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 it was probably the other way around.
Three jobs at once? he mused. That might be an interesting twist. Mr. Chester wouldn’t like it, but he could work for the man he’d come to investigate. “You mean at night when I’m off duty at the saloon? This is gravy money. I’m not giving it up.”
“Yes, at night. That’s when the rustling takes place,” Webster replied sarcastically.
“Could be some of your own hired men,” Coop speculated as he refilled Webster’s shot glass.
“Doubt it. They are well paid to be loyal. You will be, too.”
This was too perfect to pass up, thought Coop. If he were on Webster’s payroll, he’d have an excuse to come and go from the ranch without inviting suspicion.
Coop shrugged. “Sure. Why not? As long as I don’t have to get into a foot race with rustlers. My leg won’t hold up.”
Webster grinned as he straightened away from the bar. “Just shoot them from horseback. I hear you’re good at that. And not to worry, the city marshal won’t arrest you.”
When Webster strutted off, Coop frowned warily. He was going to be disappointed if Gil Henson was on the take and had been paid to look the other way when Webster dealt severely with his competitors at Hampton, Barrett and Figgins Dry Goods Store.
Coop discarded his pensive thoughts when one of the calico queens sashayed over to introduce herself. Now this was the kind of female Coop was familiar with. This uncomplicated woman offered and expected no more than a moment’s pleasure for a price. Women like Alexa Quinn were like porcelain dolls in shop windows. Untouchable. Unattainable. Too delicate to associate
