Spellbound Trilogy: The Wind Casts No Shadow, Heart of the Jaguar, Shadows in the Mirror

by Jeanne Rose

  "And they weren't white."

  She sighed. "Many thought Indians to be evil. And I knew it wasn't true even as a child. There were good and bad among them, as with any other people." A lump grew in her throat. "One family befriended me. I used to play with the children. They were torn away from their mother, so they could be sent to missionary school, where they'd adopt 'good' rules for living." She cleared her throat, wondering once again what had happened to her little friends. "Their mother was never the same again. She sat in the same place every day and mourned. Finally, she died. I think it was from a broken heart."

  Chaco's eyes pierced her as if he were trying to look into her very soul. "You have a kind heart."

  "I'm only human."

  "But some humans are kind and some aren't."

  "The missionaries were supposed to be kind, but they wanted to preach to the Indians and make them into something they weren't rather than try to understand them. They didn't care about anyone's feelings. Not even when a man killed himself rather than be taken away from his homeland." She'd seen him lying in a pool of blood. "For the missionaries, it was only one less Indian."

  "They believed they were dealing with enemies. The Indians were competing for the same land as the whites."

  She hadn't thought of it in such practical terms. "This is a huge country. Can't everyone live in peace?"

  "Could you live in peace with the Chiricahua, who would steal your horses and butcher your cattle when they needed to?"

  Frances was startled. "Are you suggesting I consider your own relatives my enemies?"

  He shook his head. "It's just so easy for people to become enemies in the first place. They fight over land and food and water and then find excuses – pick on the differences between them – to justify themselves."

  "Like race and religion." She shook her head sadly.

  "True." Then he smiled at her so warmly, he chased away her memories. "Maybe you and your good heart belong here in New Mexico Territory with all its differences."

  A bit embarrassed, she fiddled with a button on her sleeve. "I'm beginning to think my future is here," she admitted. "Though I'm no saint."

  "But you're a good person, someone who cares about others." As if he realized he'd made her uncomfortable, Chaco rose and glanced toward the horses. "Have you rested enough? Shall we ride again?"

  Frances gladly followed him back through the trees. As the sun westered, the shade beneath the branches deepened into shadow. But she couldn't get her mind off some of the more unusual differences in beliefs – like having visions and fearing witches.

  "Do you believe in the diablera the girls were talking about yesterday?" she asked.

  Chaco nodded. "All witches aren't bad, though. The Apache believe evil comes from a person letting hatred or anger or envy eat them up from inside."

  "You sound as if you speak from personal experience." When he didn't answer, she asked, "Would you know a witch when you saw her?"

  "Maybe, maybe not. She can have two faces, one for day and one for night. It might take some time to see through the false face. A di-yin would be better at it. That's a medicine man or shaman," he explained. "And that's what he trains for, to see below the surface. Goyahkla is a di-yin."

  She frowned. "Yet he's bent on revenge. He's on the warpath." Which surely meant he wasn't a good man.

  "He's fighting the enemies of his family and his people, not personal enemies. And he knows he'll have to pay a big price for it in the end." Chaco sounded fatalistic. "A bullet might not take him but he'll probably suffer something a lot worse."

  What a conversation. Though Frances felt a bit overwhelmed, she'd also gotten to know Chaco on a much deeper level. She sensed he'd seen and experienced terrible things, far more so than she. He was a mix of the battling cultures of New Mexico Territory, yet he somehow remained centered, secure in his own identity. He was no idealist, yet she believed he was a decent man.

  She had been especially touched by his insisting that she was a good-hearted person. He must possess some goodness himself, if he could appreciate the quality in someone else.

  He untied the sorrel mare and slipped the reins up over her neck. "Let's get you back in the saddle."

  Then he tried to give Frances a leg up, but she had trouble, even when she grasped the mare's mane.

  "This horse is too big!" she groused.

  He laughed and took hold of her waist. Once again, she felt the warmth of each and every finger. Distracted, she felt her foot slip out of the stirrup as the mare stepped forward. She fell back against Chaco, making him stumble.

