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

by Jeanne Rose

  For the first time in six years she felt really and truly alive, far more so than she did when gentling a wild horse.

  And when his mouth crushed down on hers, she knew a longing so fierce it frightened her. She fought him even as she kissed his whiskey-flavored mouth back, for it seemed that she could do nothing less. Her struggle weakened as her passion grew. Not merely a physical lust – the tightening of her breasts, the heat burning between her thighs – but the hunger in her heart.

  So caught up was she in the feelings only Sam could stir in her that Louisa didn't realize they weren't alone until Chaco's voice broke through her haze of passion.

  "What the hell's going on here?"

  Like two children caught doing something they shouldn't, Louisa and Sam simultaneously let go of each other and stepped back.

  And Chaco's spooky gray gaze bore right through Sam Strong. "You. I heard you were back in town."

  Sam's gaze was level. "You don't sound pleased." He didn't sound like he cared.

  "Should I be?"

  When Chaco turned to Louisa, her unease grew and she looked away.

  "I pay you to work with the horses not with former soldiers. You want to play, do it on your time, not mine."

  Shocked that Chaco should say something so crude to her, Louisa glared at him. She wanted to be angry, but the concern in his expression wouldn't let her take that anger out on the man who was not only her boss, but her good friend.

  She turned to Sam. "You'd better leave."

  "That's what you want?"

  "Yes. I have my job to consider."

  Sam looked from her to Chaco without deference. "Right."

  Moving to his chestnut, he loosened the reins from the split rail and mounted. Louisa had forgotten how well he sat a horse. How magnificent he looked, as if he were part of the beast he rode. The reason he'd tugged at her heartstrings in the first place. At least that one thing about him hadn't changed.

  The chestnut crowded her, but she stood her ground, even when Sam's leg brushed her arm.

  "I'll be back."

  And Louisa couldn't help the way her heart sang at the threat.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRUE TO HIS THREAT, Sam planned on returning to the ranch to seek out Louisa, but not before he'd knocked off the whiskey and cleaned himself up. Her calling him a drunk and her disgust at his appearance had gotten to him but good, had made him feel like less of a man.

  Sam didn't think he could shine in any woman's eyes, but he did his best to be presentable in his Army blues. Thank God he'd brought them, despite his continuing determination to leave the Army once this assignment was over.

  The fiesta celebrating Don Armando de Arguello's eightieth birthday seemed the perfect occasion to present himself to Louisa Janks. Charreadas were generally an open invitation for anyone to attend, so he wouldn't be the only stranger. He wouldn't be alone with Louisa, either, but at least he could set foot on the de Arguello spread without the threat of being bounced on his posterior as Chaco had seemed inclined to do. Sam figured he would get lost in the crowd, and even if Louisa's self-proclaimed protector spotted him, Chaco wouldn't dare ruin his own father's celebration as long as he didn't start trouble.

  Not that he was afraid of Chaco Jones or any man. Or death, for that matter.

  After tying up his chestnut with what seemed to be hundreds of other horses, he made for the crowd around the nearby lienzo, a frying pan-shaped corral made of white-washed adobe that sat a good distance from the main house and outbuildings. One end of the large circular ring had a small grandstand, where a white haired man in a wheelchair sat. Don Armando. Opposite, the ring opened into an alleyway a dozen yards wide and several dozen yards long. Spectators were already gathering along the walls, picking out favored spots from which they would watch the charreada that would begin the evening's festivities.

  "Sam Strong?"

  Hearing the woman's voice, Sam stalled in his tracks and whipped around to face Frances Gannon. No, Frances Jones now. He tipped his hat respectfully.

  "Ma'am."

  Her hazel eyes wide, she murmured, "You're not exactly what I remembered . . ."

  Nor was she. Marriage to Chaco apparently agreed with her, added an attractive sensuality to her features, along with soft color to her pale complexion and gold into her light brown hair. Dressed in a split skirt and fancy shirt and fancier hand-tooled boots, the former Boston schoolteacher had turned into a fine-looking Western woman, even if she was frowning at him.

