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

by Jeanne Rose

  "There's lots of superstition in this area of the country."

  Iphigenia moved to lean against the column opposite, her skirts making a soft, swishing sound. "Well, I can't speak for the beliefs in West Texas, but something sure doesn't make sense to me. The situation's too complicated."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not an expert on spiritualism, but I've always understood that ghosts are unhappy spirits who haunt the places where they died," she explained. "No one passed away here except your grandparents. If your grandmother was going to wander the halls and flicker with light, she would have done so long before now."

  Then she went on to explain her own experiences with some cousin's house in New York. She seemed straightforward, as well as accepting about the business. Monte was mildly surprised, since he usually found that most Anglos dismissed such things as spirits.

  "It seems to me that the stampedes and other odd happenings about the ranch would be due to human mischief, not demons or ghosts."

  "I agree."

  "Did you find evidence of foul play where the cattle ran over that cliff? Carmen described explosions of some sort." "The men who quit were camped out some miles away. They say they saw bright lights and heard loud cracking sounds. But when I rode out there today, I couldn't find anything." He tapped a finger on the wooden column. "But maybe that's because it rained last night and washed any tracks away."

  One of the reasons he'd come home in a dark mood. He didn't want to complain about rain, living in an arid area as they did, but he wished nature could have waited until after he investigated.

  "What about the horse stampede?"

  "I know somebody intentionally spooked the animals. Couldn't tell who, though. They covered their own mounts' hooves with strips of blanket."

  "Do you think it could have been Jonah Barkley?"

  "Makes sense. You saw how he was out at night where and when he had no business being. He had no business coming by the ranch today. Never know what he's up to." From his conversation with the wranglers who'd quit, Monte had the idea that someone had tried to encourage them. "At the least, he's spreading bad rumors." Still, he had to admit, "Not that I don't have other enemies. Something happened last fall -- a man got killed and his family is still blaming me for it."

  As the moon rose, Iphigenia stood out pale in the cool, colorless light. "A man got killed?"

  "It's a long story. I don't want to go into all the details." Though it felt good explaining something, letting go of a tiny part of the weight he'd been carrying. "I'll just say that in the beginning, some Mexican bandits took off with two of my men."

  "Kidnapped them?"

  "Something like that. Me and Jake O'Brian were set to go after the bandits, trail them into Mexico if we had to. I'm a good tracker. I learned that from my Comanche father." He continued, "Anyway, we were set to go when an army man showed up with a couple of fellows. They were also tracking the bandits. Said the pack were followers of a madman named Beaufort Montgomery who thought he was an Aztec god." A madman Monte had known from years and years before, a former Confederate officer he'd served under and had already been notified was on the loose. "Know who Quetzalcoatl is?"

  "I have read about the Aztecs."

  "Then you also know about the way they sacrificed people."

  "By cutting out their hearts." She made a soft noise. "That's what happened to your kidnapped men?"

  "One of them." Which was terrible enough. And Xosi's sacrifice had been even worse. "Saw the whole thing myself and couldn't raise a hand to stop it." Not even when he'd held a rifle. "Roberto Padilla died a terrible death and his family is never gonna let me forget it."

  "So you're saying Padilla's family might be trying to harm you?"

  "Maybe." He added sincerely, "I hope not."

  "Were you held captive by this madman yourself?" asked Iphigenia.

  Shamefully enough. "He had a lot of followers. They got the drop on us."

  "Then how could the Padillas hold you responsible?"

  "They have to blame someone, I guess. Some people even think bad medicine -- or curses, whatever you want to call it -- followed me back to Texas."

  "At least you escaped."

  "By the skin of our teeth -- me and Jake and Shorty, along with the army man and his woman."

  Monte's brother-in-law and half-sister, not that he felt like explaining it all now. Not any more than he was going into the details surrounding his long-time, sour relationship with Barkley.

  Bad medicine.

  "Sometimes I kinda half believe there's a curse on this ranch myself." He admitted, "My soul is Comanche, you know, probably more than white. Indians believe that power exists all through the universe and can be used for good or for evil, depending on the person who wields it."

