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

by Jeanne Rose

  But Iphigenia didn't object.

  She all but forgot where they were and what time of the day it was as she kissed Monte for all she was worth. She arched when he ran a hand along her spine ...reveled in the strength of his chest and arms ...made a soft noise as he turned her slightly to cup her breast. The crest hardened into a tight little bud. She pushed her breast into his palm and felt his fingers tighten around her tender flesh.

  Her excitement became full-blown passion when their tongues touched and she felt his arousal pressing against her hip. Iphigenia was certain that Monte Ryerson wanted to make love with her.

  And she wanted him ...for truth, not as a lark, the way it had been with Lamar ...

  Then Monte groaned again, breaking the kiss. She responded by pressing herself more tightly against him.

  "This has got to stop." He released her, pulled back. "We're getting carried away."

  Iphigenia said nothing as he scooped her out of his lap, then rose to his feet. Finally, deep embarrassment set in, followed by anger.

  "I suppose you think I am a loose woman now."

  "Not unless having some experience means loose."

  That didn't help. "You think I foisted myself on you?"

  "Not at all. I started things up."

  The rain had stopped and she could hear the snorting and stamping of their horses nearby. Frustrated that Monte had brought her back to the real world so quickly and thoroughly, she had a notion to take off.

  "Don't get yourself in a tizzy," he told her, perhaps sensing her distress. "I haven't lost any respect for you. My view of women seems to be a whole lot more open-minded than the society you came from."

  Her turmoil became somewhat assuaged. She supposed she could lie and claim innocence but why should she?

  "You would marry a woman who was not ...perfectly pure?" she tested.

  "When you marry someone, you have to take her whole personality into consideration."

  As if marriage were the issue, Iphigenia thought. They made their way out from the overhang and down a slope toward their mounts. Embarrassed over her show of passion, she was equally chagrinned that she'd brought up matrimony on top of it. She shouldn't care about Monte's opinions. She shouldn't be so much as considering a possible alliance with the man.

  Monte's liberality toward women's behavior didn't mean he could accept an illegitimate child. She had to keep things in perspective, had to remember she'd come to West Texas for a serious reason -- her daughter.

  The last thing she needed was to get involved with another man who would make her lose her head.

  "I NEED MORE money," Norbert Tyler told him. "You said it'd be worth my while."

  Angry, he kept his temper as they stood in the deep shadow of one of Ryerson's barns. Though it was after dark, he'd been careful to choose a building that was some distance from the house and the wranglers' quarters.

  Most of the R&Y crew had been delayed by the afternoon's rain anyhow. They'd be lucky if they returned by midnight.

  "So what about the loot?"

  Something the idiot had been whining on for days now, trying for blackmail.

  "I have the money. I'll give it to you as soon as you do one more thing -- a little job." He pointed to the barn. "Get up on the roof and mark some signs up there."

  "Signs?"

  "With blood." He handed Norbert a canteen he'd filled after butchering a cow. "Use the same ones you did for the chickens. It'll look like more witchcraft. Scare Ryerson good."

  "This is gonna cost you even more."

  "Done." He pointed again and watched the cowboy climb.

  "Boards are loose," Norbert complained, cursing as he nearly lost a toehold while slapping on some blood.

  "Don't fall." Not yet. "And be quiet." Now came the most important part. He tensed, smoothing the bullwhip he carried, securing his hold. "Climb over to the edge so's you can throw some blood on the front of the building."

  Norbert cursed some more but managed to do as asked.

  Which were the last words the cowpoke uttered as he snapped the whip, expertly wrapping it tight around the man's throat. Then he jerked, pulled, probably breaking the idiot's neck even before the man fell.

  The body landed face down in the dirt with a thud. He looked around, though surely no one had heard.

  "Want more money, do you?" he growled, kicking the fallen man.

  Then he grabbed the cowboy's lolling head and wrenched it around until the man's glassy eyes stared upward, his mouth sagging open.

  "Looks like devilish witchcraft or spooks to me," he muttered, draining the rest of the canteen over Norbert's corpse.

