Cooper's Woman (2 page)

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…”

F
rom 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.