webster.
When Webster clomped off on his horse, his associate closed the door to the shack then strode hurriedly toward his mount. Coop couldn’t trail the short, lean figure of a man who galloped north because Webster had halted near Coop’s hiding place to take a swig of whiskey from the bottle in his pocket. When Webster was finally out of earshot the cohort was long gone.
Coop turned his attention back to the caped rider. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Coop looked every which way but he saw no sign of the man in black. “Where’d he go?”
Exasperated, Coop reined back to town. Contacting the drunken Webster could wait until the following evening, he decided. Besides, he was anxious to return to his hotel room, remove the cumbersome splints and enjoy a warm, relaxing bath. Plus, he wanted to wash away the alluring scent of Alexa that clung to him and to his shirt after she had kissed him. He needed no reminders of that intriguing female if he hoped to put aside all thoughts of her and get a good night’s rest.
Alexa eased open the door to check on Miguel one last time before bedding down for the night. Obviously he was feeling better for he propped himself up on an elbow and glared at her.
“Come in and close the door,” he demanded sharply. “Where have you been? I dragged myself from my deathbed an hour ago to check your room.”
Alexa pursed her lips as she stared at her friend whose black hair was sticking out in all directions. “I thought you learned long ago that I don’t always do as you order.”
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “I’ve spent half my life fretting over you and your daredevil streak.” His gaze narrowed. “Now where were you?”
She sank down beside him. “I had investigative work to do.”
Miguel sighed audibly. “Your father will have my head for this.”
“Not to worry. I’ll give him mine instead,” she volunteered.
“Not funny, querida. You keep up these death-defying stunts and you won’t be alive to give anybody anything. Now tell me specifically what you were up to.”
“I followed Elliot to a brothel where he drank heavily, etcetera, etcetera.” Although Miguel sputtered in annoyance, she hurried on. “Unfortunately Coop was also tailing Elliot at the time and I ran into him.”
She had to pause momentarily because Miguel spewed Spanish curses. Not that it mattered because Alexa spoke fluent Spanish.
“How did you explain spying on Elliot to Coop?” Miguel finally got around to asking after he depleted his supply of succinct oaths.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “I told him that I wanted to know the real Elliot Webster…in case I decided to marry him.”
Alexa didn’t confide Coop’s intimate remark about getting naked together or the kiss she initiated during a momentary lapse of sanity. Miguel would pitch a fit and she figured he’d had a rough night already. No sense aggravating his condition.
Furthermore, the encounter with Coop was much too private and personal. She wasn’t prepared to share it with anyone.
“What time did all this take place?” Miguel interrogated. “It was eleven o’clock when I visited your room.” He gestured toward the bottle on the nightstand. “I took my second dose as the doctor ordered and then I went to look for you.”
Alexa fidgeted uneasily. “Um…it was earlier this evening. I returned to my room to don a disguise about ten o’clock.”
Miguel erupted in another stream of Spanish curses. “And you did what?” he said through clenched teeth.
When he reared up in bed, Alexa pressed the heel of her hand to his rigid shoulder and pushed him down. She smiled reassuringly, but her friend continued to glare stonily at her. “Calm down, Miggy. Your sour expression will sour your stomach all over again.”
“Too late,” he growled.
“I wanted to know where Elliot went after he left the brothel. My persistence paid off. I followed him to a shack that sits on the edge of his property…I think. He met a man but I couldn’t get a clear look at him in the dark.”
Alexa was annoyed that she had slithered all the way to the window, only to have the men step outside before she could spy on them. She had been in the wrong place to get a description of Elliot’s associate or to identify his voice. At least she knew Elliot was conducting secret meetings. She didn’t know if the encounter provided him with information from the territorial capital or if it involved some of Elliot’s other shady dealings.
“I don’t like any of this,” Miguel complained before he gulped down another dose of the pasty liquid medicine. “I especially don’t like you spiriting off in the night. I wish you could have come up with a safer scheme to gain Harold’s notice and impress him with your skills and intelligence.”
Alexa withdrew slightly, causing Miguel to snicker.
“Don’t you think I know what motivates you to stick your neck out so far with this case? Not that I mind accompanying you to Questa Springs. I’ve always liked your friend Kate.”
“More than I suspected…until today,” Alexa remarked.
