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

by Jeanne Rose

  Without waiting, she turned on her heel. Her father followed, saying, "Graves, you wait for me here."

  "Yessir."

  "Cassie," Iphigenia heard Monte saying. "Where's your sister?"

  "Up in the attic. Alone as usual."

  "Not for long."

  Iphigenia knew he wanted to get down to the mirror business with his daughter. She only wondered what business her father had with her ...if it wasn't her trust fund.

  Once inside the study, she wasted no time. "How did you find me, Father? And what are you doing here?"

  Anger reddened his features. "I had detectives on your trail the day after you disappeared. And I have come to bring you back to New York, of course."

  "Why?"

  His white eyebrows arched. "You are my daughter."

  "An interesting time for you to remember that."

  "Do not be insolent with me, or I shall --"

  "What? Cut me off? You already did that. Except for my mother's trust fund, of course. And I shall be needing that money as soon as possible."

  "That trust fund only comes to you after you marry."

  "Yes, it does."

  Realization hit him hard. His white hair seemed to bristle. "You wedded that ...that cowboy."

  He wasn't saying what he really meant, that he was appalled his daughter had taken up with what seemed to be a full-blood Indian. Most conservative Easterners would be prejudiced.

  "I would prefer you keep your voice down. The children do not yet know about our marriage, and Monte and I would like to tell them in our own time. Now, about my money -- how soon can I have it?"

  Her father began pacing. "So Ryerson's a fortune hunter, eh?"

  "He doesn't want the money. I do. It is mine."

  "Only if I approve of the man you marry," he informed her. "And I certainly do not."

  He was doing it again. Controlling her life. "Do you really hate me so?"

  He stopped short. Appeared surprised. "You're my daughter." He paused. "I love you, of course."

  "There's no of course about it. You never treated me with love. You even gave my child away."

  The accusation nearly made her father squirm, she noted with satisfaction.

  "So the child is the cause of this foolishness. Sending her here to you mother's relations was your Aunt Gertrude's doing, not mine."

  "You didn't stop her."

  "I didn't know until the fact was accomplished." He sighed. "But perhaps it was for the best."

  "The best?" Iphigenia was more outraged than she'd ever been in her life. Her chest tightened. "You think it's best for Hope -- that is your granddaughter's name, by the way -- to be living in squalor with a man who neglects his own children? A man whose wife fears rather than respects him?"

  "Your Aunt Gertrude provided enough money --"

  "To keep Abner Frickett drunk for a good long time. Though perhaps he drinks faster than most men, for he wants more -- a thousand dollars that I do not have." Feeling tears well up in her eyes once more, she steeled herself so that she would not cry before this cold, harsh man who had sired her. "You think on that, Father, before you withhold money that is rightfully mine. You think of the life to which you would be condemning your own grandchild!"

  Tears streaming down her face, she ran out of the study and into her bedroom where she slammed the door and threw herself across the bed for a yet another good cry. Her father's presence brought home how little was his regard for her.

  Why should she be surprised that he thought even less of her own daughter?

  But worry that he wouldn't release the trust fund soon dried her tears, made Iphigenia do some quick thinking. She turned over in her bed, stared up at the ceiling. She could still try to sell the jewelry elsewhere. But if that plan failed, if she couldn't raise the thousand dollars, what then? She couldn't, absolutely wouldn't leave Hope in the hands of Abner Frickett any longer than she had to.

  Perhaps she wasn't willing to allow Monte to steal her child for her in fear that he would land in jail and possibly lose his ranch ...but the only thing she had to lose was her freedom. If it came down to it, Iphigenia promised herself, she would risk everything. She would buy a few good distance horses and weapons with whatever money she could get for her jewelry. Then she would return to the Frickett ranch, take her child and disappear into the wilderness, riding as far away from West Texas as she could get.

  For Hope's sake, she couldn't consider the heartache she would suffer if she never again saw the man she loved.

  PART OF HIM wondered how Iphigenia was faring with her father as Monte grilled Ginnie.