  "Power that is good or evil, hmm?" She leaned her head back against the column. "Well, then, if bad medicine exists, if you have actually attracted a dose, you must simply find out how to get rid of it."

  "Sounds practical." If a bit too simple. But at least she hadn't dismissed the whole thing.

  "One can say the same for ghosts. If they exist, there are ways to deal with them. For one, you must face their existence squarely and not let them frighten you. Spirits cannot truly harm you ...they are not corporeal. They are lost souls who live a shadowy existence, as if they were mere reflections of real life -- the other side of a mirror."

  A mirror.

  The word stuck with him even as he thought about objections to what she was saying. He couldn't believe that dealing with spirits and bad medicine was always so easy. He'd seen the new Aztec empire the madman had built and the miraculous growth of crops, supposedly nourished by drops of sacrificial blood. He'd swear that ancient death spirits had actually drawn breath through Beaufort Montgomery and the man's crazed followers. But then, even before Mexico, he'd known and experienced things that white men's civilization couldn't explain.

  "I seem to have gotten an inkling for the reasons you are moody," she was saying. "You have suffered many bad experiences in a short time."

  She was making excuses for him?

  His pride rebelled. "If you don't watch out, you're gonna become some kinda sweet, helpful woman instead of a rebel who wears men's suits and drinks and swears."

  That shut her up.

  He straightened and glanced at her dress. "Enough about spooks and such. Did Stephen give you those pants and that shirt yet?"

  "Now you are complaining about my dress?"

  "Not at all. It's beautiful."

  Like her. He had the feeling Iphigenia possessed inside beauty as well, something he hadn't known when they'd first met. "I was asking, that's all. You might want to go riding."

  Though he hoped she wouldn't run off. With surprise, he realized he had warm feelings for her and he knew one of the reasons why. "I appreciate you sticking by Stephen when Barkley rode in today. You probably saved the boy from getting beat up." Or worse. Monte would have died inside yet again if anything had happened to his son.

  "Stephen deserves whatever support I can give him. He is a good-hearted young man." Then she gazed up at the sky and yawned. "It's getting late."

  "Better turn in."

  Which made him think about sliding into bed with her himself. What if she were actually his mail-order bride? He could imagine himself entangled with those smooth, ivory limbs. He'd love to run his hands through that mass of gold hair. He'd touch every inch of her soft, pampered flesh, join them in a union that would make them both tremble ...

  "Good night, Mr. Ryerson." She turned to go.

  Her formality hit him like a pail of cold water. "Call me Monte. Surely we know each other well enough by now to go by first names." Especially with the way he was thinking of her. He shifted, uncomfortably aroused.

  "All right, good night, Monte."

  "Night, Iphigenia." He liked saying her name, as if the familiarity gave him some hold on her.

  A familiarity that was fals
e. He watched hungrily as she glided off, just beyond his reach.

  A MIRROR. The word came to mind again when Monte went into the office to pour himself a short snort of tequila. He had to find some way to relax, to forget about the lovely woman sleeping across the corridor. He had to forget how long it had been since he'd been with a woman at all.

  He hadn't had much luck with women the past few years. Amanda was dead. And so was Xosi Baca.

  Not that he should really compare the two. He'd loved his wife and merely slept with Xosi.

  But he couldn't forget what had happened to Xosi the day after they'd made love. He could still see her climbing that bloody pyramid toward its altar.

  One of the Mexican bandits who had captured Monte and his men, Xosi had been a sensual woman, if a greedy and selfish one. She'd set her sights on Monte and writhed beneath his lovemaking, leaving long scratches on his back from her nails. Monte thought he must have touched her in other, less physical ways, as well, since he'd talked her into trying to help with an escape plan.

  As a token of her affection, she'd given him the little silver mirror she wore on a chain. She warned him that the thing was magical, that you could sometimes see what people or spirits were doing in other places ...possibly, other worlds.

  The mirror.