It was Miguel’s turn to squirm self-consciously. “Yes, well, I am a realist at least. In her parents’ eyes, I am the hired help. Your chaperone and bodyguard. I’m certainly not considered marriage material for Kate.”
“She would be lucky to have you,” Alexa insisted loyally. “Plus, she seems genuinely fond of you. Had I realized this earlier I would have arranged to get you two together more often.”
“Which would have made admiring her from afar all the worse,” said Miguel. He waved his hand dismissively. “That is beside the point. You need your rest and so do I. Please go to your room…and stay there.”
She offered him a playful salute. “Yes, sir.”
“Promise me, no more midnight rides alone,” he demanded. “If you are compelled to snoop around, at least let me go with you next time.”
She arched an amused brow as she rose to her feet. “Without complaints or lectures?”
“No. You’ll have to endure those, but at least you won’t be alone and I can offer protection.”
“I love you, Miggy,” she murmured on her way out the door.
“Me, too…But you drive me crazy.”
“I heard that,” she said from the other side of the door.
Chapter Four
From his posted lookout at his hotel room window the next morning, Coop surveyed the street. A strange sensation filtered through him when he spotted Alexa, who was dressed in a stylish mint-green satin gown. She and her bodyguard were ambling toward Donovan’s Café, which was directly across the street. Coop was tempted to strap on his splint, grab his cane and limp over to eat breakfast, just to get another close look at her.
“You’re an idiot,” he told himself as he wheeled away from the window—and the tantalizing scenery beyond. He’d had enough trouble falling asleep because erotic visions of Alexa danced in his head all night. No need to torture himself this morning, he decided. He’d grab a bite at one of the other four cafés before going on duty at the saloon.
With his leg bound up, Coop crammed his hat on his head and hobbled off. For the most part, the patrons in Sawyer’s Café pretended he wasn’t there. The waitress approached tentatively, but she relaxed when he didn’t grab his six-shooter and fill her full of holes. He considered himself one of the good guys, but anyone touted as quick on the draw was subjected to suspicion, conjecture and approached with caution. Yet, this mountain town was no different to him from other places, he reminded himself. He never stayed in one place long enough to make friends. He made a few casual acquaintances, completed his assignment then moved on to the next job.
“Morning, Coop. Mind if I join you?”
Coop smiled and nodded at Gil Henson, who parked himself in the adjacent chair so he, too, would have a clear view of the door and windows. It was a common practice for gunfighters to sit with their backs to the wall…just in case. Wild Bill Hickok had failed to follow that practice only once, Coop reminded himself grimly. The oversight had cost Hickok his life in a saloon in Deadwood, South Dakota.
Coop wasn’t taking any chances.
He inclined his head toward the patrons who were pretending he wasn’t there. “I’m making people nervous. Are you sure you want to be seen with me, Gil?”
“Sure. Why not? I’m considered a necessary evil in Questa Springs,” Gil said, then asked the waitress to bring him his usual breakfast of biscuits, gravy and coffee.
That explained Gil’s widening girth, Coop mused as the waitress placed the steamy plates on the table. As for Coop, he preferred steak whenever he could get it. Morning, noon and night.
He wondered about Alexa’s tastes in food and then chastised himself for allowing her to cross his mind…again.
“How good of a friend are you to Elliot Webster?” Coop asked conversationally. “Good enough to be invited to his wedding, if there is one?”
Gil chewed, swallowed then smirked. “Doubt it. Webster only deigns to speak to me when he wants something. Six months ago, he wanted me to arrest Hampton, Barrett and Figgins, his business competitors, for undercutting his high prices at his mercantile store.
“Another time he demanded that I arrest Andrew Barrett, who is not only his business competitor but also one of his ranching neighbors,” Gil continued. “Webster claims his livestock has gone missing on several occasions and that either Barrett or Percy Hampton, who shares his fences, is responsible. Or maybe both. According to Webster there is a conspiracy at work to bankrupt him.”
Coop wondered if Webster wanted to marry Alexa, in case his finances hit rock bottom. “In my spare time, Webster wants me to check neighboring herds to see if they carry his brand,” Coop said confidentially.
Amber-colored eyes riveted on him. “Are you signing on Webster’s payroll?”
“Are you already on it?” Coop questioned the question.