  "Mirror?" she repeated. "What mirror?"

  Monte stared into the face of his daughter and wondered how she had drifted so far from him and Cassie and Stephen. "A pendant in the shape of a hand mirror on a silver chain. It's very important to me, Ginnie. I gotta have it back."

  "Pa, I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I think you do." He could see it in her eyes. His kids could never lie to him without his knowing. "I think you found it in my desk."

  Her expression went from innocence to anger as she hopped out from under her covers fully dressed. "You're calling me a liar and a thief!"

  "Are you?" he asked, even more sad than he was angry.

  "At least I'm not a damned murderer!" she yelled.

  "You watch your mouth!" Monte warned her, his temper flaring at the reminder of Amanda's death.

  But before he could stop Ginnie, she raced out of the room. Monte thought to go after his daughter, then realized he had something more important to attend to.

  Finding the mirror.

  He stripped back the make-shift bed and searched it. Nothing. He continued sorting through her things that Ginnie had brought from her old room and had piled everywhere, but it was no use. Either she'd hidden the mirror outside the house ...or she was wearing it as a pendant like Xosi used to.

  Monte cursed himself for not handling the situation better. Until he found the pendant and could do something about Xosi, none of them would be safe, especially not Iphigenia. And until she was, he could never be a real husband to the woman he loved, not in this house where shadows dwelled.

  He only hoped no other disaster occurred before he convinced Ginnie to hand over the cursed mirror.

  HE RODE ON, the late night wind chasing the clouds across the moon. His horse's hooves were covered with soft cloth so they would not make noise, so that Ryerson would not be able to examine his tracks and name him.

  He checked the house. All dark.

  He hated doing his own dirty work, but there was no help for it. Norbert Tyler had been too greedy for his own good. Trusting anyone else would be too dangerous -- even the two gunmen he'd brought in to protect him didn't know about this.

  A noise alerted him. Already at the corral, he drew up his mount and gazed around. Another odd sound. A skittering. No movement. Perhaps a small animal scurrying across the grounds in search of food.

  Dismounting, he tied his horse to a post, took the sack of grain from his saddlehorn and slipped through the slats of the fence. Time for the curse to strike again. Horses whickered and huddled away from him. He grinned. They were a greedy bunch. They'd change their minds when he offered the grain. He'd only let a few eat the moldy contents. Those horses would sicken, maybe die. The curse would be blamed. And more men would desert Ryerson.

  It was only a matter of time before the bastard was ruined for good.

  Another noise, closer this time. The animals stamped and snorted, a few breaking free of the herd and racing across the corral. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He had the weirdest sensation ...like the time he'd ransacked Ryerson's desk and found that damn little mirror that had seemed to be alive.

  Still, he fought his response -- he could see nothing despite the moon now shining once more. He moved toward the animals while opening the grain sack.

  And froze when he was ordered, "Stop right there!"

&n
bsp; Easing his arm down, he turned and looked into the muzzle of a rifle trained on him hardly more than a yard away. A cowboy had the drop on him.

  "What the hell you think you are doing sneaking around in here in the middle of the night?" Pablo demanded.

  A horse neighed, followed by another. The herd was restless, making him doubly nervous.

  "Nothing," he said, surreptitiously dropping the bag behind him, hoping the cowboy hadn't seen it. "I'll be going now." Only far enough to get the drop on Pablo, of course.

  But the man waved his rifle. "Not until we visit Mr. Ryerson, let him figure out what you were up to."

  "Look, I'll leave this minute. No harm done."

  "I don't think so."

  Another tactic might work better. "How much do you want to keep your mouth shut?"

  "I don't ..."

  Pablo's words trailed off as a greenish glow some way outside the corral caught their attention. An irregular orb, it pulsed, floating some feet from the ground.

  "Dios!" breathed Pablo.

  It was just like that night on the range when rumors of the curse had begun to spread. His flesh crawled. But he couldn't let the bizarre situation stop him from lunging at the cowboy and grabbing the barrel of his rifle. Remembering himself too late, Pablo fought back. But the other man was considerably smaller and no match for him.

