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whatsoever with Lexi.”
    â€œOnly in the capacity to serve her and people like her? Yes, I know,” Coop replied. “Are you one of her many besotted admirers?”
    Miguel laughed, unoffended by the direct question. His midnight-black eyes sparkled in the sunlight as he shook his dark head. “No, señor. I know her too well.”
    Coop stared speculatively after Miguel as he walked briskly toward Alexa, who was being propelled toward Webster’s mercantile shop. With each passing hour, Coop discovered there was indeed more to Alexa Quinn than superficial beauty. Even her bodyguard acknowledged that she was difficult to handle. Maybe even temperamental when she didn’t get her way. Coop couldn’t say for sure. But thus far, he had caught glimpses of her courage, curiosity, quick intelligence and daring. Those weren’t the characteristics he usually attributed to the idle rich who asked him to resolve their problems for a price.
    Tossing aside his fruitless thoughts, Coop limped toward Valmont Saloon. He was already a few minutes late because of the Fredericks altercation. As he hobbled along, Mrs. Fredericks buzzed past him in pursuit of Alexa. Coop predicted that Alexa had made a devoted friend of Mrs. Fredericks, by boldly standing up to Harlan the way she had.
    Coop frowned curiously, wondering how much pressure Alexa was under to select a suitable match from her elevated social class. Even if she saw Elliot Webster for what he really was, would she accept his marriage proposal and agree to a loveless match, in order to assume her expected role among the muckamucks?
    â€œMind your own damn business,” Coop grumbled at himself. “You’re here to do the job you’re paid to do.”
    He wasn’t being paid to understand why Alexa permitted Webster’s courtship. Coop was on a fact-finding mission and he had to answer to Mr. Chester at the end of the week. Thus far, all he had was that Webster saw Lily Brantley exclusively when he visited the brothel and that Webster drank 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.
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    â€œI 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.
    â€œYah, 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