A wry smile pursed Gil’s lips. “You think I can be bought, is that it? Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Coop cut his steak then tossed Gil a sideways glance. “Just checking, old friend. It’s always important to know who has your back and who doesn’t…when bullets start flying.”
“I’m not on Webster’s payroll, but it’s not for his lack of trying,” Gil confided. “You need to know that Webster has several hired gunmen on his staff, guarding his cattle and horse herds and his home. I wouldn’t turn my back on any of those bastards, I’m tellin’ ya for sure.”
Coop studied Gil intently. He believed him. But he’d be mad as hell if Gil turned out to be a liar. For now, he gave Gil the benefit of the doubt.
“I was going to meet with Webster last night, but he hotfooted it to Lily’s Pleasure Resort before I could catch up with him on my gimpy leg.” He grinned wryly. “Does Webster have a favorite among the soiled doves at the brothel?”
Gil grinned back. “Why do you want to know? You planning to beat his time for spite?”
Coop shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, why not? I doubt Webster settles for anything less than the best. Just look who he’s courting for a potential bride.”
Despite what Coop said, in his effort to dig for information, he had developed a forbidden fascination for the spirited blonde whom Webster wanted to marry. The thought of Alexa wedding Webster annoyed the hell out of him, although he told himself that it really wasn’t any of his business.
“Webster obviously has a strong appetite because I know he and Lily Brantley have standing appointments three times a week,” Gil reported. “Maybe more.”
“As in Lily’s, the owner? Webster and the madam?”
Gil nodded his reddish-blond head. “She also has two sisters who run brothels in the territory. Must be a family tradition passed from one generation to the next.”
Coop vowed to pass along the information about Webster and his intimate companion to Alexa. He figured a prospective wife ought to know where her would-be husband went for lusty passion. After all, Alexa claimed she didn’t want to enter into a marriage blindly, if she decided on Webster.
“Marshal Henson?”
Coop glanced at the young man who called out to Gil from the door of the café.
“Harlan Fredericks is on the rampage again. You better come quickly.”
“Damn that old fool,” Gil grumbled as he tossed aside his napkin then bolted to his feet. He cast a longing glance at his half-eaten breakfast then sighed defeatedly.
Coop tossed money on the table for their unfinished meals and clambered to his feet, silently cursing the inconvenience of his splinted leg. “I’ll come along to back you up,” he offered. “Who’s Fredericks?”
Gil led the way onto the street. “About once a month the old bastard starts drinking heavily and convinces himself that his wife is cuckolding him. He takes after her and causes a public commotion.”
“Is she cheating on him?” Coop asked curiously.
Gil barked a laugh as he veered toward the residential area behind the bank. “Doubt it.”
A moment later Coop knew why Mrs. Fredericks, who looked to be in her early fifties, wasn’t cheating on the older man, who looked to be in his early sixties. Fredericks was scampering around his front lawn in his long handles, swishing a tree branch threateningly, as if brandishing a sword.
He was chasing after a homely woman, whose gray eyes were a mite too close together to be attractive. Her salt-and-pepper gray hair was piled atop her head, exposing her oversize ears. Her hips were as wide as an ax handle and her shoulders were exceptionally broad. She was six feet tall if she were an inch and she dwarfed Mr. Fredericks, who was rail-thin and stood about five foot nine inches tall in his stocking feet.
“Harlan!” Gil bugled loudly. “Put down that stick and leave your missus alone! I will never understand why she is loyal and true-blue to an idiot like you. You’re the one who needs a good thrashing for running around in your underdrawers. Go put on your breeches!”
“Stay outta my business, Marshal,” Harlan shouted without breaking stride. “What’s between a man and his wife is private.”
He swung his stick, missing his wife by a few inches. She yelped and quickened her pace.
“This isn’t private because you’re attracting public attention.” Gil gestured toward the gathering crowd that watched Harlan perform his monthly ritual.
Coop’s gaze settled on Alexa who stood on the street corner with her bodyguard. She watched Harlan chase his wife in circles and her annoyed expression indicated she was offended by his behavior. Coop inwardly groaned when Alexa marched across the street to plant herself directly between husband and wife.
“Here now!” she spouted off. “That is no way to treat a lady!”
