Only Love

1

Summer 1868

Echo Basin, Colorado Territory

She's frightened.

She has a walk like honey.

The two impressions came simultaneously to the man called Rafael «Whip» Moran. Whip didn’t know which drew him to the girl more immediately, the fear or the honey.

He hoped it was the fear.

The heat in Whip’s blood told him otherwise. Underneath the girl’s threadbare man’s wool jacket and trousers there was a very female body. And beneath her straight spine, high chin, and determination, there was very real fear.

Whip didn’t know what caused the girl’s fear or why it should matter so urgently to him. He did know that he was going to find out.

For a moment longer Whip stood in the cold mud in front of Holler Creek’s only general store. The chill of the high-country wind cut through his thick wool jacket. The girl must have felt the chill too. She shivered as she hurried through the grubby door of the mercantile.

With the easy motions of a man who was both fit and thoroughly at home in his own body, Whip followed the girl inside. The wind blew the door shut behind him with a loud bang. He barely noticed. He had attention only for the girl with the sweet, softly swinging walk.

She stopped in a shaft of light from the one window that hadn’t been broken and boarded over. For a few moments her eyes ran hungrily over the scattered piles of dry goods, tools, and clothing. The fingers of one slender hand were clenched around something she held in her palm.

As though sensing Whip’s intense interest, the girl turned toward him suddenly. He had a vivid impression of eyes the color of a wild autumn sky, a blue so clear and so deep that a man could look forever and never find an end to the beauty. What he could see of her hair beneath the hat was the color of autumn itself — glossy chestnut with red and gold running through it like leashed fire.

I’ve seen her before, he realized. But where?

With the next breath, realization went through Whip like lightning through a storm.

My dream. She’s the girl in the cabin door, waiting, always waiting…

For me.

Motionless, Whip stared at the girl. A lock of hair had just escaped from beneath the girl’s battered Stetson. The hair gleamed like silk against her pale cheek.

Without thinking, Whip walked closer and lifted his hand to tuck the strand back into place above her ear. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped, stepped back and touched his hat instead.

«Morning, ma’am,» Whip said, nodding to her.

The girl blinked and looked at his big hand. Whip knew why. He had moved so quickly that she couldn’t be certain he had ever intended to touch her instead of tipping his hat politely.

Her glance went from his long fingers to the bullwhip coiled over his right shoulder. Her eyes widened.

Teamsters with bullwhips weren’t particularly unusual in Colorado Territory, certainly not enough so that the presence of a bullwhip should startle anyone. The girl’s involuntary response told Whip that she probably knew him.

Or, to be precise, knewofhim.

With a tight motion of her head, the girl acknowledged Whip’s polite greeting. Then she turned away from him with cool finality.

«Mr. Murphy?» she called huskily.

Whip felt his body tighten as though the girl had stroked him from forehead to heels. Her voice, like her walk, was pure summer honey.

I’ve been too long without a woman.

No sooner had the thought come to Whip than he knew it wasn’t true. He had never been a man to be controlled by his sexuality. He had spent too many years in too many cultures where women were prohibited to foreigners; even to a polite, soft-spoken foreigner with strong shoulders and smoke-gray eyes and hair the color of the sun.

«Mr. Murphy?»

There was a rattle and muttering, followed by the sound of reluctant footsteps from the back room. The storekeeper left his cozy seat by the stove for the barnlike, unheated room where supplies were heaped about in untidy piles. Owning the only store in Echo Basin’s remote gold country had spoiled Murphy. He made his customers feel that he was doing them a favor by selling them his overpriced goods.

Behind Whip the mercantile’s door opened. Reflexively he spun around and stepped out of the way. As he moved, his left hand went to the butt of the bullwhip that was riding his right shoulder. Though quick, the motion wasn’t threatening. It was simply the action of someone who was accustomed to living alone in dangerous places among the most dangerous of all animals — man.

The four men who crowded through the door were examples of why Whip was careful not to turn his back on anyone in Echo Basin. The Culpepper boys were worse than the usual run of gold hunters. Loud, lewd, unwashed and lazy, they weren’t especially beloved by anyone. Including, if rumor could be trusted, their Arkansas mother.

Few people were really sure which Culpepper was Beau, or which was Clim, or Darcy, or Floyd. No one cared. There wasn’t a finger’s worth of difference in the lot of them. Brown hair, pale blue eyes, rawboned, quick to anger; the Culpeppers were all the same. They were pack animals. They prospected, hunted, fought, and whored together.

It was whispered that the Culpepper boys also worked together to rob miners who were taking their gold from Echo Basin to Canyon City, but no one had ever caught them at it. Nor had anyone pushed the matter, publicly or privately. Men who crossed the Culpeppers had a nasty habit of waking up bruised, bloodied, and of a mind to pull up stakes and try their luck in some other part of the Rocky Mountains.

The Culpeppers might have been lazy when it came to hammering gold out of hard rock, but they fought savagely with fists, knives, guns, and boots.

