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“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.