“Lady? Hell!” Harlan raised his stick menacingly. “Get outta my way, lass, or you’ll get what she’s got coming. A man has a right to expect fidelity!”
Alexa, curse her courageous hide, simply crossed her arms over her breasts, lifted her chin belligerently and stood her ground. “Mrs. Fredericks?” she called to the woman behind her.
“Yah, ma’am?” the older woman said, panting for breath.
“Have you been faithful to your husband?”
“Yah, but the old fool doesn’t believe me.” Her voice carried a distinct Swedish accent.
Alexa focused intently on Harlan. “There you have it, sir. Your wife has not betrayed you. I plan to hire her so she won’t have to put up with your nonsense all the livelong day.”
“Hire her?” Harlan hooted. “Then who’s gonna feed me if she ain’t here to do it?”
“I’ll take the job,” Mrs. Fredericks said enthusiastically.
“You don’t even know what the job is,” Harlan snapped at her.
“Doesn’t matter. It has to be better than getting chased down the street when you’re having one of your mean streaks.”
When Harlan raised his stick again, looking as if he intended to whack Alexa for interfering—before he went on his way to thrash his wife—Coop lunged forward. He used his cane to deflect the blow aimed at Alexa. To his surprise, she didn’t need his assistance. She agilely darted sideways and the tree branch collided with the upraised cane.
In the blink of an eye, her bodyguard pounced on Harlan. Before Harlan could react, the nasty-looking dagger that Miguel Santos kept strapped to his thigh was pricking the older man’s throat. Harlan squealed like a stuck pig and his eyes popped when he noted the size of the knife.
“Alexa, my dear!” Webster cried. “You shouldn’t witness such distasteful goings-on! Why, the old codger isn’t even dressed!”
Coop muttered under his breath when Webster showed up to fuss over his intended bride. The hypocrite scurried over to latch on to her elbow then shepherd her back to Main Street. He fussed and fawned over Alexa as if she were the light and love of his life. Coop doubted the two-faced bastard had whispered Alexa’s name while lying naked in Lily Brantley’s arms the previous night. Clearly Webster’s devotion was pretentious and calculated.
When Alexa glanced over her shoulder at Coop, he felt marginally better. Her smile indicated that she wasn’t falling for Webster’s theatrics and that she saw through him, too.
“C’mon, Harlan,” Gil said, grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck. “You can cool down in jail.”
The Mexican bodyguard tucked away his dagger and stared somberly at Coop while Gil frog-marched his prisoner to jail. “Thank you for your assistance, señor. My employer often acts before she thinks, when it comes to her desire of righting wrongs.”
“Obviously.” Coop extended his hand. “And you are—?”
“—Not sure we can be friends, gringo. Not if you can’t offer Alexa the respect she deserves,” he said pointedly.
“I see you are direct. Good. I appreciate that.” Coop smiled dryly. “I hear you were ill last night.”
The comment earned him a scowl. “Si. I am Miguel Santos.” He clasped Coop’s outstretched hand. “Harold Quinn pays me handsomely to keep Lexi out of trouble.” A grin spread across his lips. “I am not overpaid, believe me. I earn every cent of my salary.”
Coop chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. By the way, I’m Wyatt Cooper.”
“I know who you are.” Miguel’s expression sobered. “And you know you are overstepping your bounds. Men like you and I are not allowed to mix and mingle with the Alexa Quinns of the world. It is true that we are off the beaten path here. But if we were in Santa Fe you would have no association whatsoever with Lexi.”
“Only in the capacity to serve her and people like her? Yes, I know,” Coop replied. “Are you one of her many besotted admirers?”
Miguel laughed, unoffended by the direct question. His midnight-black eyes sparkled in the sunlight as he shook his dark head. “No, señor. I know her too well.”
Coop stared speculatively after Miguel as he walked briskly toward Alexa, who was being propelled toward Webster’s mercantile shop. With each passing hour, Coop discovered there was indeed more to Alexa Quinn than superficial beauty. Even her bodyguard acknowledged that she was difficult to handle. Maybe even temperamental when she didn’t get her way. Coop couldn’t say for sure. But thus far, he had caught glimpses of her courage, curiosity, quick intelligence and daring. Those weren’t the characteristics he usually attributed to the idle rich who asked him to resolve their problems for a price.
