Читать книгу Cooper's Woman - Carol Finch, Carol Finch - Страница 12

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.