Casually Whip eased farther back toward the wall, giving himself plenty of room. He didn’t expect anything violent to happen, but a careful man was always ready.

Whip was a careful man. From where he now stood, he could see the girl on his right and the Culpeppers on his left.

If the men noticed Whip’s movements, they didn’t show it. Their pale blue eyes tracked each breath the girl took as though she was a lamb born only for their fangs.

«What’ll it be, Shannon?» Murphy demanded. «Talk fast. My chilblains is aggravating me something fierce.»

«Flour. Salt.» Shannon took a quick breath. «And a handful of lard and a pinch or two of baking soda.»

Murphy grunted. «How you payin’.»

It was a demand, not a question.

Shannon’s clenched hand opened. A circle of gold gleamed on her palm.

«My wedding ring.»

Disappointment swept coldly through Whip when he realized that the girl was married.

Of course she is, he told himself acidly. A girl with a walk like that wouldn’t live alone in a place like Echo Basin.

Her husband must be a damned fool to let her come to Holler Creek by herself.

«Gold?» Murphy asked, looking at the ring.

«Yes.»

The stark word said a great deal about Shannon’s emotions, as did the fine tremor in the hand she held out to Murphy.

Whip’s eyelids flinched in sympathy for the girl. The past winter must have been very hard for Shannon and her husband if she was forced to sell her wedding ring for the most basic supplies. And not much of them, either.

Slowly Murphy took the ring. At least he was slow while his dirty fingers touched Shannon’s palm. When he finally dragged his hand away from the girl’s clean skin, he moved quickly enough to test the quality of the gold ring.

While Murphy bit down on the wedding band, Shannon’s right hand dropped to her side. Her clothes, like her hands, were almost painfully clean. She rubbed her palm against her ill-fitting pants as though removing the feel of Murphy’s touch.

The Culpeppers saw, and laughed.

«Hey, old man. She don’t want your dirty paws on her,» one of them said. «How about mine, darlin’? I washed ’em just last week.»

«Your hands ain’t no cleaner than mine, Beau,» said another Culpepper.

«Shut up, Clim,» Beau said. «Go find your own rag doll to fondle. I done found mine. Ain’t I, darlin’?»

Shannon acted as though the Culpeppers didn’t exist.

But Whip could tell that she heard each word clearly. She was standing straighter than ever, and the generous lines of her mouth were drawn flat in fear or distaste.

I hope those boys have better manners than I think they do, Whip told himself grimly. I’d hate like hell to take on the four of them with only a bullwhip and a prayer.

Murphy bit the ring again, grunted, and tucked it into the pocket of his greasy flannel shirt.

«Your husband must’ve cleaned out his claims if this is all the gold you got left,» Murphy said.

«Ask him,» said Shannon. «If you can find him before he finds you.»

Murphy grunted and the Culpeppers hooted.

«The bit of supplies your ring fetches won’t see you through a fortnight, much less a whole summer,» Murphy said.

«My husband is a fine shot, no matter what the game.»

Shannon said nothing more.

Nor did she have to. The Culpeppers looked among themselves uneasily. Then Beau smiled like a Comanchero.

«Yeah, I keep hearing about what a fine shot your husband is,» Beau said. «But I ain’t neverseenhim shoot. Come to think on it, I ain’t never seen Silent John a’tall, and we been comin’ and goin’ from here nigh onto two years.»

As Whip made the connection between «fine shot» and Silent John, he understood why Shannon felt brave enough to come into town alone. Silent John’s reputation as a bounty hunter was of the kind to make a man whisper Silent John’s name — and leave his wife alone, no matter how beguiling her walk.

«Silent John’s not sociable,» Shannon said. «Most men never see him and go on to talk of it.»

Her voice was thin, almost brittle. Not once had she turned to face the Culpeppers. It was as though she already knew who they were.

And what.

«Flour and salt,» she repeated to Murphy. «I would appreciate your getting them now that I’ve paid. It’s a long ride back to the cabin.»

«Sure enough is, especially on that old mule your husband fancies,» Murphy said indifferently. «Soon as I take care of that big stranger and the Culpeppers, I’ll see to your order.»

«I’m in no hurry,» Whip said. «See to the lady. She was here first.»

Murphy grunted, unimpressed by the stranger’s logic. The storekeeper looked at Shannon’s right hand, the one she had rubbed along her pant leg to remove the feel of his fingers. He smiled, revealing teeth stained by chewing tobacco.

«You want to throw in a little something to sweeten the pot,» Murphy said to Shannon, «and maybe I’ll get around to your supplies before dusk.»

«My husband would be very disappointed in you.»

«So would I,» Whip said.

Murphy didn’t miss the warning. He bent beneath the counter, pulled out a shotgun, and slapped it on the scarred wooden countertop. The muzzle was pointed away from everyone, but Murphy’s hand wasn’t far from the trigger guard.

Whip smiled grimly. Murphy wasn’t the first man to mistake Whip for a wandering teamster and think a shotgun was faster than a bullwhip. That kind of misunderstanding was fine with Whip. Surprise would help to even the odds a bit.

