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

by Jeanne Rose

  And Minna nearly fainted of fright.

  A strong hand under her arm steadied her. "Ma'am, you all right?" asked a mustached, middle-aged man.

  "Yes, thank you," she said breathlessly. She couldn't tell him the girl had given her the evil eye, perhaps cursed her. "I merely twisted my ankle on the street."

  "Do you need help getting home?"

  He was a fine-looking Christian man. Minna hadn't had much male company other than her boy since her husband had been shot down by a cold-blooded gunman while doing his job for the railroad, leaving her and Billie to fend for themselves. Ezekiel had often been cantankerous but she'd felt safer with him around.

  "If you would be so kind," she said, offering the stranger a tentative smile. "And I hope you'll let me show you my appreciation...with some coffee and homemade pie." Billie was working at the general store this afternoon and wouldn't be home till suppertime.

  The man's mustache curled and a gleam entered his eyes. "Don't mind if I do."

  Still clutching her cross with one hand, his arm with the other, Minna set off, relieved that she wouldn't be going home alone, for it was all coming clear to her now. She wasn't safe in her neighborhood, maybe not in her own house.

  Two bodies, both found nearby, both since the half-breed came home, tail between her legs, from that fancy school back East.

  Louisa Janks was a witch, maybe the one who'd killed those savages, and now she knew that Minna recognized her for what she was.

  Knowing she wouldn't feel safe until something was done about the little heathen, she asked her companion, "Have you heard about the recent terrible murders?" and was gratified when he appeared to be eager to hear what she had to say.

  "YOU'LL HAVE TO MOVE FASTER if you don't want me to lose you," Chaco called back to Frances as his own mount swept him up the craggy hillside and dodged a patch of tall cholla.

  "Maybe that's your intention," Frances groused, barely avoiding the nasty-looking cactus.

  What in the world was wrong with him? He wasn't at all the considerate companion he'd been last time. He was pushing her as hard as any experienced rider.

  "We could go back. Just say the word."

  "No!"

  Frances dug her heels into her mount's sides, then was startled when the mare shot forward with more speed than she'd counted on. Swaying in the saddle, she clung to the horn for dear life. More cholla below! Catching up to Chaco, her heart sank as she realized that her bottom was bouncing emphatically against the leather. An hour's ride out of Santa Fe and she was only marginally sore. So much for the hope that she'd stay that way.

  Chaco glanced over his shoulder. "That's better."

  She swore his fleeting grin was due to her obvious discomfort, but he quickly turned his attention forward and lapsed back into silence. He seemed as intent on continuing without stopping as he was with not talking to her unless he absolutely had to. Frances suspected he was trying to make her complain. Maybe even to give up and demand he take her back. But why?

  The answer was obvious, of course. He'd been acting odd with her since the kiss, by turns deeply troubled...overly charming...and downright antagonistic. Not wanting to dwell on the incident that still kept her tossing and turning nights, Frances put her mind to her surroundings.

  They'd ridden northwest from Santa Fe through rolling hills, the highest of which were graced with stands of ponderosa pine and Gambel oak. The dirt roads had grown redder with the miles, the color a brilliant contrast with the greens of juniper and sagebrush and pinon. For a while, they'd followed a stream lined with cottonwoods, box elder and buckthorn, but now they were back in drier country. Ahead, the land changed dramatically, pale mesas looming so close she felt she could touch them. Of course, that was a mere illusion, for the flat-topped cliffs were still quite a long distance away.

  She had to admit the land was rugged, hard and yet stunning. Such vistas nearly took her breath away.

  As did Chaco. He was dressed as she'd first seen him – his clothes black, his long hair loose, his face stubbled with beard, his gunbelt slung low over his hips. Almost as if he'd wanted to remind her of that fateful day.

  Urging her mare faster yet, she came alongside Chaco while doing her best to keep her seat. He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

  Flustered, wondering why she felt this need to confront him, she stiffly said, "I've been practicing, you know."

  His glance swiped her rear, which was still bouncing in the saddle. "Really?"