Tossing aside his fruitless thoughts, Coop limped toward Valmont Saloon. He was already a few minutes late because of the Fredericks altercation. As he hobbled along, Mrs. Fredericks buzzed past him in pursuit of Alexa. Coop predicted that Alexa had made a devoted friend of Mrs. Fredericks, by boldly standing up to Harlan the way she had.
Coop frowned curiously, wondering how much pressure Alexa was under to select a suitable match from her elevated social class. Even if she saw Elliot Webster for what he really was, would she accept his marriage proposal and agree to a loveless match, in order to assume her expected role among the muckamucks?
“Mind your own damn business,” Coop grumbled at himself. “You’re here to do the job you’re paid to do.”
He wasn’t being paid to understand why Alexa permitted Webster’s courtship. Coop was on a fact-finding mission and he had to answer to Mr. Chester at the end of the week. Thus far, all he had was that Webster saw Lily Brantley exclusively when he visited the brothel and that Webster drank heavily on occasion. That and Webster held secretive meetings at a line shack late at night, Coop tacked on.
He doubted those tidbits would be enough to satisfy Mr. Chester, who had obviously hired a second detective to ensure quick results. The thought soured Coop’s mood. He was going to confront the Yank about the issue of professional competency and trust the first chance he got.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Selma Mae Fredericks gushed in her thick Swedish accent. “You are a lifesaver, Miz Quinn. Truly you are.”
Alexa patted the older woman’s hand. Selma Mae alternately bowed and curtsied until Alexa clamped a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “You’re entirely welcome. I was glad to be of assistance.”
Although Alexa had offered to employ the woman, she had no idea what to do with her. At least the woman wouldn’t constantly be subjected to Harlan’s misguided tantrums. “Are you a seamstress?” she asked while Miguel stood in the corner of the hotel room, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
“Yah, I am a fine seamstress,” Selma Mae declared. “After my first husband died, I worked for the gentry in the old country to pay my way to America. I cooked, cleaned and mended.” She pulled a face. “Then I married that dimwit Harlan Fredericks. His first wife ran off with an actor in a theater troop. He expects me to do the same. I keep telling him that I’ve had two husbands and that is plenty. But he refuses to believe me.”
Alexa wondered if Harlan, like Elliot Webster, frequented brothels but expected his wife to remain faithful. She knew Elliot would never be faithful. She wondered if the same might be true of Coop. Perhaps infidelity was indigenous of the male species in general.
Coop’s views on fidelity are completely irrelevant, she admonished herself. Her association with Coop shouldn’t exist at all. If it did, it had to be strictly business. She hadn’t come to Questa Springs in search of romance. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure she believed in it. The constant squabbling between her parents during her childhood convinced her that romance didn’t exist. Besides, she had come here to prove her skills and intelligence to her father by exposing Elliot for the shyster he was. She wanted to remain focused on her mission.
“I can wash and press your garments, too,” Selma Mae insisted, breaking into Alexa’s wandering thoughts. “And your bodyguard’s as well.”
“That would be nice,” Alexa said. “I have an evening engagement with Elliot Webster at his ranch and I want to look my best.”
Selma Mae’s weathered face puckered. Clearly she disliked Elliot.
“Have you had unpleasant dealings with Mr. Webster?” Alexa questioned.
“Yah. When we first arrived in town, Harlan was a prospector. Elliot Webster refused to grubstake Harlan and me without demanding outrageous interest. Things got better when Harlan signed on with the railroad crew and began to receive a steady income. It took a few months to get our feet under us, and Mr. Webster took advantage of our situation the entire time.”
Selma Mae shook her head. “The man is not good enough for you, missy. If not for Webster seeing to it that his competitors can’t acquire all the necessary items to sell to miners, ranchers and prospectors, most of us wouldn’t have traded with him at all the past few years.”
Alexa frowned, wondering if the mysterious man Elliot had met at the line shack might be connected to this facet of corruption. Time would tell, she decided. If Elliot was cheating the townspeople for his personal gain, she vowed to stop him. Her strong sense of fair play refused to let him get away with murder. Figuratively or literally. Maybe both.
Time would tell about that, too.