  "Sorry!" Turning in his arms, she found herself face to face with him.

  His smile faded to be replaced by a much more serious expression. He let her slip down farther, her body whispering against his and reacting in kind. She caught her breath at the intense sensations spiraling through her. For a moment, all differences forgotten, the world stood still.

  Keeping his arms about her, he lowered his head, his eyes smoky. Then he angled his mouth over hers and kissed her deep and hungrily. She opened her mouth to his delving tongue and wrapped her arms about his neck. She could feel his heart thudding hard through the solid wall of his chest. Part of her wanted to protest – thought she should protest – but he made her forget everything but the path of his fingers as he slipped a hand beneath her jacket and splayed it across her back.

  Arching, she pressed herself against him, her breasts flattening, nipples hardening. He slid his hand farther down her back, anchoring her hips. The hard proof of his desire pushed against her belly. Heat spread outward from her middle, making her knees weak.

  Chaco murmured something against her mouth and turned her to cup her breast, which fit his hand perfectly. He teased the aching crest with his thumb, then began undoing the buttons of her blouse.

  When the cool air laved her heated skin, Frances suddenly stiffened in shock as she realized where this was going. "Stop!" Her hand shook as it caught his.

  For a moment, they both stood there, breathing heavily. She could hardly meet his eyes. She was shocked not only at him, but at herself.

  How could she be so loose and with the man who had ended Nate's life?

  Caution warred with passion in Chaco's eyes as he said, "There's nothing wrong with two people wanting each other, Frankie."

  His calling her by the name Belle had given her incensed Frances further. "There is when one of those people killed the other's husband."

  He stiffened and backed off. "I thought you believed that was an accident."

  "Maybe I do, but that doesn't bring Nate back, does it?" Tears sprang to her eyes and Frances was ashamed to realize they were more for herself than the dead man she hadn't really known. Nate's lies had diminished the burgeoning feelings she'd had for him, but even now she foolishly longed for the dream he'd offered her. "And it doesn't change the fact that you were on that street to kill someone."

  "To protect another man!"

  "With a gun."

  Chaco's tone turned cold. "In the West, guns are part of life."

  "And part of death!"

  "And death," he echoed. "If you can't accept that, maybe you don't belong here, after all. Maybe you should just go back East where people are more civilized."

  The softness she'd seen in Chaco moments before had vanished in an instant, as quickly as had her dreams. Or maybe she'd seen what she'd wanted to see as she had with Nate. More wishful thinking on her part.

  "Maybe I will leave just as soon as Belle has the cash to buy me out!" she said angrily.

  The problem was, Frances didn't know where she would go.

  She didn't seem to belong anywhere.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS THEY HEADED BACK to Santa Fe, Chaco's thoughts were grim. Though Frances had returned his passion for a moment out on the trail, she'd obviously lost her head and had taken no time in regretting her actions. She still blamed him for her husband's death. He guessed she was right in doing so, even thou
gh he'd lost some respect for the dead man after learning Nate Gannon hadn't had the decency to be honest with his bride. At least he had that in his own favor, Chaco thought – honesty, and an aversion to making himself out to be something he wasn't.

  For all the good it did him.

  He'd thought that might count for something to a woman like Frances. That and the fact that he'd turned his back on the only way of life he'd known since his mother had died. Well, he'd been wrong.

  Chaco could tell Frances was still nerved up about their encounter. While she didn't speak to him directly, she spent plenty of time muttering to herself or her horse under her breath as they rode along.

  When he helped her dismount at the Blue Sky, he let his hands linger at her waist. She gave him a look that might freeze a lesser man and stepped sharply away. He couldn't help but inhale her scent and admire the shiny gold-brown hair that tumbled about her shoulders.

  "Is this mare yours?" she asked, her words stiff. "Will I have access to her, so I can practice?"