  Irritated that he didn't seem as if he wanted to believe her, she said, "Several times. I rode around town. Not at a gallop, of course."

  "We're not galloping. Yet."

  Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Now he'd be sure to push her faster, just to make her miserable, no doubt. He was punishing her, that's what he was doing. And all because he'd made inappropriate advances that she'd been weak enough to indulge in for a moment before coming to her senses. About to light into him, she was stopped by a piercing whistle and the sound of hoofbeats from behind.

  Frances whipped around in the saddle, then gasped, "Oh, no!" when she felt herself falling.

  Chaco swooped down on her and slid an arm around her waist. Agitated by his touch, she tried fighting him. She might as well have saved her energy. Her heart bumped against her ribs as he pulled her upright and steadied her, not letting go until she regained both her humor and her sense of balance. She tried not to take the contact personally...but her reaction to him certainly was! He slowed both horses and turned them to face their pursuers. Staring at a moving cloud of dust some distance behind, he narrowed his gaze speculatively.

  Several riders were on their trail.

  "I don't like this," Chaco muttered, removing his hat and waving it at them.

  Neither did she. A fluttering feeling attacked her insides. "My premonition." When he gave her a puzzled look, she explained, "The other day, I had this odd sense that something was not right. Dangerous." But omitted the portent that he was the instigator who involved her, too.

  The riders were nearly upon them. Frances recognized a couple of the men, starting with Adolpho at the head of the pack. And one of the riders was significantly slighter than the others, had definitely unmanly curves and bared brown legs. When they drew closer, Frances recognized the other woman. Luz. She was riding with her skirts hitched up.

  "What the hell's going on?" Chaco shouted against the neighing and snorting of protesting horses that were now swarming around them.

  "Problems, compadre," Adolpho said. "Apache raids!"

  "Indians on the warpath?" Heart in her throat, Frances took a deep breath. "Are you certain?"

  "Magdalena heard about it from her cousin, who came into town this morning for supplies," Luz said.

  Adolpho added, "The Jicarillas want to avenge the death of their clansman. They're after the diablera responsible...and God help anyone in their way."

  A chill shot through Frances as the premonition of danger returned, stronger than the first time. "How would they know where to look for this supposed witch?"

  "A shaman rides with them," Adolpho said.

  Though she knew she shouldn't be shocked after the things she'd seen as a child, Frances shook her head. "A holy man agreeing to murder."

  "Not murder," Luz protested. "Justice."

  "As long as they only get the witch," Chaco said, sounding worried himself.

  "Exactly," Adolpho agreed. "The Apache believe the diablera is hiding nearby somewhere in this area. Nothing and no one will stop them from finding her if they have to sweep through all the way to Santa Fe. We're riding to warn our people. My family is in Niza, a small mountain town a few miles north of here. Javier and Tobias have people in the next village west."

  "Both close to the de Arguello spread," Chaco muttered, following the statement with a low curse.

  Startled, Frances noted a curious if fleeting expression cross his features before a hard mask slipped in place. Did he have friends on this ra
nch? He'd worked on a place south of Santa Fe, but she supposed that didn't mean he couldn't know people in other parts of the territory.

  "The Apache are the Army's sore spot, especially the Chiricahua." Chaco seemed to be talking to himself as well as the rest of them. "If anything happens to the villages or ranches, the government will dispatch entire regiments...and they won't distinguish between bands. We'll be looking at a massacre across the territory." He shook his head. "We have to stop this from starting. I'm going with you." He looked to Adolpho's three male companions. "Can one of you escort Mrs. Gannon back to Santa Fe?"

  "Sure – " the Anglo named Lauter began, only to be cut off by Frances herself.

  "I'm not going back to Santa Fe." The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think about them.

  Chaco looked grim. "You can't wait around here alone. I don't know when I'll be back."

  "I'm not staying here, either." For a moment, the world narrowed to the two of them. Her heart was pumping. Hard. She fought the fear that tried to claim her. If danger lay ahead, then it was for all, and she would not be so poor spirited as to let the rest of them venture forth alone. "I'm going with you."