  When he sneaked away, he used a branch to cover what tracks his cloth-covered boots might leave behind.

  He hated the savage blood that coursed through Monte Ryerson's veins... but he'd lived long enough in West Texas to learn some Indian tricks himself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DARKNESS HAD fallen by the time the last of the weary cowboys returned to the ranch. Iphigenia had thought to relieve her bottom by traveling in the chuckwagon rather than riding astride all the way in. Wrong. The wagon's jolts sometimes made her teeth clench. She didn't want to think about what those same jolts were doing to her tender parts. The moon had slithered behind some clouds and she could hardly see where they were going. But Reuben guided the chuckwagon by instinct, stopping the team when he neared the bunkhouse.

  He handed Iphigenia to the ground and asked, "You sure you're gonna make it back to the house, Miss Wentworth?"

  "A leg stretch will do me just fine. Thanks for all your tips on branding."

  Iphigenia's earlier excuse for choosing the chuckwagon over her own horse ...not that she figured she was really fooling anyone.

  "Don't be steppin' into no snakeholes," Reuben called after her as she limped toward the back of the wagon.

  She waved and, releasing her mount's reins, hobbled off, horse in tow. Those who'd preceded them -- which included everyone on horseback, to her accounting -- had left a few kerosene lanterns burning. A couple of tired-looking cowboys were moping toward their quarters.

  Iphigenia went straight for the lit corral already filled with horses. She'd never been so sore and wasn't looking forward to the morning. Undoubtedly, she wouldn't be able to move to get herself out of bed. She felt like having vapors for the first time in her life.

  Just as she thought it, she saw him. Monte. The only man still around. Leaning against a split rail, arms crossed over his broad chest, he seemed to be waiting for something. Her, no doubt, so he could gloat, Iphigenia thought testily. She shoved her embarrassment over the kiss and her idiotic question about marriage to the back of her mind, straightened her posture and tried to walk naturally.

  "I'll take the horse," Monte offered as she drew closer.

  Iphigenia was too bone-tired to argue. "Thank you." Her world was starting to whirl, so she chose to stand there for a moment until she regained her equilibrium after handing over the reins.

  Monte took charge of the horse and undid the saddle leathers. "Feeling better after the ride home in the chuckwagon?"

  "I was feeling fine to begin with," she lied.

  "Sure you were," he said, sounding as if he were holding back a laugh. He slipped the saddle off and threw it over a rail. "Just like to walk funny, huh?"

  "I have something in my boot," she insisted. "Probably a huge stone."

  Monte couldn't hide the grin that softened his rugged features, making her heart thump strangely. More and more he was creating confusion in her so that she wanted to whack him on the head and kiss him at the same time.

  "More'n likely you've gathered a goodly amount of dirt in that boot," he said, "judging by the rest of you."

  Eyebrows raised, he lowered his gaze. Slowly. All the way down to the boot in question. Warmth flooded her even as she realized how truly filthy she was.

  Iphigenia murmured, "Oh, dear, I do need to bathe." Then remembered the hour. Carmen was long gone and s
he didn't have the energy to drag the water in from the well, heat it up and carry it to the pantry herself. "I guess a quick splash with a little cold water will have to do until tomorrow."

  "Not necessarily," Monte said. "The rainbarrels are full."

  "The what?"

  "The open barrels outside the kitchen. We've had so much rain, they're full. Water in 'em isn't nearly as cold as that from the well. It's been heated by the sun ...at least enough to pour it over you if not sit in it. You can stand in the tub and use a pitcher to douse yourself."

  The bathing technique sounded quick and very, very inviting. She felt as if dirt were choking every pore of her body. "What do I use to carry the water in?" She supposed she could manage a trip or two since it was so close.

  "I'll do it," he told her. "Soon as I'm finished here. You set up the pantry and fetch your nightclothes, and I'll get the water."

  Tired as she was, Iphigenia protested, "I can do it --"

  "I'm sure you can. But I'm offering."

  And she really didn't want to turn him down. "Thank you again," she said graciously, backing away.

