Cooper's Woman

“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.