  "...and not exactly what I was led to expect," she finished.

  "Who did the warning?"

  "My husband."

  Sam grunted. "I don't seem to be in favor with the man."

  "Nor with me. Not if you've come to hurt Louisa again. Have you?"

  "That's not my intention."

  "What are your intentions, Mr. Strong?"

  "Truthfully...I'm not sure. All I do know is that I never forgot Louisa. I stayed in the Army for one last assignment knowing I'd have to return to Santa Fe to get the details. I hoped I'd get a chance to see her again."

  She took his measure. "You break her heart a second time, Sam Strong, you won't have to worry about my husband. You'll have me to deal with. You understand?"

  Taken aback by her ferocity, Sam said, "Perfectly."

  "Now then, perhaps you'd better find a place for yourself. The charreada is about to begin."

  Sam looked around. "Have you seen Louisa?"

  Her brows shot up. "She won't be watching. She'll be performing."

  He should have known.

  So when the riders came out in costume and circled the arena to the music of a small marching band, he looked to the group of six young women riding sidesaddle at the head of the parade. Wearing plain white blouses, red skirts and colorful striped rebozos, they waved to the crowd. No Louisa. His forehead pulled into a frown.

  "So where the hell is she?"

  Then Sam spotted her on a small sorrel mare with one white foot and a star on its forehead. No skirts for Louisa. She wore a fancy charro outfit. Tight black suede pants adorned with ostentatious silver buttons up the sides; short gray suede jacket, black felt hat and black leather saddle embroidered with silver, silk and gold thread.

  Sam could understand her wearing pants while working with the ranch's horses during the day, but why should she be dressed like a man for the fiesta?

  Then it hit him. She wasn't planning to do some pretty patterns, riding back and forth swiftly, weaving in and out -- a magnificent ballet performed at breakneck speed -- as was the custom for the young women. Louisa would be showing off her skills with the men.

  Indeed, the first event was the cala de caballos, during which riders exhibited their control over their mounts. Last in the line-up of six, Louisa was magnificent as she urged the sorrel into a breakneck gallop down the handle of the lienzo. Just as it appeared that she would crash into the grandstand where Don Armando held court, Chaco and Frances and two small children at his side, Louisa brought her horse to a halt in three stages of braking action. The sorrel seemed to crouch on her haunches, sliding forward, then crouching, then sliding.

  Finally, the sorrel stood erect and quiet until Louisa gave her some secret signal, for Sam discerned no movement of the left hand holding the reins or of her feet. With back legs fixed to one spot in the sand, the mare danced to her left, then to her right, then made a complete circle. Done with the capers, Louisa again discreetly signaled her mount to pace backward, neither she nor the mare ever glancing behind them.

  When they reached the starting line, Sam whistled and clapped as hard as any of the other spectators.

  Then, during succeeding suertes in which mares were roped by their hind or front feet, bulls were ridden or grabbed by the tail, dancers or lariat twirlers performed, he looked for Louisa in the crowd. No luck. She was obviously staying close to the other competitors.

  And when the paseo de la muerte or death pass was announced, he realized why. A looped r
ope in one hand, Louisa was the first to appear before the crowd, galloping her horse at full speed, racing twice around the ring. Then she settled next to the release gate behind which a wild mare waited.

  The gate was opened, the barebacked mare forced out of the chute, three mounted riders prompting it to move faster around the ring. Waiting but a moment, Louisa, too, galloped her mount at full speed, positioning herself neck-and-neck with the riderless mare, grabbing a handful of mane and, hesitating only a second, leaping onto her back.

  Only then did Sam sweat. The wild mare bucked and reared and pawed the air, did everything she could to rid herself of the unaccustomed weight on her back.

  Fascinated despite his sudden fear for Louisa, Sam wondered where she had learned to ride this well. She was half-Comanche. The reminder brought with it uneasy memories of other Indians and the reason he'd been so torn apart about looking up Louisa in the first place. If she knew...

