Cooper's Woman (4 page)

“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.

F
rom 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.