Cooper's Woman. Carol Finch
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.
Later that evening Alexa sat across the table from Elliot, who was decked out in his finery, trying to impress her with his comments, his expensive attire and his elaborate residence. It wasn’t working. He must have had his house servants working overtime because the expensive, two-story stone and timber ranch house was free of dust. In addition, the woodwork, furniture and floors had been polished until they shined. The fact that Elliot had most likely acquired his costly furniture, imported rugs, tapestries and china at his customers’ expense didn’t escape her attention.
Elliot raised his wine goblet in toast. “To us, my dearest Alexa. You are such charming company and so lovely to look at that you take my breath away.”
“You are too kind,” she purred and batted her eyelashes for effect. “Your home is quite impressive, Elliot. A spectacular mansion in the mountains.”
“I’m glad you approve.” He took a drink of his wine and then smiled charismatically. “Perhaps one day you might be interested in living here with me.”
Not a chance in hell! “Why, Elliot, are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” Alexa murmured coyly.
“I’m in need of a wife,” Elliot remarked before he gulped down more wine. “At thirty-five I’m ready to start my family.”
My, the man was a lush, Alexa noted as he filled his glass again. Another reason for her to dislike him. Her mother had the same problem.
“And my father thinks it’s high time that I took a husband,” she replied. “But I don’t wish to be too hasty. After all, it is a commitment meant to last a lifetime.”
Elliot reached across the table to clasp her hand in his. “Perhaps tonight can be a celebration of sorts. Would you consider me as a prospective—?”
“There he is. Never mind, Oscar. I found him.”
Alexa tried very hard not to react to the unexpected sound of Coop’s voice rolling into the room. To her surprise, he emerged from the shadows and limped into the middle of the dining room. Oscar Denton, the armed guard she’d met at the front door, looked quite annoyed as he lumbered along at Coop’s heels. She noticed that Elliot made a point to cling overly long to her hand so that Coop was aware of the possessive touch.
“What are you doing here?” Elliot demanded of Coop.
“Didn’t know you had company.” Coop glanced at Alexa and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Ma’am, pardon the interruption. I’ll come back later.”
“Sorry, boss,” Oscar Denton mumbled as he grabbed Coop’s arm. “He just sort of breezed in here like he had no manners.”
Alexa hid her frown of concern and curiosity behind the wine goblet as she took a sip. What the blazes was Coop doing here? He was supposed to monitor Elliot’s activities from a distance, not barge in as if he owned the place.
Her attention shifted to the burly cowboy who was one of Elliot’s hired gunmen. Oscar was two inches shorter than Coop and slightly heavier. He was armed with two six-shooters strapped to his hips, a dagger like Miguel’s on his thigh and a bandoleer filled with ammunition draped diagonally across his thick chest.
She watched Elliot surge to his feet then cast her an apologetic glance. “Please excuse me for a moment, my dear. I might as well speak to the man since he’s here.” He stared pointedly at Coop. “If for no other reason than to remind him of his manners.” He gestured for Coop to lead the way through the dining-room door.
When the three men exited, Alexa breathed a sigh of relief. Pretending to be enamored with Elliot was taxing. She was grateful for a moment of reprieve. She helped herself to another sip of wine and tried to puzzle out Coop’s unannounced appearance.
Disturbing though it was, it provided a much-needed break in her conversation with Elliot. Listening to him, ad nauseam, while he chided her for speaking to Coop on the street the previous day and then for thrusting herself into the melee with the Fredericks this morning had become tiresome. She had apologized for her rashness, only because it was what he expected of her. Alexa didn’t want to tip off Elliot that she wasn’t exactly what she seemed.
Elliot had forgiven her for her impulsiveness but pleaded with her to be careful, because