Later that evening Alexa sat across the table from Elliot, who was decked out in his finery, trying to impress her with his comments, his expensive attire and his elaborate residence. It wasn’t working. He must have had his house servants working overtime because the expensive, two-story stone and timber ranch house was free of dust. In addition, the woodwork, furniture and floors had been polished until they shined. The fact that Elliot had most likely acquired his costly furniture, imported rugs, tapestries and china at his customers’ expense didn’t escape her attention.
Elliot raised his wine goblet in toast. “To us, my dearest Alexa. You are such charming company and so lovely to look at that you take my breath away.”
“You are too kind,” she purred and batted her eyelashes for effect. “Your home is quite impressive, Elliot. A spectacular mansion in the mountains.”
“I’m glad you approve.” He took a drink of his wine and then smiled charismatically. “Perhaps one day you might be interested in living here with me.”
Not a chance in hell! “Why, Elliot, are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” Alexa murmured coyly.
“I’m in need of a wife,” Elliot remarked before he gulped down more wine. “At thirty-five I’m ready to start my family.”
My, the man was a lush, Alexa noted as he filled his glass again. Another reason for her to dislike him. Her mother had the same problem.
“And my father thinks it’s high time that I took a husband,” she replied. “But I don’t wish to be too hasty. After all, it is a commitment meant to last a lifetime.”
Elliot reached across the table to clasp her hand in his. “Perhaps tonight can be a celebration of sorts. Would you consider me as a prospective—?”
“There he is. Never mind, Oscar. I found him.”
Alexa tried very hard not to react to the unexpected sound of Coop’s voice rolling into the room. To her surprise, he emerged from the shadows and limped into the middle of the dining room. Oscar Denton, the armed guard she’d met at the front door, looked quite annoyed as he lumbered along at Coop’s heels. She noticed that Elliot made a point to cling overly long to her hand so that Coop was aware of the possessive touch.
“What are you doing here?” Elliot demanded of Coop.
“Didn’t know you had company.” Coop glanced at Alexa and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Ma’am, pardon the interruption. I’ll come back later.”
“Sorry, boss,” Oscar Denton mumbled as he grabbed Coop’s arm. “He just sort of breezed in here like he had no manners.”
Alexa hid her frown of concern and curiosity behind the wine goblet as she took a sip. What the blazes was Coop doing here? He was supposed to monitor Elliot’s activities from a distance, not barge in as if he owned the place.
Her attention shifted to the burly cowboy who was one of Elliot’s hired gunmen. Oscar was two inches shorter than Coop and slightly heavier. He was armed with two six-shooters strapped to his hips, a dagger like Miguel’s on his thigh and a bandoleer filled with ammunition draped diagonally across his thick chest.
She watched Elliot surge to his feet then cast her an apologetic glance. “Please excuse me for a moment, my dear. I might as well speak to the man since he’s here.” He stared pointedly at Coop. “If for no other reason than to remind him of his manners.” He gestured for Coop to lead the way through the dining-room door.
When the three men exited, Alexa breathed a sigh of relief. Pretending to be enamored with Elliot was taxing. She was grateful for a moment of reprieve. She helped herself to another sip of wine and tried to puzzle out Coop’s unannounced appearance.
Disturbing though it was, it provided a much-needed break in her conversation with Elliot. Listening to him, ad nauseam, while he chided her for speaking to Coop on the street the previous day and then for thrusting herself into the melee with the Fredericks this morning had become tiresome. She had apologized for her rashness, only because it was what he expected of her. Alexa didn’t want to tip off Elliot that she wasn’t exactly what she seemed.
Elliot had forgiven her for her impulsiveness but pleaded with her to be careful, because he had become exceedingly fond of her. Ha! He was fond of her father’s political connections and her social status. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have rushed to the brothel to seek satisfaction with a harlot.
Alexa helped herself to more wine, wishing she could tiptoe to the door to eavesdrop on Elliot’s conversation with Coop. But she figured she’d be caught and have some explaining to do.
Wine and waiting, she mused impatiently. She was stuck here, drinking, until Elliot returned.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” Elliot snapped at Coop. “The next time you barge in my home unannounced I’ll have you shot—”
He shut his trap when Coop jerked his arm from Oscar Denton’s grasp and gave both men quelling stares. Coop let it be known—here and now—that, although he could be friendly and agreeable if the mood suited him, he was not a man intimidated by verbal threats.
