by Carol Finch
Harold’s brows shot up as he stared at Ben and Ambrose, who squirmed uncomfortably in their chairs then shot John a perturbed glance.
“You have a loose tongue,” Ambrose chided sourly. “It amazes me that a man of your supposed intelligence doesn’t have the good sense to know when to shut up.”
“Don’t take it so hard,” William inserted jokingly. “Everybody is aware that a man has his needs. We just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, is all.”
Harold noted the flushed expression on Ambrose’s face. Interesting, he mused. Then he focused on Ben who sighed dramatically.
“We had to make a run for it,” Ben reported as he refastened the uneven buttons of his vest. “Some crazed cretin was out for blood and had the entire establishment up in arms.”
John took up where Ben left off. “The hothead stormed upstairs with a shotgun in hand, threatening to blow away the man who horned in on his standing appointment with his favorite harlot. We didn’t see who he was, just heard him yelling to beat the band.”
“Good God, was anyone hurt?” Harold asked as he plunked into his chair at the head of the table.
“No, three patrons subdued him. We weren’t among them because we tried to keep a low profile,” Ambrose reported as he tugged on the cuff of his shirtsleeve. “Rose makes sure her establishment is civilized and she caters to the upper class. Why that hooligan was there I don’t know.”
Clearly all four men had dressed in a rush and fled the scene, Harold noted.
“We thought we would while away an hour before this meeting by enjoying some pleasurable diversions,” Will Trent remarked as he raked his hand through his tousled gray hair. “The police arrived to haul the rascal to jail but he was nowhere to be found. Everything should be back to normal by now.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Harold said.
“Except that we didn’t have time to finish what we started,” John said wryly. “I don’t like to pay for services unrendered, if you know what I mean….”
“Yes, well, now that we’re all present and accounted for, let’s get on with the meeting,” Harold insisted. “We have less than a month to renew or to offer new livestock and beef acquisition contracts for the military and Indian reservations. I have gathered information on the three applicants who have asked to be considered.” Harold placed the files in front of his committee members.
Ambrose glanced up and frowned curiously. “You mentioned to the four of us a few weeks ago that you were reluctant to continue doing business with Elliot Webster. What is the problem?”
The question sounded innocent enough, but Harold didn’t trust anyone until he received the results of the investigation Alexa had commandeered.
“We have to follow necessary procedure in order to provide equal opportunity to other deserving applicants who would like to be considered for this contract. We are discussing a considerable amount of money, after all,” Harold reminded the committee.
Will Trent glanced at his timepiece and absently stroked his dark beard and mustache. “I suggest we save ourselves the trouble and award the contract to Webster again. Then we can adjourn to the pleasurable pursuits that were interrupted earlier.”
Damn, Will was eager to grant the contract to Webster without further discussion. Why was that? “Fair is fair,” Harold contended. “Other large ranches in cattle country have prime horses and cattle for sale. I’m wondering if we shouldn’t spread the wealth around rather than playing a favorite.”
Ambrose stared at him contemplatively. “As I recall, Webster paid your daughter a great deal of attention at the recent party. Is this your way of rejecting him and his pursuit of Alexa?”
“No, I’m trying to remain impartial,” Harold said quickly. “I do not base contracts on courtships.” He gestured toward the open folders. “I called you in to familiarize yourself with available suppliers. I will admit that a longtime friend of mine is on the list. I consider Percy Hampton honest and reliable. So is Andrew Barrett. They deserve your consideration. Going over their livestock inventory shouldn’t keep you too long.”
An hour later, the meeting adjourned and everyone agreed to interview the three applicants before reaching a decision. On the way out the door, Ben paused to invite Harold to the brothel for a drink and a stimulating diversion.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Harold said.
And why not? It was lonely at home and his estranged wife was in Boston with her latest lover. She made a point of keeping him abreast of her indiscretions. And he did have his own needs, after all. Since Alexa was out of town, he didn’t have to be as discreet as he usually was when he sought female companionship.
He wondered what his daughter was doing to entertain herself in Questa Springs this evening.
It was a good thing he didn’t know or someone would’ve had to restrain him from going on a rampage with a loaded shotgun.
Alexa hadn’t seen Coop in several days because she had made a conscious effort to avoid him—to prove to herself that she could resist temptation if she really tried.
Of course, she hadn’t been able to resist the first time, she reminded herself in exasperation. It frustrated her to no end that her uncontrollable desire for Coop had overridden her distrust. It was unnerving to want a man to reckless obsession.
Tossing aside the unsettling thought, she nodded and smiled at passersby on the street as she walked alongside Elliot. He had insisted on escorting her to dinner at Walker Restaurant and she had agreed, if only to focus on something besides her complicated feelings for Coop and the disturbing feeling that he had betrayed this investigation.
Her thoughts fizzled out when she saw Coop descending the hotel steps at the same moment that she entered the restaurant that adjoined the hotel. When her gaze met Coop’s, all the unforgettable sensations she had experienced during their rendezvous rushed over her like a tidal wave.