  "Sure, I borrowed the horse from a friend but he doesn't need her for awhile. She'll be in the stable right here." He indicated the building in back of the Blue Sky, where Belle kept her horses and carriage.

  "Wonderful, maybe I can ride up and down the street a few times every day."

  That made him remember how nice her rounded bottom had looked in the saddle. "You'll be ready for the mountains in no time."

  Too bad she would never be ready for him.

  Not that his attraction was limited to the physical. As they walked toward the back door of the Blue Sky, he thought her heart and her spirit were as beautiful as her face. If he told her the complete truth, the way he was feeling about her, she would probably be outraged. He'd never had his guts tied up over a woman before, not like this. On one hand, he wanted to kiss her, to bed her, to shelter her from danger. On the other, he wanted to back away.

  The last was sounding better and better.

  What a mistake he'd made cozying up to her. His connection with his boss was quickly turning into something serious. For him. Obviously not for her.

  Frances meant to leave Santa Fe eventually. Chaco wondered if he couldn't help her along a bit. The sooner she was out of his life the better. Then he wouldn't go around mooning like some love-struck pup, wouldn't make a fool of himself any more than he had.

  Trying to figure exactly how to go about it, he followed Frances inside, but soon forgot about everything but the scene in the hallway. Her back toward the couple, Belle had Sophie and Avandera cornered, the Creole sheltering the frightened young woman.

  "Stupid fool!" Belle raged as Avandera wept. "How the hell are we gonna make any money if you give your wares away free?"

  "Stop shouting at her," Sophie said. "Can't you see you're scaring her?"

  "Get away from her, Sophie, this ain't none of your business!"

  Frances flinched and was obviously upset by the argument. But when she opened her mouth to interfere, Chaco put a hand on her arm and gave her a warning look. With the mood Belle was in, they'd be better off staying quiet. The madam was seeing-red-furious.

  "Please, Senora Janks," moaned Avandera. "I am sorry. I will sell whatever I have and repay you."

  "You ain't got nothing worth more'n two dollars!"

  With a screech of fury, Belle grabbed a spittoon off the floor and flung it at the women. It crashed into the wall, putting a crack in the plaster and splattering them with streams of discolored juice and wads of tobacco.

  "Are you crazy?" Sophie yelled, wiping some of the stuff from her cheek. "What is wrong with you, Belle? Avandera is young! She thought she was in love. This is no crime."

  Belle was clutching her shoulder. "Damn it! Damn you! Now I sprained my arm! No excuses. I'm running a business, not a match-making society!"

  Avandera sobbed. "I was so lonely. I only wanted someone of my own."

  "So you sleep with a shepherd on my time, a man who don't have a cent?" Rubbing her shoulder, Belle shook her head. "Stupid fool!"

  "Poor girl," breathed Frances, her expression sympathetic.

  Although she barely whispered, she caught Belle's attention. Her expression horrified, the madam gazed from her to Chaco before she turned back to Avandera and Sophie.

  "Don't ever make such a mistake again, I'm warning you." With that she strode away, her skirts swishing as she disappeared around a corner.

  Her arm around Avandera's shoulders, Sophie led the sobbing young woman away toward the stairs.

  And Frances sighed. "Why can't Avandera get married if she wants to?"

  "Maybe she can," said Chaco. "I don't think that's the real problem. "Avandera doesn't know what she wants. She's unhappy." And probably lonely, something he could understand.

  They headed for the front desk where Belle was waiting, looking like she was forcing herself to swallow her anger.

  Her voice low, the redhead addressed Frances. "Sorry you had to see that, Frankie, honey. I don't usually haul off and lose my temper, but I been having a hell of a time lately."

  "Not making enough money?" Frances asked.

  "The Gentlemen's Club is doing fine. It's Louisa who's got me on edge." She tapped her fingers on the desk. "I shouldn't take it out on somebody else, I know."

  Frances seemed concerned. "Is Louisa all right?"

  "Ain't sure." Belle gave Chaco a sharp look. "I need to talk to someone about her."

  Frances immediately offered, "I'm available. I told you I would be."