  Monte stared at the rolltop desk where he'd deposited Xosi's necklace when he'd returned to Texas. Opening the desk, he reached in and tugged at a small drawer. Empty. Thinking his memory must be playing tricks on him, he opened more drawers, frowning when the mirror appeared in none of them.

  "Damn!" He placed the glass of tequila on top of the desk, scrabbled with papers. "Damn it all, anyway!"

  He knew he hadn't taken the necklace from the desk. He hadn't so much as wanted to touch or look at it again, since it stirred up bad memories.

  The mirror simply had to be there. Turning up the wick of the room's kerosene lamp, he took hold of it and let the light flood the interior of the desk, using the other hand to scrabble some more. Finally, every single drawer and narrow shelf was empty, every paper tossed onto the floor.

  The mirror necklace had disappeared.

  And Monte was filled with foreboding. He'd never had a magical experience with the little mirror but he swore the object had once thrummed when he'd held it.

  The glass of tequila sat untouched on the table as Monte thought about the dream he'd had of Xosi, of the laughter and footsteps that shouldn't be floating around the house at

  night ...

  MOONLIGHT FLOODED the deep-silled bedroom window when Iphigenia awoke. Had a noise startled her again? Ghostly footsteps?

  She swore she'd been hearing them in her own room at times. Not to mention that she'd been finding some of her personal belongings out of place. But perhaps she'd simply been too fatigued to remember where she'd put things.

  Then she heard a definite noise, a soft scuffing and sat straight up. If she followed her own advice, she should ignore such goings-on, but Monte's talk of curses and strange happenings in the past had only heightened her curiosity. She rose, cracked the door and glanced out into the corridor.

  Her eyes widened when she glimpsed a slim figure sneaking in the direction of the dining room. Ginnie.

  What was the girl doing up and about at this hour? Was she seriously troubled?

  As Cassie had implied, the noises haunting the Ryerson house could very well be of living, breathing origin.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "I CAN DIG UP SOME bluebonnets and bring them to you later," Stephen told Iphigenia after breakfast the following morning.

  "That would be nice." And would give her something to do. Even Cassie and Ginnie had chores -- Iphigenia was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable lazing about while everyone else worked. "Can I plant them right away?"

  "Sure. Dig some holes and put the flowers in, roots and all. Then keep them watered."

  The boy had joined Iphigenia on the porch where she'd taken her cup of tea. A blaze of morning light purpled the distant mountains and inched across the subtle green and brown land.

  Monte came outside. "Bringing a lady flowers, eh?"

  Stephen colored, but smiled shyly at Iphigenia before darting down the porch steps. A host of cowboys had saddled up and were waiting some yards in front of the house. Stephen gave her a quick look before joining them. Monte and his son would be heading out to the range with the wranglers.

  "You didn't have to embarrass the boy," Iphigenia complained.

  Monte chuckled. "Teasing is good for Stephen. He's old enough to go courting one of these days. He needs more confidence." Smiling at her with more than enough self-possession for both father and son, he stepped to the edge of the porch and shouted to the waiting men, "Ready, boys?"

  Several yelled back that they were.

  But Iphigenia had difficulty putting the courting comment to the back of her mind. Had Monte courted many women since his wife's death? she wondered. A woman would be hard-pressed to turn away his advances. Even she felt the power of his manliness, no matter how bitterly they seemed opposed at times.

  "Hey, Ginnie!" one of the cowpokes shouted, making Iphigenia turn to see the girl standing off to one side behind her. "Wanna join us today?"

  The girl shook her head. "I have important things to do here."

  Important? Iphigenia had the feeling Ginnie referred to other activities than chores. She stared at the girl, wondering if she'd had enough sleep after sneaking about the night before, perhaps creating mischief. Ginnie glared in return, then went back inside.

  What cheek.

  Yet Iphigenia was reminded of herself at Ginnie's age. She'd hidden from her father and the servants, crawling out of her bedroom window onto the roof. She'd also "misplaced" some of Horace Wentworth's belongings and thrown away calling cards that visitors had left.