Another siege of warm tingles flooded over when he stared directly at her—knowing exactly how she looked without the bright lavender gown she was wearing. To his credit—and her enormous relief—he didn’t do or say anything that implied they knew each other intimately. But she knew and she had lain awake the past several nights, remembering the taste of his kiss. The feel of his virile body entwined with hers.
“Excuse me a moment, my dear. Go ahead and find us a table.” Elliot detached himself from her side to approach Coop. “A word in private, please.”
Coop didn’t glance in her direction, just followed Elliot outside. Alexa silently seethed, knowing her private detective was on Elliot’s payroll, but helpless to confront him because he didn’t know that she disguised herself as Mr. Chester and the midnight rider in black who prowled the darkness, hoping to catch sight of Elliot’s mysterious associate.
Damn it, her feelings and opinions of Coop were so conflicted and entangled that it was difficult to sort them out. She was fiercely attracted to him. No doubt about that. At first, she’d felt guilty about deceiving him with her disguise…Until she suspected he’d betrayed her by working for Elliot.
Now it was a good thing she’d used a disguise or Coop might’ve told Elliot what she was up to. Since the situation was complex, she couldn’t accuse Coop of double-crossing her or be completely honest with him without giving herself away. Even ignoring him after their passionate tryst would have seemed out of character.
She was stuck juggling her various charades and burying her conflicting emotions.
It was enough to drive a sane woman crazy. One minute she was so desperate for Coop that she wanted to kiss the breath out of him. The next minute she wanted to strangle the life out of him for being a mercenary who double-crossed her—or rather for betraying Mr. Chester.
“Patience,” she muttered under her breath. “You’ll have your say later tonight. Then perhaps you can put this ill-fated attraction into proper perspective and be done with it.”
“Well?” Elliot demanded rudely as he grabbed Coop’s elbow and pulled
him off the boardwalk into the alley beside the hotel. “Have you seen my neighbors swiping my cattle or horses? Have you noticed their brands on top of my brand?”
“No,” Coop replied. However, he had seen Oscar Denton and a few hired hands placing the Hampton and Barrett brands on Webster’s cattle. The neighbors were being set up as rustlers.
A potential clash between Webster and his closest neighbors worried Coop to no end because of Alexa. She was fiercely loyal to her friends and not the least bit hesitant about thrusting herself into perilous conflicts. She had planted herself squarely between Harlan and Selma Fredericks and had barely missed being thumped with a makeshift club. She would undoubtedly stand up for Kate’s family if they were accused of rustling.
That would place her in a precarious predicament with her suitor. Webster was going to force her to choose sides.
“You have seen nothing at all?” Webster pressed intently. “Then what the hell am I paying you for?”
“In the first place, I wasn’t particularly interested in the job that takes up most of my evenings while I’m trying to recuperate from injury,” Coop countered. “So far, I’ve seen little activity. Plus, it’s damn hard to indict men of wrongdoing if I can’t at least place them somewhere in the vicinity of the crime you’re accusing them of committing.”
Webster scowled because he couldn’t argue with that reasonable logic. “What about your word against theirs? That should count for something. You were a deputy U.S. Marshal and you’re a detective. That should give you the credibility you need with the local law enforcement.”
“If you want to bring formal charges then you need evidence and a crime scene. Like branding irons and burned out campfires with hoofprints nearby,” Coop suggested.
Webster made a slashing gesture with his arm. “I can arrange that if you will investigate the area.” He stared grimly at Coop. “When the time comes I better not be disappointed with your efforts on my behalf…or else.”
Or else Oscar Denton will be ordered to leave me with a few bullet holes in my back? Coop silently questioned. Probably.
Coop limped away. He’d worry about Webster’s sneaky machinations later. Right now, he had to document his findings then ride to the upper canyon to confer with Mr. Chester. The man was certainly a stickler for documentation. At least the conference would take his mind off Alexa, he consoled himself.
Quickening his pace, he headed for the livery stable to fetch Bandit. Then he returned to the hotel to write up his report for the conference. That done, he tucked away his notes and told himself that he should be satisfied with that one magical night he’d spent with Alexa. He told himself he wasn’t envious that Webster could be seen with her in public and Coop wasn’t allowed. Curse it, all these alien and unexpected feelings of possessive jealousy and hungry desire that ricocheted around his body and brain were maddening.
Alexa Quinn—with her high and mighty social and political connections and her potential betrothal to a man Coop disliked—was not the woman he needed in his life. Hell, he didn’t need the complications of any female because his nomadic profession took him hither and yon constantly.
“Forget her,” Coop ordered himself sharply. “Do the job you’re paid to do then get the hell out of this place.”
With that sound advice ringing in his ears, he mounted Bandit and headed for the hills to meet with the very particular and persnickety Yank named Mr. Chester.
Chapter Eight
“I think this is a very bad idea,” Miguel complained as he watched Alexa don the Mr. Chester disguise she kept in her carpetbag.
“You’re a worrywart and you think all my creative ideas are bad ideas.” Alexa crammed her arms into the padded jacket then pulled the bowler hat low on her forehead. She glanced in the mirror to paste the beard and mustache in place.