  Seeing the two women would rather be alone, Chaco ambled away in the direction of his room. "I'll be going."

  Even so, Belle gave him another narrow-eyed look, as if she didn't like him.

  Which got him to thinking. The madam had lived with a Comanche and could know something about Indian magic, as well as brujeria. She also had a ferocious temper. He'd once heard a rumor about her carving up a man in Texas and now he wondered if it was true. But surely Belle wasn't angry or vengeful enough to take up skin-walking, even if she held Nathan Gannon's death against him. She'd never said one word about the shooting.

  Still, Chaco had good reason to be suspicious about any woman who might mean him harm. Rather than mooning over Frances, he should be watching his back.

  HER SHOULDER HURT long after she had extracted the bullet. Every day, she cursed her enemy the first moment she woke up and the last moment before she closed her eyes to sleep. How dare he cause her pain?

  But to her deep and abiding horror, he seemed to be gaining in strength. She had not been able to obtain any advantage over him. Even the love spell she had created had failed. How had this happened? What was his secret?

  She was beside herself, furious, enraged!

  But she would find comfort in appropriate prey. She settled for a Jicarilla youth half-drunk on corn beer. Seducing him with her eyes, with her words, promising to lie with him, she took him to some open land outside of town.

  "Come!" she ordered, dragging him by the hair toward the blanket she had thrown on the ground.

  No doubt used to the man having the upper hand, he grunted and cursed her in Apache. But when he pushed at her roughly, she slapped him hard across the face.

  "Barbarian!" she hissed in his own language, pleased that a sharp nail had left a trail of blood down his cheek.

  He looked surprised, then angry. Good!

  "Come, attack me!" she taunted.

  She ripped off her clothing. The sun was sinking but enough light remained to display herself. His anger faded into lust. He staggered toward her and launched himself, knocking her to the ground. Falling hard, she quickly regained her breath and slapped him again. But before he could retaliate, she slid her hand beneath his loincloth and grasped his engorged penis.

  "So strong, so young!" she purred.

  He made an animalistic sound, spread her legs and thrust into her so hard, she felt she was being pounded into the earth. She gloried in it, arching her back, writhing in ecstasy as he rocked her back and
forth. Holding his scrotum with one hand, she used the other to shred the back of his shirt. She sank her nails into his flesh in both places. When he cried out, it was with intense pain, as well as pleasure.

  As he sank down in exhaustion, she continued to writhe, the heat rising in her body. A growl began deep in her throat and her limbs thrashed with renewed energy.

  "Whore!" he muttered. "I am a married man."

  Her lips curled into a feral grin. "Married? Then I must mark you."

  Just as stern Apaches marked their adulterous women. Before he could move an inch, she jerked forward and sank her teeth into his nose, her sharp teeth biting off the fleshy tip.

  He yelped in pain as his blood spurted over her face. Liking the salty, coppery taste, she sucked on the piece of flesh before spitting it back at him. Then she used her increasing strength to throw him off her.

  He lay on the ground, screaming. "Witch!"

  "Ah, so you know who I am."

  She murmured her secret words and rolled to her knees. Her head lolled and she pricked her ears. Her hearing amplified, she was aware of the catch in his breath, the sound of his terrified heart, the hush of twilight's birds and insects as they sensed the predator in their midst.

  Eyes wide with terror, the Jicarilla scrambled to his feet and started to run, his very hysteria thrilling her. She loved the chase! Flexing her muscles, she pursued him as he tore back toward the town. Not that he had any chance of escaping her. She played with him for a while, then sped up, weaving from one side to the other, relishing the acrid smell of fear as she felled him.

  "Yah-h!"

  He rolled over, hands thrashing at her ineffectually, his face a mask of horror as she went for his throat.

  FRANCES WENT to see Louisa without bothering to change out of her dusty riding clothes. When Belle had admitted that she didn't know whether her daughter would even be there, not after the terrible argument they'd had earlier in the day, Frances had been worried.