Cooper's Woman. Carol Finch

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СКАЧАТЬ then scanned the scenic canyon north of Questa Springs. There were some spectacular landscapes in the rugged Sacramento Mountain Range that rose up between the Rio Grande and Pecos Rivers. In the distance, he heard the murmur of rapids tumbling down the spring-fed river that meandered toward town. The vibrant colors of sunset splashed across the horizon. The setting was so awe-inspiring that he had to remind himself that he was here on business not pleasure.

      Cautious by nature and by habit, he tucked himself beside a pine tree and fished out the card he carried in his vest pocket. For the umpteenth time in a week, he asked himself why he had decided to take this particular assignment. Then he studied the carefully printed card that read like an invitation to a formal social function and he remembered what had piqued his curiosity.

      Whoever had contacted him anonymously at his headquarters in Albuquerque had been sending him specific instructions for this secretive rendezvous. Each elaborately written message was as impressively worded as the previous ones.

      He figured he’d have to wait until dark to meet his mysterious client. It’s what he would’ve done. Sure enough, the sun dipped behind the looming precipices before a stout, round-bellied man emerged from the bushes. His hat sat low on his forehead. A gray beard and mustache concealed his facial features. Scant light reflected off his wire-rimmed spectacles. He didn’t approach, just lurked by a tree, as if prepared to bolt and run at the first sign of trouble.

      “Are you Wyatt Cooper?” The hushed, gravelly voice carried an Eastern accent.

      “Yes, but I prefer to be called Coop,” he insisted.

      “Very well then, Coop, let’s proceed with our business. I have been hired by my client to contract you to keep surveillance on a man named Elliot Webster.”

      Coop nodded his dark head in recognition of the name. Webster owned and operated a mercantile shop in Questa Springs, in addition to a cattle ranch two miles northeast of town. Coop had heard that Webster had gained the reputation of a price gouger and a ruthless competitor who tried to monopolize the dry goods business in the area.

      “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.

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