  Louisa seemed to be glued on the wild mare as she neared the spot where Sam stood. Then she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened and her mouth went slack. The surprise was nearly enough to unseat her. The mare's next buck did.

  Louisa slipped to the side, only her quickness in wrapping her legs around the animal's middle saving her from what could be a deadly fall.

  Sam's heart leapt to his throat. "Louisa, for God's sake, hold on!" he yelled, starting to clamber over the fence to save her.

  Two men grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him back, and before he could free himself of their insistent grips, Louisa was righting herself.

  The crowd cheered.

  And Sam dragged a deep breath into pain-filled lungs.

  As the wild mare calmed, her bucks becoming half-hearted, Louisa threw a small loop over the animal's head, tightened it, then deftly wound two half-hitches around her nose. Exhausted, the mare settled down and her rider was able to take them along the arena's walls to near-deafening applause and whistles.

  And Sam felt his racing heart steady.

  "LOOK HOW STEADY she is after almost falling to her death," Tezco said, admiring the woman in man's clothing.

  "Almost as good a rider as I am." Xosi sounded miffed. "I wouldn't have lost my seat in the first place."

  The woman charro was competition for Xosi and she knew it. Perhaps he would find her later, at the fandango...

  "When will we set out for the ruins?" Xosi asked.

  "Morning's soon enough. We should be well-rested."

  We being his band, for he had hand-picked his own men to stay with them. That was safest for all. El Catorce. The fourteen – they'd learned to watch each other's backs.

  Her, "What about the captives?" surprised him, for he'd managed to forget the odious command.

  "I will not help Montgomery sacrifice anyone." Tezco remembered the madness burning in the man's eyes. "We're thieves, not murderers!"

  "But we must pretend to cooperate," Xosi said.

  Tezco knew she was correct. He didn't want to alert the madman to their plans. "We will bring back the necessary number of captives, then. But we will find a way to keep them from Montgomery until we have the treasure, then set them free."

  And in the meantime, they would pick up some extra money and have themselves some fun.

  "THIEVES ARE LOOSE among us!" Luz said indignantly.

  Frances, Chaco and Don Armando had gathered near the outdoor dance floor between several large cottonwoods. Having just finished a veritable feast of spicy New Mexican dishes, they all had been relaxed until Luz sprang the news on them.

  "You are certain of this?" Don Armando asked.

  Though Chaco's elderly parent was dependent on a wheelchair to assist his failing body, Frances knew his mind was as clear as the day she'd met him.

  Hands on hips – at least Frances thought that's where the very pregnant woman settled them – Luz reminded them all, "I was raised in a village of thieves. I know my own kind. I stopped a man from lifting Sarah Gordon's purse and told him to get off the property or feel the blade of my knife between his ribs."

  "And he took you seriously?" Frances stared at Luz's stomach.

  The Mexican woman's expression grew stormy. "Bearing a child doesn't make me a weakling."

  "No, of course not." Frances hadn't meant to question her friend's hot-tempered ferocity...or her ability to wield the knife she always concealed beneath her skirts.

  "He very politely agreed to go without a fuss. But thieves rarely work alone."

  "Then we'll have to keep an eye out," Chaco said. "Have you told Adolpho?"

  Luz nodded. "And he's spreading the word among the men."

  "That's about all we can do, then," Frances said. "So many strangers."

  The hardworking people of the territory didn't have much to look forward to in the way of recreation, so they took open invitations to fiestas seriously. Normally that didn't present a problem.

  "There's my husband now," Luz said as the music started up. She left the others to join him.

  "I refuse to allow my birthday celebration to be ruined," Don Armando announced against the sounds of trumpets and guitars playing a Spanish piece. His shock of white hair practically bristled. "A man is eighty only once. Where are my grandchildren?"

  "With Marta." The daughter of their housekeeper often took charge of both her and Luz's children.

  "Then I shall find them and tell them more stories of Nuevo Mexico before it became a territory of the United States." He waved to the servant who waited nearby.