  "Don't be ridiculous. A woman – "

  "Luz is a woman."

  "Luz can handle herself."

  Frances glanced at the wild-looking Mexican woman, who had a rifle strapped to her saddle, a knife to her exposed thigh. Indeed, Luz looked as if she were part of this rugged country. As Frances wanted to be, if in a more genteel way.

  "We all have our different strengths," she said. "I may not know how to use a weapon, but maybe I can combat fear with words." She noted Luz appeared surprised. And approving. Frances locked gazes with Chaco, who once again seemed as hard a man as any she'd ever encountered. "The idea is to prevent bloodshed, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but – "

  "Then I'm going."

  She hadn't been able to stop the atrocities she'd seen as a child, but now she was an adult. Surely her intelligence counted for something.

  "No one's going to mollycoddle you," Chaco growled. "We'll have to ride hard."

  "Baptism by fire. I've had some experience." Having been thrown out into the street by her own father for challenging him. "What are we waiting for?"

  Brave words. Frances wouldn't let Chaco see her fear.

  Scowling at her, he quickly took the lead from Adolpho and set a far faster pace than she was used to, though the ride seemed a bit smoother. Even so, she fell behind, and if he noticed, he didn't show any mercy. Luz, however, was another story. She dropped back until she rode side-by-side with Frances.

  "Why are you doing this?" the woman asked. "You could be safe back in Santa Fe. You're not one of us. You have nothing at stake."

  "You're wrong, Luz. The rest of my life is at stake. I don't want to be outside looking in."

  For that's how she'd felt most of her life. As if she didn't belong. That seemed to satisfy Luz, who nodded and concentrated on what lay ahead.

  But Frances was curious, too. "What about you, Luz? You have family in Niza?"

  Luz shook her head. "Adolpho might get himself killed without someone like me to watch his back."

  Frances gave the other woman a swift look of surprise. If she expected to see some softening, she was disappointed. Luz was tough and didn't let down her guard. But her simple response had revealed a lot. Though she did everything in her power to appear unaffected, Luz obviously returned Adolpho's feelings for her.

  As they came within sight of a bunch of ratty little buildings that she guessed passed for a village, Chaco raised a hand and slowed his mount, then waited for everyone to catch up. Thinking how readily the others had accepted him as their leader, Frances took a good, long look at him. Tall and straight in the saddle, he appeared confident, fierce and even dangerous, and yet she neither held him in awe nor feared him. She wondered if – like Luz did for Adolpho – she had feelings for Chaco Jones that she didn't want to face.

  Now that thought unsettled her.

  And made her wonder if her premonition didn't have more to do with her getting involved with the man personally than any danger he could lead her into.

  WITH THE VILLAGERS prepared to defend themselves if necessary, Chaco led the small band onto de Arguello property, telling himself he was merely acting like a human being rather than a worried son. The spread stood between the Apache and the villages they'd just left.

  They moved as one, their tiring mounts fast eating the distance to the estancia. Red dust swirled around them, alerting a guard who fired a warning shot over their heads from a nest of rocks barely within sight of the house. Realizing the man meant business – and that no guard had been stationed there last time – Chaco brought the riders to a swift halt.

  "I'm here to see Don Armando de Arguello!" he shouted in Spanish. "Chaco Jones – I was here a coupla weeks ago!"

  "I remember!" the guard yelled. "Go on through!"

  Checking back on the others, making certain Frances was still in the saddle, hardening himself to the exhaustion he saw etched on her face, the discomfort in her body, Chaco started off at a less frantic pace, his instincts on the alert. The guard wasn't alone and there were others stationed in various strategic places around the walled house, which today reminded him of a garrison. Other men, Mexican peasant and mestizo workers, were lined up around the stable area, some of them armed, all of them agitated and talking low among themselves.

  As they drew closer, an uncomfortable feeling made Chaco's neck hair bristle.

  The distasteful sensation was stronger this time than last.

  Alphonso pulled his horse alongside him. "What do you think, compadre?"

  "I'm thinking there'll be trouble here today."