  He struck the cowboy in the neck with his elbow and tore the rifle free, then without hesitating, whacked him in the head with the metal barrel. Pablo went down, just like the sack of grain. And he knew that he couldn't let the little bastard live to talk. But how to kill the man? He had to make it seem like the curse at work.

  A curse that seemed too real. The horses circled restlessly, already half-spooked. Ready to run. He gazed over his shoulder. The greenish glow wavered in another spot now.

  Swallowing hard, cold sweat beading his brow, he climbed the lower rung of the fence and reached through to fetch the bullwhip from his saddle. Then, unwinding it, he lunged at a couple of horses. One neighed and shied, the other raced across the corral. He threatened others with his bullwhip, making certain that he only hit them hard enough to scare, not scar them. Once they were milling about, he forced them toward the center of the corral, where Pablo lay groaning.

  The downed cowboy cursed in Spanish when the first horse clipped him in the back. Tried to protect his head with his arms when another came racing straight at him. But when several of the terrorized animals rushed him at once, Pablo didn't have a chance. Several tons crushed the life out of him.

  His death gurgle was almost lost amongst the pounding of the hooves.

  Triumphant, he threw the man's rifle on the ground near his body, then slipped back through the fence where his own mount danced and snorted. As the moon sneaked under cover of the clouds once more, he drew himself up in the saddle, taking one last look for the spook light that had suddenly turned elusive.

  Then he slid back into the night under cover of dark.

  MONTE HAD his hands full trying to keep his men calm the next morning when they found what was left of Pablo.

  "It's that damn curse!" one muttered darkly. "The herd up and killed one of us. What's gonna protect the rest of us from another accident."

  "Leaving, that's what," said another.

  "Now hold on a dang minute. This accident don't make no sense!" Shorty yelled. "Pablo, he were expert with them cayuses. They'd never get the drop on him."

  They wouldn't. Monte agreed fully. He was checking out a bloody lash across a horse's flanks.

  "Dios," a Mexican said, crossing himself. "We should have left long ago."

  "I'm telling you, this is the work of a human hand just like Norbert's death," Monte said. "Look here. Someone used a whip on this horse."

  A muttering went up among the dozen cowboys gathered round in the corral. Tense, Monte could do nothing more but wait for the outcome.

  "Sure looks like some varmint has it in fer you, boss," Shorty said. He gazed around at his fellow wranglers and raised his voice. "Someone who wants us to think the R&Y is cursed so we'll abandon Mr. Ryerson likes rats off'n a sinking ship! Are we gonna let someone mess with our heads like that?"

  "Not me."

  "Me, neither."

  Only the Mexican refused to join in support of Monte. Crossing himself again, he backed out of the corral, then ran like the devil himself was on his heels.

  And Iphigenia was running across the grounds from the house, the skirts of her rose-colored dress gathered in both hands.

  Monte returned his attention to the wranglers who chose to stand by him. He gave a couple of the men instructions to bring the dead man into the barn and lay him out respectfully. He asked another to ride into Pine Bluff where Pablo's family ran the blacksmith shop, for Monte was certain the dead man's relatives would want to see to the burial themselves.

  Iphigenia entered the corral as Pablo was being carried out. Eyes wide, expression stricken, she asked, "What happened this time?"

  "I'm not certain. Someone spooked the horses last night." Rather than taking her in his arms to comfort them both as he wanted to, he kept hold of himself, began circling the corral, trying to find something that would tell him who was responsible. "Pablo's dead."

  "Another death ..."

  A piece of rough cloth practically buried in the earth between two horses caught Monte's eye. He slapped their rumps to get the animals out of his way, then crouched to pick at the material.

  "Well, now, what have we here," he murmured, lifting a grain sack that had been pounded into the ground. Some of its moldy contents spilled out.

  "What is it?" Iphigenia asked, drawing closer.

  He looked up at her, couldn't avoid admiring the soft curve of the breasts he'd memorized only two nights before. Even in the midst of turmoil, he wanted her. He rose to his full height, and without taking his eyes off her, plunged his hand into the sack and pulled out a bit of the contents.

