Cooper's Woman. Carol Finch

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.

      He stared at her long and hard then glanced distastefully at the cane. “You are kidding.”

      “I have no sense of humor, Mr. Cooper,” she said somberly.

      “I’m beginning to realize that,” Coop muttered as he stared at the cane he was to use as a prop.

      Alexa suppressed a smile. She had formed an instant liking to this brawny gunslinger. She attributed part of her attraction to his appealing physique and his deep voice. Another part of her fascination stemmed from the fact that this man didn’t treat her as if she were a socialite who was kin to a government dignitary and heir to a fortune. Of course, Coop had no idea that she was a female and he wasn’t trying to put on airs the way her wanna-be suitors usually did. This was a novel experience for Alexa and she was enjoying it thoroughly.

      “As bartender and bouncer at Valmont Saloon you can monitor Webster’s activities,” she insisted. “I don’t know if the local law enforcement officer is in Webster’s pocket. That is for you to find out.”

      Coop slid the cane into the leather sling that held his Winchester rifle. Absently he patted his horse. “You’ve made all the advance arrangements, I see.”

      “Of course. That is my job.”

      “You’re very thorough, Mr….” His voice trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

      “Chester,” she replied without missing a beat. “My client requests that you rendezvous with me at the end of next week to report your information. Same time. Same place.”

      “You want a written report, I suppose,” Coop remarked.

      “Naturally. My employer and I expect it.”

      “Fine, I’ll take a room at one of the hotels—”

      “I made those arrangements, too,” she cut in. “You have a room facing Main Street, directly across from Webster Mercantile and Dry Goods. Room number four at Walker Hotel and Restaurant.”

      “Your employer obviously hired you because of your organizational skills. Very impressive, Mr. Chester,” he praised.

      “Thank you. I believe in being thorough.”

      “Anything else before I go?” Coop asked.

      “Yes, make sure you don’t drink your salary at Valmont Saloon. I want you to remain alert and observant at all times. I’m paying you according to your impressive reputation. Do not disappoint me.”

      “Don’t worry, Chester,” he said and snorted. “This isn’t my first investigation. I’ll even tell you how many times a day Webster relieves himself and behind which tree, if you want to know.”

      Alexa tried not to react to the comment. She decided there were some disadvantages to disguising herself as a middle-age, overweight man.

      “Thank you, Coop, but my only interest is acquiring a list of Webster’s associates and his social activities,” she replied, careful to give nothing away. The less Coop knew the better.

      Alexa’s attention remained on Coop while he swung effortlessly onto the muscular black gelding that sported four white stockings and white circles around both eyes. The horse was as striking and unique as his rider. Her gaze and thoughts remained fixed on the impressive masculine silhouette until it blended into the night.

      She had a good feeling about Wyatt Cooper. With this legendary ex-lawman on the