  As the doting grandfather was wheeled off through the crowd, Chaco put an arm around her waist. "Hey, pretty lady, what's say you and I have a dance before anyone else comes up with a problem for us to solve?"

  Frances gladly swung into her husband's arms. After six years, she still thrilled to his touch. She was very much a woman in love.

  A woman in love.

  Craning through the couples surrounding them, she asked Chaco, "Have you seen Louisa?"

  "I want to dance with you, not her."

  "Sam Strong is here."

  Chaco's arm tightened across her back. "He give you any trouble?"

  "No, of course not. It's just that–"

  "No wonder."

  Frances felt a frisson of fear slide down her spine as Chaco's eyes went all spooky on her. "What?"

  "Don't rightly know. I've had this feeling that something was real wrong all afternoon, and Louisa kept coming to mind."

  Heart pounding, she calmly asked, "Why didn't you say something?"

  Quarter Apache himself, he had the makings of a di-yin, or medicine man. Chaco's intuitions weren't of the everday variety. He often had full-blown visions that were enough to scare the dickens out of her. She'd seen some come true in the past.

  "Didn't want to upset you, Frankie," Chaco said, softly kissing her forehead. "It was only a bad feeling, and pretty vague. When Louisa almost fell off the mare, I figured that was it. And maybe it was."

  Frances didn't for a moment believe it. She continued to move her feet to the music, but she had trouble concentrating. Chaco had spooked her good and her own intuition was telling her Louisa wasn't safe yet.

  Could Sam Strong mean Louisa harm?

  "YOU DANCE LIKE AN ANGEL," Javier was saying as he swung Louisa around the hard-packed sand dance floor.

  "'cause I have a wonderful partner."

  The pretty words spilled from her lips without difficulty. Javier was a good dancer and good for her spirits. So why was she searching the crowd for Sam? And what did he want with her, anyway?

  Her gaze met that of a lean, handsome, proud-looking man wearing a faena suit. His dark hair hung loose to his shoulders. and he seemed to be awfully interested in her. Javier whipped her out of the stranger's line of sight and into the midst of the dancers.

  Both men and women had dug out their finest outfits for the fiesta. Some of the Anglo ranch hands wore fancy Stetsons and white bucksin vests. And she'd seen more than a watch chain or two – some were fine braids, made f
rom their sweethearts' hair. The Spaniards stuck to their flat-crowned hats and short jackets and calzoneras, fitted trousers whose bottoms flared out when unbuttoned. Most of the women wore dresses adorned with bows and lace ruffles or collars, and many had matching lace shawls and carried fans.

  Louisa had given into convention only enough to replace the charro pants with a silver-decorated suede skirt that was calf-length, short enough to show off her new hand-tooled boots. Giving into pride, however, she'd freed her hair so the heavy tresses that were her best feature hung loose almost to her waist, and she'd worn a pair of silver and stone earrings whose dangly tips dusted her shoulders.

  As the music ended, Javier prettily asked, "Once more?"

  "Pardon?" She was already moving toward the refreshment table and her gaze was wandering again. "Oh, I don't think so." She'd fulfilled all her obligations with the ranch hands and was growing impatient for the expected confrontation with their unexpected guest. "Actually, I'm thirsty," she lied so as not to hurt Javier's feelings.

  "Then let me get you some lemonade," offered the man she'd been looking for.

  Her breath grew shallow as Louisa whipped around to face Sam Strong at last.

  "Louisa?" Javier crowded her. "Do you know this man?"

  "That I do. Thank you for the dance, Javier. I'll see you later."

  "But --"

  "Please."

  She sensed rather than saw the ranch hand leave, for she couldn't take her eyes off Sam. Still not the pretty tin soldier she'd once known, he was a sight better-groomed than the man she'd punched out. His golden hair gleamed and curled over his collar. He was clean-shaven, neatly dressed in his clean uniform, and his breath smelled of nothing stronger than jalapeno peppers. And he was still the handsomest man she'd ever seen, the scar giving him a dashing maturity.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded above the rushing in her ears.