  "Moldy grain." He held it out for her to see. "Someone wanted the horses to sicken mysteriously. Then anyone with a superstitious bone in his body -- probably every cowboy in these parts -- would put it to the curse."

  Iphigenia's expression changed as understanding dawned. "Pablo must have tried stopping the man."

  "And died for his effort."

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Iphigenia went pale and Monte could tell how horrified she was. He, too, was horrified that someone could kill another man not out of dislike or fear or jealousy, but just because he was in the way.

  "How are you ever going to figure out who did this?" she asked.

  "I don't know, Iphigenia." Not without more to go on than he had. "I surely don't know." He glanced down at the rough-woven sack in his hands and noticed the markings. "Dreyer Grain," he said. "Half the county buys grain from Matt Dreyer, including me."

  One of his own men could have done this, he realized, Jake O'Brian immediately coming to mind. As usual when there was trouble lately, the foreman was nowhere around.

  Another name came to him, but he didn't want to think Ginnie might have had anything to do with Pablo's death. Still, he remembered another grain sack, one Cassie had accused Ginnie of using to move that rattler to the rocks near the cottonwood. And he'd had that go round with her the night before. Surely she hadn't done something so horrible to get even with him.

  The thought of Ginnie being involved bringing him to a new low, Monte was glad when Iphigenia changed the subject, saying, "I need to speak to my father again. Where did he sleep last night?"

  "On the trail, no doubt."

  "You kicked him out?"

  He noted her tone wasn't accusing. He shook his head. "By the time I had that talk with Ginnie and searched her things for the mirror, he and that gunman of his were gone. Stephen said they had a private talk and left in a hurry."

  All the remaining color left her face. "I should have known. He came to get me, but I was not important enough to fight for. The story of my life," sh
e said. "Father could not even stay long enough to try to convince me to go back to New York with him."

  "New York?" Monte didn't know why he should be surprised that she might want to return to her familiar life. Not that he would try to stop her, he thought, even as his gut tightened.

  "And he refused to release my trust fund," she said, her forehead wrinkling. "I am so sorry, Monte, and after I promised I could help ease the problems around here."

  "Don't be sorry for me," he said stiffly. "I told you I didn't want your money. But it would've been nice if you could've gotten Hope back the easy way."

  "I shall get my daughter from that awful man," Iphigenia vowed. "One way or the other."

  Figuring she meant the sale of her jewelry, Monte nodded. They might have to go a piece to get the money she needed, maybe all the way up to Albuquerque or Santa Fe, but the trip would be worth it. If only he could leave the ranch this minute. But Monte knew that was impossible, not until he could finger the person who'd been causing all the trouble.

  He didn't want yet another death on his conscience, for though he hadn't killed Norbert or Pablo, he felt responsible.

  Especially if his daughter had anything to do with it.

  LATE THAT NIGHT, Ginnie thrashed in her bed, mumbling, sweating, the little mirror next to her heated skin. Xosi fed on the emotion, knew the girl was having a terrible dream, released herself from her prison.

  For a moment, she thought to abandon the girl, wander the halls and try again to seduce her beautiful man. But something made her stop. A feeling she hadn't had since she'd last seen her brother Tezco just before ...

  "Chica," she called, touching the girl's arm. She didn't want to dwell on Mexico. "Awake, little one."

  "Aah!" Ginnie sat straight up in bed, eyes opened wide with fright. She was shaking.

  Xosi tried to soothe Ginnie's sweaty brow, even knowing her touch was cold. She felt more drawn to the poor little girl than she ever had before. "You were having a terrible dream."

  "About the murder."

  The murder they had both witnessed the night before.

  "It has nothing to do with you. Let us concentrate on something more productive." Though Monte and the blonde were sleeping separately, Xosi had sensed the closeness between them and was certain they had become lovers. "We must find a way to make this Iphigenia Wentworth go back to New York as she should have done with her father."