  Surely the reason his senses sharpened. He could smell danger, and he swore the place reeked of it.

  "Then maybe we'd better hurry," Adolpho said.

  Chaco dismounted near the stables and asked Tobias to take care of the horses. He didn't pause to see who else would stay behind, who would follow as he entered the placita.

  The open area was empty. Silent. The very air was still. The flesh of his back rose. This time he wouldn't wait for a maid to answer the door or for Ynez to find the old man. He threw open the door and swept into the house without warning. aware of Adolpho and Luz and Frances following more tentatively. He made his way blindly along the maze of corridors until he heard raised male voices.

  A familiar one was barking orders.

  Chaco burst in on de Arguello, who was delivering strategy to his men. The inner, windowless room was filled with racks of weapons and cases of ammunition. Enough, he thought, to stock a garrison. One of the men was muscling a Gattling gun from a crate in the corner. Hell, they could wipe out a whole tribe in minutes with one of those.

  Seeing Chaco gave the old man pause. His eyes widened for a moment. Then he sharply demanded, "What is this intrusion?" in Spanish.

  Purposely answering in English, Chaco grit out, "I came to warn you about a possible Apache attack, but I see that my concern's not necessary." And obviously unwelcome.

  He was intent on leaving, about to herd the others back into the corridor, when de Arguello said, "Chaco, stay and fight side-by-side with me as it should be," also in English.

  As father and son? The plea infuriated Chaco. Heat flared through him as he whipped around and took a few steps toward the old man, vaguely aware of someone following close behind.

  "I'm sick of fighting."

  De Arguello's expression was that of a seasoned veteran when he said, "A man must protect what is his."

  "I have no claim here."

  "A man must go after the enemy before the enemy attacks first, vanquish him before he can retaliate."

  Wondering if that was how his mother had become de Arguello's sex slave, Chaco seethed.

  That's when Frances stepped around him and faced down the old man who would be his father. "You plan to spill blood even if needless violence can
be prevented?"

  The Hidalgo pulled himself taller and locked gazes with his son. "Who is this insolent Anglo, who speaks so freely when her opinion is not asked?"

  "A friend."

  Refusing to acknowledge Frances – a mere woman, after all, Chaco thought – de Arguello said, "Then tell your friend the Apache are on a witch hunt. They will burn us out if we do not kill them first."

  But Frances wasn't intimidated. "Have you ever tried talking before fighting?"

  "Tell her – "

  "If you have something to say, then say it to me!"

  Amazed by her determination to be heard, Chaco stood silent and waited for the confrontation to play out. De Arguello looked apoplectic. His face was flushed and his mouth worked silently. But stronger vibrations racked the room, making Chaco turn toward the door and look past Adolpho and Luz to where Ynez stood, her dark eyes fastened on him.

  "War is for men," de Arguello was saying as his young wife silently drifted into the room. "Women have no place in – "

  Frances cut him off. "If you think your spilling blood won't bring a worse revenge down on you, then you're an arrogant fool."

  "You do not speak to my husband so!" Ynez hissed, grabbing Frances by the arm to whip her around, then when Frances scowled at her, jumping back as if she were afraid of the Anglo woman. "Don Armando is a good man, and we are the ones threatened." She hugged herself and nervously rubbed at her shoulder. "If he wants to kill the savages before they can harm us, who are you to stop him?"

  "The voice of reason, I hope." Dismissing Ynez, Frances turned back to de Arguello. "Please, think. Peace is so fragile. And who is to say who will live, who will die? Are you ready to go to your maker?"

  The question startled Chaco – for hadn't Frances told him she'd lost her own faith? – and made the old man pause.

  "If I do not act, then who will stop the witch hunt?" the Hidalgo finally asked her directly.

  "If I spoke their language, I would try," Frances said fervently. "Is there no one among you who can do so?"

  She gazed around the room, her stare touching every man. Most shook their heads or shrugged. A few looked away. Mestizos, maybe some part Apache themselves. Chaco figured they probably could parlay with the Jicarilla, but were afraid for their own scalps.