  Standing there, horse reins in hand, Monte watched her, his expression strange. Iphigenia quickly grew uncomfortable. She turned her back on him and was relieved to hear the clop-clop of horse hooves, meaning he was tending to business instead of to her.

  Heading for the house, she didn't bother trying to hide her awkward gait. The night was pitch dark, the glowing parlor window guiding her -- not that anyone was around to see her walking oddly anyway. She only hoped she would be able to sit properly the next day or she would be the focus of continued teasing, she was certain.

  Once inside, she went straight to the kitchen where another lamp glowed softly. She laid the oilcloth over the pantry floor, pulled the tub in place and set an empty pitcher for the water close-by. She tiptoed to her bedroom so as not to wake Cassie or Stephen, who'd returned with the first group of men.

  Her boots were the first to come off, then the hat and the bandanna Monte had forced on her. When she realized she was fondling the square of cloth -- as if she could feel the man himself through it -- she dropped the bandanna on the dresser as if it had burned her. Swallowing hard, she unpinned her hair, brushed and braided it over one shoulder.

  Then she fetched a bar of scented soap, a towel and a lace-trimmed cotton nightdress and wrapper before limping back to the kitchen. She arrived as Monte wrestled a rain barrel through the door, his shoulder and arm muscles tautly defined through the cloth of his shirt. Covered with as much dust as she, he was still something to look at.

  All inviting male.

  Enough to make a woman lose her good sense if she weren't careful, Iphigenia reminded herself, determined to be very careful, indeed.

  Monte looked up as he maneuvered the shower water just inside the pantry. "I figured I might as well bring a whole barrel in. No sense in doing things halfway. I'd appreciate your leaving me enough water to wash up, too. I'll take care of emptying the tub afterward."

  There was something so personal about the thought of Monte's using the tub directly after she did, with water that had rolled off her naked body swirling around his feet ...

  Iphigenia avoided his gaze and nodded. "I'll only be a few minutes."

  "Take your time. I'll wait on the porch until you're done."

  "I'll let you know," she promised as he exited, closing the back door behind him.

  Once inside the pantry, Iphigenia realized she couldn't close this door fully -- the rain barrel stood in the way. She did her best, then checked to make certain Monte couldn't see her from his vantage on the porch. The windows weren't in her line of sight, so Iphigenia figured she was safe as long as Monte stayed put. Besides, the only lit lantern was in the kitchen itself, so she would bathe in shadow.

  She removed her shirt and pants thick with dust and hung them on a peg, all the while aware of the disturbing man's close proximity.

  Naked, she stepped into the tub, filled the pitcher and slowly poured some of the sun-warmed water over her. She'd never known such joy from such a small pleasure. Lathering herself with her bar of soap, she added water and spread the flower-scented bubbles all over her flesh. More water. More soap. More spreading.

  A contented sigh passed through her lips and she indulged herself ...until she remembered Monte was waiting for his turn.

  She hurried, washing her face, then pouring another full pitcher of water over her flesh, slicking down her skin to clear away the soap. One last dousing of water, and she was refreshed and free of trail dust.

  Iphigenia stepped out of the tub, toweled herself dry and slipped into the nightdress. Pulling her wrapper around her, she left the pantry and paused at the back door where she tapped on the glass to signal Monte that she was done. The moment he rose from the stoop, she made for the dining room, leaving the kitchen even as he entered it.

  She was in the corridor and halfway to her own room before realizing she'd forgotten to take her clothes, towel and soap with her. Hesitating only a moment, she turned around and went back for them, hurrying to get there before Monte started his own ablutions.

  But upon reaching the kitchen, Iphigenia stopped short. Framed by the doorway of the pantry, his broad muscular back to her, Monte had already removed his boots and shirt. She rethought her mission. Perhaps it would be better to leave her riding clothes in the pantry until morning so as not to spread the range dust all over her bedroom.

  She backed away from the kitchen ...and yet could not make herself leave.

  Monte was now stepping out of his lower apparel -- chaps and pants and undergarments all together. She stood frozen, unable to move, fascinated by the way the golden light bronzed his strong male body. Muscular shoulders. Narrow waist. Tight buttocks.