  But then, she'd had an excuse, misbehaving because her father had been so uncaring. Horace Wentworth had never once said he loved her and he'd never seemed concerned for her well-being. He'd bristled and shouted as often as not whenever she approached him.

  Monte Ryerson, on the other hand, was blunt and sometimes aloof, but Iphigenia firmly believed he loved his children. She was certain he would talk calmly, as well as listen, if they were patient and sought his counsel.

  Ginnie should be happy she had a caring parent. In fact, Ginnie should be happy she had a parent at all. Iphigenia's own baby was an orphan for all purposes, put out for adoption. She sighed, again praying the family who'd taken in her child was being kind to Hope.

  Still, it wouldn't be long now before they were reunited.

  MONTE GLANCED BACK at Iphigenia as he got ready to leave, noting her somber expression. He'd give a pretty penny to know what was going on with her.

  "Where's Jake?" asked Shorty.

  Monte had been about ready to mount up. "He's not here?" Now what was the matter? Yesterday, his foreman had claimed he'd felt "poorly" and stayed behind.

  "Thar he be. He's a'coming." Norbert Tyler jerked his chin in the direction of the bunkhouse. "But he shore looks as cross as a snappin' turtle."

  In another bad humor? Monte tried to be open-minded, considering his own moodiness, but some of the men were beginning to complain about Jake's belligerent attitude. Mexico had changed the man. Monte didn't like the look of the big bullwhip Jake had wrapped around his arm. He saw no reason to be deliberately cruel to people or animals.

  Jake stomped up, glaring at Shorty. "Where's my horse, you son of a bitch?"

  The smaller cowpoke didn't take offense, probably because he used to be Jake's good friend. He motioned. "Saddled 'im and tied 'im to that post over there."

  Jake grumbled and headed in the direction of the roan that was his favorite.

  At the same time, Cassie came running from the house. "Get extra bluebonnets this afternoon," she told Stephen. "So we can plant flowers under both cottonwoods."

  Jake snorted. "Flowers? Nothing is gonna grow around here, girl, not with the curse
that's on your pa."

  Curse?

  Startled, then furious for a moment, Monte had to fight his anger. He wasn't the sort of boss who yelled and pushed his men around. Voice taut, he ordered Stephen and the others to go on ahead. "Jake and me will catch up."

  "Okay, Pa."

  The men rode out, Norbert at the rear, looking over his shoulder like he'd prefer staying for the coming show. Obviously sensing something was wrong, Cassie fled back to the house. From the porch, Monte heard Iphigenia jabbering, saying something about his daughter going inside because they were altering a dress for her.

  He concentrated on Jake, stalking right over to him. "What the hell do you think you're doing, running off at the mouth about some damned curse?"

  "I'm callin' it the way I see it."

  "Well, I don't give a hot damn about the way you see it. You keep your trap shut around the other men. We've had two wranglers quit."

  "And there may be more," said Jake ominously.

  "What's the matter with you? If we don't have enough help, I'll have to sell off the cattle for whatever I can get and probably go broke." Jake had been with him for years or he wouldn't have been so forgiving the past months. "You'll lose your job. Is that what you want?"

  Jake seemed to hesitate before saying, "Nope, can't say as it is."

  And for a moment, the man seemed to soften, resembling the trustworthy, salt-of-the-earth ranchhand Monte had always known. He wondered if Jake had some intuitive feeling about what had been going on lately, some sensitivity that went beyond his own. He seemed to know something ...

  The foreman mounted, winding the bullwhip around his saddle's rigging, above his lariat. "I'll be going," he told Monte, not waiting to be dismissed. "And I'll shut up -- not that it'll help you a whole damned bit." Then he kicked the roan and sent the horse galloping off.

  Monte let out a long, disgusted breath, stepping toward his own horse, a big black. He stuck his foot in the stirrup, ready to spring into the saddle when he decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to arm himself with more than the usual Springfield rifle in the saddle boot. He couldn't help feeling uneasy, never knowing what might go on anymore.