Thomas B. Dewey wrote this under a pseudonym. I half wonder if he used the Wainer moniker to hide behind all the cliches and coincidences in the novel.
Ricky's a Chicago P.I. who lost his license and needs a new life. An old pal asks him to mind his shop in the Rockies. The air's clean and the fishing is good. Day one, Ricky gets his ass beat by some locals and is told to get out of town. But Ricky's not going to go, especially because he has an instant crush on the buxom girl who nursed him back to health. Should I also mention he accidentally kills her husband? Or how 'bout that the town is under the control of, Crystal, the mine-owning Mountain Girl of the title? Crystal wants Ricky to take the dead husband's place at the mine, which pretty much means digging out dead miners, keeping quiet about who her clients are, and beating her with a crop because she's into S&M.
Yikes. See what I mean?
You get the impression that Dewey (as Wainer) was almost trying to write a parody of the kind of thrilling trash Gold Medal published. It is almost self-consciously over the top. The girls get naked. The guys pound each other to pulp. There's daring escapes, hidden G-men, and a plenty of manly derring do and fishing. But under all that Velveeta, there's layers of gruyère—the good writer that Dewey truly was, peeking through the haze of sex and violence—which made the Velveeta go down easier.