“Send your lackey on his way or I’ll do it for you,” Coop demanded harshly. “My business is with you, Webster. By the way, don’t push me. Next time I might not be in a forgiving mood.”
When Webster dismissed Oscar Denton with a flick of his wrist, the henchman scowled at Coop. They traded disrespectful glares before the guard lumbered outside to stand watch on the front steps.
Webster motioned for Coop to follow him to the far side of the elaborately furnished parlor. Out of Alexa’s hearing range, no doubt. Coop was exceptionally pleased with his timing. From the looks of the intimate dinner, Webster planned to ask for Alexa’s hand. Coop couldn’t think of one reason why he should feel jealous and possessive, but he was, damn it. He didn’t want that intriguing woman to marry this scoundrel.
Furthermore, where was Miguel Santos, the bodyguard? Had Alexa poisoned him a second night in a row so she could come alone to Webster’s ranch?
“What do you want?” Elliot demanded irritably. “As you can plainly see, I’m entertaining an important guest this evening.”
Coop stuck out his hand, palm up. “Advance pay is my policy,” he announced. “One week’s advance to be specific.”
Elliot grumbled under his breath but he reached into the pocket of his trousers to retrieve several large bank notes. “Next time I’ll meet you at the line shack on the south edge of my property. At midnight. I don’t want you coming and going from my house. It looks suspicious.”
Coop shook his head. No way in hell was he going to arrive at the line shack and find himself bushwhacked by Elliot’s henchman or the unidentified colleague. “We’ll meet here or your store or not at all. If you’re going to be contrary I’ll notify the marshal that you’re paying me to find fault with your neighbors’ ranching practices.”
Elliot puffed up like an offended toad. “I will deny it!”
Coop shrugged lackadaisically then stretched the truth. “Doesn’t make a damn to me because some of your neighbors want to hire me to check on your ranching practices. I’m a gun for hire and a job’s a job, Webster. I go to the highest bidder.”
Elliot snapped to attention and his gaze narrowed sharply. “Who wants to hire you away from me? Hampton? Barrett?”
“Client confidentiality,” said Coop, his hand still outstretched. “So which is it? You or them?”
Muttering, Elliot slapped the money into Coop’s waiting hand. “You work for me. Now get out of here and do what I’m paying you to do. Find out if my neighbors are guilty of rustling my cattle.”
In other words, unjustly accuse them of wrongdoing, Coop translated. “Sure, you’re the boss.”
“You’re damn right I am,” Elliot contended aloofly. “And don’t you forget it.”
Coop watched Elliot stride quickly across the room to rejoin Alexa. He’d give anything to have the chance to tell her about Webster’s intimate connection to Lily Brantley. Alexa needed to take that into consideration before she accepted or rejected the forthcoming marriage proposal. Although Coop knew he wasn’t the right man for Alexa Quinn, he knew for damn certain that Webster wasn’t, either.
When Coop hobbled outside, leaning heavily on his cane, Oscar Denton was there to confront him with a sneer and a loaded Colt .45. Coop twirled his cane, knocking the pistol from Denton’s hand. It clattered down the steps and Denton cursed foully.
“Watch where you point that thing,” Coop ordered. “You might shoot someone accidentally.”
“When it comes to you, there won’t be anything accidental about it,” Denton sneered as he doubled over to scoop up his weapon. “Next time you go barging in on the boss I’ll drag your dead carcass out by your boot heels—”
Denton’s voice dried up when he realized Coop had drawn a six-shooter and had buried it in his soft underbelly. Coop had used the art of intimidation against outlaws dozens of times. He didn’t like the looks of this whisker-faced, tobacco-chewing hooligan whose sketch could likely be found on a Wanted poster.
“One quick shot and I’ll have your job,” Coop threatened. “Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me, as long as I get paid.”
Coop retrieved both of Denton’s pistols and his dagger. He tossed them into the bushes as he limped toward his horse. “I don’t think we’re going to be best friends,” he said before he reined away from the burly henchman.
He heard Denton cursing a blue streak while he groped in the shrubs to locate his weapons. Coop had the distinctive feeling that he had made an enemy of Oscar Denton. But then, Coop had many enemies among the outlaw population of the world.
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