“Not all of your ideas were bad,” Miguel clarified, smiling reluctantly. “There were one or two.” He frowned in feigned concentration. “One now that I think about it.”
Alexa rolled her eyes at her two-legged conscience then pulled the dark breeches over the padding she had wrapped around her hips and thighs. “Mr. Chester is still a convenient go-between when dealing with Coop. He doesn’t know who I am and I intend to keep it that way.”
However, Mr. Chester was going to let Coop have it with both barrels blazing for turning traitor, she promised herself resolutely. She had paid good money for his loyalty and assistance and she expected him to honor the commitment.
The fact that she knew he’d likely double-crossed her by hiring on with Webster and she still desired him was driving her nothing short of crazy. If this wasn’t the dark side of lust defying all costs, she didn’t know what was. Whatever flaw of character or personality had caused this lapse in good judgment must have come from her mother, she thought sourly.
“I’m going with you,” Miguel said.
It wasn’t an offer; it was a demand.
“No need. Mr. Chester can take care of himself.”
Miguel’s dark eyes narrowed on her. “I’m going so don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it.”
Alexa sighed heavily. Her human shadow wouldn’t leave her be. “If you’re afraid to stay here at the ranch, for fear of encountering Kate in the dark, because you have no willpower where she’s concerned—” and Alexa was sorry to say that she knew firsthand what lack of self-control felt like “—then go to town. You can keep an eye on Elliot to see if he ends up at the bordello or the line shack tonight.”
Miguel made a big production of muttering and grumbling at her remark and suggestion.
“Papa is running short of time in investigating Webster and his informant. The committee renews the government contract for meat and mounts for the soldiers and reservation Indians this month,” Alexa informed him. “If you aren’t helping resolve this case then you are a hindrance.”
“Okay, fine,” he burst out begrudgingly. “But I intend to accompany you partway to the canyon before I ride into town.”
“Whatever makes you happy,” Alexa retorted.
He scowled. “Nothing about this makes me happy.”
With her disguise in place, Alexa scurried across the second story terrace to descend the rear steps of Hampton’s sprawling ranch home. Miguel was a few paces behind her. She ducked behind a tree and waited for him to fetch the horses from the stables.
Alexa rode at full gallop until she reached the fork in the road where she and Miguel parted company. After he warned her—for the third time—to be careful, she trotted away. Honestly, her own mother hadn’t fussed over her as much as Miguel had.
Obviously he liked her more than her mother did.
For years, that realization had cut her to the quick. But Alexa had learned to live with the disappointment of an uncaring mother. She had also transferred her skepticism and lack of expectations to her suitors, but one man had slipped past her defenses during her formal introduction as a debutante into society. After that, she’d vowed devoutly never to be hurt or disappointed again.
Then along came Wyatt Cooper. She’d allowed her unwanted feelings for him to take root and grow. It was dangerous, it put her heart in jeopardy and that worried her to no end.
“Just tend to business,” she lectured herself as she dismounted. “Don’t make this personal. It’s bad enough that it has become physical, but you have no one to blame but yourself.”
She continued to chant that mantra while she positioned herself beside the rippling stream that sparkled in the moonlight. She scanned the area, noting several small caverns on the outcropping of rock above her. She wondered if unfriendly beasts inhabited them. Probably.
Five minutes later Coop emerged from the stand of pine trees to the west. He’d taken the precaution of cradling his rifle over his arms, just in case a four-legged predator showed up. Alexa decided to follow his precautionary procedure and she grabbed her pistol for protection.
“Right on time, I see,” she said, using a deeper voice
than normal. Once again, she mimicked her mother’s Eastern accent to throw Coop off track.
“Same for you, Mr. Chester,” Coop replied.
“What information do you have to warrant your large monetary advance?”
“Our man Webster has a weakness for the madam at Lily’s Pleasure Resort. We might try bribing the madam for information about Webster if you feel the need to dig deeper.”
Alexa hadn’t considered that. “What are the chances of gaining facts without being double-crossed? There seems to be a lot of that going around these days.”
Coop shrugged his broad shoulders—and she wished she’d quit noting such things about him. “Fifty-fifty chance, I suppose,” he said. “I don’t know if Lily actually has feelings for Webster. It might not matter. Money is a strong motivating factor.”
She wondered how much money Webster had offered Coop to betray her.
“I’ll save Lily as a last resort,” Coop decided. “There is the possibility that she is emotionally involved with Webster and that she would turn informant for him.”
“Anything else?” Alexa prodded as she shoved the wire-rimmed spectacles back to the bridge of her nose.
“I’ve seen Webster at a line shack twice this week,” he reported. “Once he met an associate but I haven’t been able to identify him. Have you?”
Alexa stared warily at Coop. There was an edge to his voice that warned of trouble. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Cooper?”
“Who is your backup detective who lurks around in black breeches and a black cape? I don’t appreciate the implication that I can’t do my job effectively and I need reinforcement.”
“And I don’t appreciate being betrayed when I have paid you more than the going rate,” she fired back, taking the opening he unknowingly offered. “How much does Webster pay you to double-cross another paying client? And do tell me how much a liar’s word is worth. To my way of thinking I’ve overpaid you.”