Cooper's Woman. Carol FinchЧитать онлайн книгу.
and elegantly written notifications arriving at his office. A secret meeting in the upper canyon with Mr. Chester. It was understandable that the financial director of the whole damn territory would want to ensure his future son-in-law was not a crook who might become an embarrassment to the politician.
His thoughts wandered off when the enchanting female tittered and cooed at whatever Webster had said to her. No doubt, she was a spoiled, pampered tenderfoot whose world consisted of soirees, fine dining and expensive accommodations. She was everything he wasn’t and had no desire to be. For that reason, he disliked what she represented, even while her outward beauty continued to dazzle him.
“Probably as shallow as a tub of bathwater,” he said under his breath.
Gil tossed him a quizzical glance. “Pardon?”
“Nothing. Where’s the royal princess staying?”
“At Hampton Ranch. I heard that Alexa Quinn and Kate Hampton were best friends at boarding school in Albuquerque.”
Coop was sure he would have remembered this beguiling beauty if he’d seen her before. But then, they didn’t travel in the same circles and Albuquerque was a damn sight larger than Questa Springs.
He was sorry to say that his thoughts scattered again when the voluptuous blonde pivoted away from Webster and swanned across the street. A short, wiry man of Mexican descent, who looked to be in his late twenties, followed ten paces behind her.
The bodyguard or chaperone, no doubt. Bodyguard, Coop decided when he noted the nasty looking, foot-long dagger strapped to the man’s thigh. Apparently Harold Quinn didn’t allow his dainty daughter to traipse around the rugged Sacramento Mountains without a competent protector watching her.
As Alexa approached, all dimpled smiles and radiant beauty, Coop forced himself not to change expression. He willfully battled down his unwanted physical attraction. In addition, he reminded himself that there were too many Alexa Quinns flitting around high society and he didn’t like any of them.
“Good morning, Marshal,” she greeted Gil then nodded politely to Coop. “And good day to you, sir.” She glanced directly at his battered cane. “I’m sorry to see you are nursing an injury. I hope it isn’t too serious.”
“Nothing I can’t live with,” he replied as she swept past.
The alluring scent of her perfume infiltrated his nostrils. Coop took a step backward to prevent the fragrance from clogging his brain and smothering his good sense. Distracted though he was, something familiar niggled him. Maybe he had seen her before in Albuquerque. Maybe he had heard her voice somewhere. No, that was impossible, he told himself. He would have remembered everything about this woman.
With her expensive hat sitting at a jaunty angle on her head, twirling her parasol on her shoulder like a carousel, she sashayed into one of the boutiques. No doubt, her greatest interest in life was shopping. Here was the crowning example of the idle rich. She might be every man’s fantasy, but he doubted she had a brain in her pretty blond head.
“Damn Webster’s luck,” Gil grumbled enviously. “Can you imagine the possibility of marrying a woman like that and bedding down with her every night?”
“Nope,” Coop replied. “Wipe your mouth, Gil. You’re drooling.”
Gil shook himself from his erotic thoughts. “Well, I won’t keep you from your part-time job. Maybe we can have dinner and a drink tonight when we’re both off duty.”
“Sounds good.” Coop cast one last glance at the boutique to note the bodyguard waiting outside with feet askew and arms crossed over his chest. As one servant of the affluent to another, Coop nodded and the Mexican nodded back.
There is one job I’d refuse to take, Coop thought as he headed for the saloon. He wouldn’t want to be Alexa Quinn’s lackey. He sincerely hoped the bodyguard was well paid for his trouble.
As for a potential match between Harold Quinn’s daughter and Elliot Webster, they probably deserved each other, he decided. Nevertheless, Mr. Chester had paid Coop considerable money to monitor Webster’s activities. Coop would do his job to the best of his ability. The last thing he needed was the high and mighty Harold Quinn spreading word that he was an incompetent investigator.
Alexa expelled a sigh of relief while she sorted through the day dresses in the boutique. She had underestimated her reaction to Wyatt Cooper. In broad daylight and at close range he was even more arresting than he’d been while he loomed in the gathering shadows of sunset. His piercing green eyes, wavy raven hair and muscular physique combined to make an impressive package of masculinity. She had noticed how other women on the street had taken a wide berth around him, but there was no mistaking the speculative glances he received from them. He might be considered a hard-edged, dangerous gunfighter, the angel of doom to outlaws, but he was still a tempting specimen.
Completely off-limits, she reminded herself sensibly. There could be no association between them whatsoever. Webster might become suspicious and she shouldn’t have spoken to Coop on the street, but she hadn’t been able to resist. From now on, she would avoid encounters with him.
A curious frown knitted her brow when she glanced out the window to see Elliot Webster striding into Valmont Saloon. She’d like to be a fly on the wall and hear what Coop and Webster had to say to each other, if anything. But she quelled her curiosity and reminded herself that tomorrow she’d have a chance to familiarize herself with Webster’s home. He had invited her to supper, as she’d hoped he would. As for tonight, Kate would be joining her in town to dine at one of the local restaurants.
Alexa sighed impatiently. She was anxious to hear what the townsfolk had to say about Webster. The more she could learn about him the better she would understand him. With that in mind, she turned a smile on the female proprietor of the boutique and made a few casual inquiries.
Coop had been on the job less than five minutes when Elliot Webster sauntered inside, looking arrogant and defensive at once. Out of pure orneriness, Coop plunked down the nameplate that said, Wyatt Cooper, Bartender and Bouncer on Duty. Provided by the efficient Mr. Chester, no doubt.
“Need a drink, friend?” Coop asked cordially.
Webster nodded his blond head and requested a shot of the best whiskey in the house—no surprise there. After he downed it in one gulp, he stared straight at Coop and said, “There’s an unspoken rule in society that states that men with your reputation don’t associate with women like my soon-to-be fiancée, Alexa Quinn. No offense intended, of course. I’m just reminding you of that fact.”
Better men than Elliot Webster had tried—and failed—to put Coop in his place. He had no respect for the rich, for they seemed to think they were entitled to privileges that he wasn’t.
“And you are?” Coop asked, as if he didn’t know.
He drew himself up to full stature and tilted his chin to an aloof angle. “Elliot Webster. I own and operate the town’s most profitable dry goods store.”
And you gouge miners, ranchers and cowboys to feather your nest, every chance you get, Coop thought.
“I also own a ranch outside of town and sell livestock to the forts and Indian reservations,” he boasted proudly.
Coop suspected this man was cheating the soldiers and Indian tribes to increase his profit. The bastard.
“Just for the record,” Coop said, “I didn’t strike up a conversation with your soon-to-be-fiancée. She spoke to me first.”
“Obviously she had no idea who she was talking to.”
“Obviously.” Coop forced a smile and envisioned himself planting his fist in Webster’s jaw. The man was an ass.
To his surprise, Webster leaned close to request another drink then said, “I wonder if I might hire you to check my neighbors’ ranching practices. A few of my cattle have gone missing lately.”
Coop suspected