Blood and Shadow

By Margaret Nelson

Bonita Valdez Rand has escaped from her brothers custody in Mexico and now rides into New Mexico to kill Chad Donovan, the man responsible for her late husbands death and for ruining her life. On the stagecoach, she meets Andrew Hilgendorf, a man searching for his notorious older brother Nick Doran at Donovans Bar CD ranch, a gathering place for

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Nov 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781970066227

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Blood and Shadow

Margaret Nelson

Copyright © 2018 by Margaret Nelson.

Paperback: 978-1-970066-21-0

eBook: 978-1-970066-22-7

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter 1:    Veiled Conversation

Chapter 2:    Unveiled

Chapter 3:    Desert Rendezvous

Chapter 4:    Donovan’s Brand

Chapter 5:    First Blood

Chapter 6:    Defiance

Chapter 7:    Trapped

Chapter 8:    Buzzard Bait

Chapter 9:    Invitation to Trouble

Chapter 10:   Escape

Chapter 11:   Blood and Shadow

Chapter 12:   Powwow

Chapter 13:   Secret Visit

Chapter 14:   Ambushed

Chapter 15:   Blood Price

Chapter 16:   A Spy

Chapter 17:   Bandidos

Chapter 18:   Impassioned Plea

Chapter 19:   Dangerous Encounter

Chapter 20:   Coraje

Chapter 21:   Silenced

Chapter 22:   Last Chance

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank my late mother for having such great books in our bookshelves growing up so that I learned what great Westerns were all about.

Chapter 1

Veiled Conversation

Keep yer eyes open, the stagecoach driver grumbled loudly to the shotgun guard. It ain’t the best place fer an ambush, but there might be a few Apaches hungerin’ fer some mule meat.

Inside the coach, Bonita cursed silently, trying desperately to look calm and unconcerned. She didn’t need an Indian attack or an ambush by outlaws to complicate things. She had enough to worry about already. She wished she had been able to buy a horse and ride down the trail by herself. However, she had been forced to sell her wedding ring to finance her traveling expenses, and she could not afford the added burden of a horse at this time. She also would not have been able to ride very well in the black dress and lace veil that she had been wearing lately, no matter what subtle modifications she had already made to them. Changing from this traditional Mexican feminine mourning attire to the boyish riding outfit hidden in her valise might have revealed her true identity. She could not be sure whether anyone still remembered her face or figure, which had never been as notorious as her late husband’s, but it was safer not to draw attention to either until she reached her destination. There she could discard her disguise and be free to act like herself again, including acquiring a horse. For now it was better to remain the young widow Valdez traveling alone by necessity.

Although Bonita would have preferred to be completely alone on her long ride, there was another passenger in the coach opposite her on the forward-facing seat, a man she judged to be in his early twenties wearing Eastern-cut clothing. There was something about him that caught her attention, and she scrutinized him as unobtrusively as possible. He had curly black hair with deep-set black eyes and a sharply handsome face, except for a faint jagged scar along one cheekbone. Could that be what interested her? No doubt there was quite a story behind that scar. Still, she had seen many men with scars and had not felt this keen interest, this sense of having overlooked something about him.

Intrigued despite her intentions, she ran her gaze over his clothing. The suit he was wearing was well cut in an expensive style, but it did not seem to suit him somehow. The American West was home to people from many countries and different backgrounds, yet there was something about him that belonged to this country. Oh, forget the good-looking gringo, she told herself, annoyed by her interest in him.

To her further annoyance, the stranger had noticed her interest in him and chose to use it to make conversation with her. After several polite remarks about the weather and other general topics, he introduced himself as Andrew Hilgendorf, forcing her to tell him her first lie. With no valid polite reason to hold back on introducing herself, she told him she was Linda Valdez.

Ah, Andrew commented. Knowing that the first name she had called herself was also a Spanish word meaning beautiful, and intrigued by the glimpses of her face he could see through the thick veil, he impulsively proclaimed, You are very pretty, muy bonita!

Bonita’s slightly embarrassed smile changed to impassiveness when she heard his last word, thinking he had recognized her. She shot a hard glance at him, but his puzzled reaction told her that he had only accidentally called her by her real first name, since it was so similar in meaning to her assumed name. She forced herself to relax her grip on her valise, which she had instinctively grasped tighter, wishing she had hidden one of the guns in it under the clothing she was wearing.

Mistaking her glance as disapproval for his boldness, Andrew apologized. Forgive me for offending you. I merely meant to compliment you, Senorita Valdez.

­Senora, she corrected him automatically, having done so many times since she first started her journey.

This time it was Andrew who was startled, having assumed it was her parents she was mourning rather than a husband. She had seemed so young even through the veil that he had assumed she was unmarried. He was tempted to commit a grave social error by asking how old she was, but he wanted to continue the conversation as long as she would let him, so he substituted, I meant no harm, Senora Valdez.

There is no harm done. I was merely surprised by your flattery. It has been a long time since anyone has said such kind things to me without some ulterior motive like rape or marriage, perhaps both together. Hurrying past her own social faux pas in mentioning such topics, Bonita continued, For almost a year now I have been living with my family in Mexico. They never approved of my husband, nor have they forgiven me for marrying him, and since his death I have been besieged by admirers who only see my youth, my beauty and what my family might gift them as my dowry.

Bonita neglected to mention her late husband’s notoriety, the fact that his name as well as her own was still whispered by outlaws and honest citizens alike, and that he had been neither Mexican nor Hispanic in any way. If she had hoped to end the conversation without any more such omissions, Andrew made that difficult when he asked, If I may be so bold as to ask, was there no one there to protect you? Is there no one who could accompany you on your journey, however long or short it may be? Is that not unusual for a woman of your Spanish culture to be without a chaperone?

There was no one who was willing or able to come with me. I could not wait any longer to take care of some business that is very important to me. That is why I am traveling alone from Mexico City to New Mexico!

New Mexico! Andrew exclaimed. That’s where I’m headed, too. Perhaps I might come with you?"

There would be too much danger, both for you and for my friends there. Trying to turn the conversation into a safer channel, Bonita asked, Is this your first trip to New Mexico? Do you have business there?"

Yes, I have written to the Bar CD ranch near the border, and I have been invited…What’s the matter? Andrew broke off his statement because the hand holding closed the shawl around her shoulders had clenched into a taut fist.

Do you know who owns that ranch, senor?

Yes, Chad Donovan. I corresponded with him briefly from back East. Why?

My husband and I used to live in a wild, spectacular place near the Bar CD that gringos call Spanish Canyon. There was a spring in the canyon, and we were very happy there – until Chad Donovan decided to add it to the rest of the land grant that he had stolen from my family. Spanish laws and titles mean nothing to the gringos who now control this territory, and Donovan uses his money and his hired gunslingers to buy whatever he wants. He killed my husband, stole our stock, and burned us out.

But wasn’t there a sheriff or peace officer…?

There is too much prejudice against Mexicans. With my husband dead, I had to flee across the border to my family.

It must be hard for you to come back to New Mexico.

It must be done; I can no longer avoid it. Please, I do not wish to discuss it.

Of course, pardon me for upsetting you.

With a curt nod, Bonita withdrew into silent memories, leaving Andrew with serious misgivings about his trip to the Bar CD ranch. He feared he had chosen