  While he had been more conventionally handsome, Lamar, the only other man she had seen totally naked, had been soft by comparison.

  Monte was stepping into the tub now, and Iphigenia moved fast to swing the door between kitchen and dining room closed so he wouldn't see her when he turned to scoop a pitcherful of water from the rain barrel. She could still see him, though, through a wide crack.

  As water rolled over his chest and stomach, followed by the bar of soap -- her scented soap -- Iphigenia's imagination began wandering, embellishing, then finally went totally out of control. She envisioned herself exploring Monte equally thoroughly, her hands smoothing his flesh ...especially the flesh between his thighs.

  A fist tightened in her stomach and her woman's center began to throb. Her breasts yearned for the touch of his strong, calloused hands. Breathing hard, mouth dry, Iphigenia licked her lips and backed off, unable to take another moment of the torture.

  But once in bed, she couldn't sleep. She tossed, turned, and when she heard him in the hall heading for his room, thought about Monte. About how she had come to Texas to marry a stranger, had decided she could put up with his advances for the sake of her child until she could pay him off.

  But Monte was no longer a stranger. And she longed for his advances. Burned for them.

  So why shouldn't she have them?

  Iphigenia tried to take hold of herself. The situation was so complicated. Monte had three nearly grown children, one of whom hated her, and she had a baby he didn't know about. Then again, all three of his children needed a mother ...and she sorely suspected she needed them, too.

  She needed love in her life, something she had never known.

  Her thoughts drifted again to Hope, remembered the baby at her breast, remembered the love she'd felt, remembered feeling loved in return. Adding an infant to the household wouldn't put a burden on anyone. She suspected Cassie would take to Hope immediately, would be a little mother hen with the baby. And that Stephen would be instantly protective. Maybe a baby would soften Ginnie, as well.

  Maybe things could be worked out so that everyone was happy.

  Iphigenia knew she could be happy with Monte. He was a good man, loving to his children. She
wondered what it would take for him to be loving to her in the full sense of the word ...

  His kisses had inflamed her. She could only imagine what his caresses would be like. Then, again, she didn't have to imagine. She could find out for once and for all. She'd never done anything so bold, of course, not even with Lamar. He'd been the one to seduce her.

  But Monte was worth ten Lamars. Twenty. A hundred.

  That settled it.

  Before she lost her nerve, Iphigenia climbed out of bed. Blood rushing, breast heaving, she padded to the door and opened it. Then, taking a deep breath, she took a dauntless step into the corridor ...

  And stopped, transfixed.

  For there, just outside of Monte's bedroom, an apparition wavered. The form of an exotic beauty wearing camisa and peasant skirt, long burnished hair spilling down her back to her waist. A form that was shimmering strangely, seemingly there ...and yet not.

  The ghost!

  The phantom woman looked her way, and Iphigenia swore she heard laughter. The sound was hollow, like a wind whistling down the hall. Iphigenia shuddered at the unexpected chill that nipped at her bare toes.

  Then she imagined hearing a woman's voice saying, Monte belongs to me and always will, before the wraith disappeared straight into his bedroom.

  Heart pounding, Iphigenia backed into her own room, closed the door and leaned against the wooden panel. What did this mean? Who was the woman haunting this house?

  Though she didn't fit the description Carmen had once given of Amanda Ryerson -- blue-eyed, fresh-faced pretty, curly brown hair -- the ghost simply had to be Monte's late wife. Something he obviously couldn't accept. Filled with grief and guilt, he wouldn't want to think he'd somehow kept the woman he'd loved for so many years from passing completely into the next world. He would want to think her safely ensconced in heaven ...or wherever the Comanche side of him believed in.

  At the same time, a part of himself that Monte had buried deep inside must want Amanda Ryerson to live for him.

  And so she did.

  Bitterly disappointed, for Iphigenia refused to fight Monte's late wife for him -- what an exercise in futility trying to compete with a ghost would prove -- she slipped back into her lonely bed, tormented by thoughts of what might be going on in the bedroom at the other end of the corridor.