But Whip still hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight. Four to one was about three too many as far as any careful man was concerned.

«Just fill the lady’s order,» Whip said calmly. «If those boys are in such an almighty rush, I’ll go to the back of the line.»

A quick flash of sapphire came as Shannon glanced toward Whip again.

«Thank you,» she said.

«My pleasure, ma’am,» Whip said, touching the brim of his hat with a graceful motion.

Despite Whip’s politeness, Shannon turned away before he could prolong the conversation.

Whip was startled by the disappointment he felt. Listening to Shannon’s voice had been as pure a pleasure as watching her walk or trying to see to the bottom of her matchless blue eyes.

«Hey, darlin’,» Beau said.

Shannon kept her back turned to the Culpeppers.

«Nice of her to show me the shape of her butt,» Beau said to no one in particular. «A mite narrow, but still enough to grab hold of so as not to get bucked off when the going gets rough.»

The Culpepper boys laughed as though Beau had said something funny.

Shannon didn’t move.

«Does Silent John do it to you that way, darlin’?» Beau asked. «Or does he bend you over the back of a chair and have at you like the randy old goat he is?»

Shannon’s face became as pale as salt, but she neither moved nor spoke.

Neither did Whip. He simply watched Beau, measuring the distance between Shannon and the four Culpeppers. Two of the men seemed to be leaning on one another, swaying very slightly. The smell of sweat and stale whiskey rolled off them.

Maybe the two of them will only add up to one man in a fight, Whip thought hopefully. In any case, I’ll start on the others first and leave those boys for last.

Murphy moved through the room as though wading in chest-deep mud, slowly putting together Shannon’s small order.

«Now, was it me,» Beau said, «I’d pull down those ragged trousers and grab a handful of —»

«Murphy!» Whip said clearly, cutting across Beau’s words. «No need to measure the salt a grain at a time. I want to be out of here before sundown.»

Beau gave Whip a hard look.

Whip smiled. Beneath his golden mustache the curve of his mouth was cold rather than reassuring, but Murphy was too far away to notice and the Culpeppers were looking only at Shannon.

«Don’t git yer water hot,» Murphy said from the other end of the room. «I’m movin’ fast as I can.»

«Move faster. The lady is in a hurry.»

Something in Whip’s voice made the Culpeppers turn and look at the fair-haired stranger.

Nothing had changed. He was still a big, easy-moving man with a bullwhip riding his right shoulder, a tolerant smile, and neither rifle nor revolver in sight. The Culpeppers each had belt guns, and no reluctance to use them.

«You better take Murphy’s advice, boy,» Beau drawled to Whip, «and don’t get your water hot for nothin’.»

As Beau spoke, his hand settled on his belt, just above the scarred wooden handle of his revolver.

«You’re big enough for two,» Clim said, «but we’re four to your one, we ain’t exactly tiny, and we’re packing guns.»

«I can see that,» Whip said.

It was all he said.

The Culpeppers muttered among themselves. They must have decided that the stranger was suitably cowed, because they began baiting Shannon again.

«Why don’t you turn yourself around, darlin’?» Beau said. «As pretty as your butt is, I’d a damn sight rather look at your teats.»

«Yeah,» Clim said. «We been wonderin’ all winter what you’d look like without them men’s rags you always wear. Are your teats dark like old Betsy’s, or are they red like Clementine’s?»

«Clementine rouges hers,» muttered one of the Culpeppers. «And thet ain’t the only place she greases.»

«Hell you say, Darcy,» Clim retorted. «I done left enough tooth marks on them teats to know what’s real and what’s rouge.»

A small shudder went through Shannon.

Only Whip noticed, for only he was looking for a reaction from the silent girl.

Beau gets it first. Definitely. That boy’s manners need some real polishing.

Whip took a step forward.

«No,» Shannon said quietly, turning her head, looking right at Whip. «Ignore them. Their words mean no more than a dog breaking wind.»

The Culpeppers didn’t hear Shannon. They were too busy arguing among themselves about what else Clementine rouged.

Whip gave the Culpeppers a narrow, icy look and wondered how often Shannon had been forced to endure their lewd talk. Probably every time she came into town for supplies.

Damn her husband for letting it happen, Whip raged silently. If he’s half as mean as his reputation, he should cut out their filthy tongues and use them for cleaning the barrel of his buffalo gun.

But he hasn’t, and now it’s left for me to do.

A movement at the back of the store caught Whip’s attention. Murphy was slowly lifting the lid off a barrel of flour. He handled the wooden lid as though it weighed more than a side of beef. His head was turned toward Shannon rather than toward the contents of the barrel.

«What do you think, Floyd?» asked Beau over the sound of the other Culpeppers’ arguments. «Is that little girl’s teats big enough to squeeze until they turn red and white and blue like a Yankee flag?»

Whip tried to control the anger tightening his gut. It was a losing battle. He couldn’t stop thinking how he would feel if it were his woman shopping alone while men talked loudly about how she would look naked and what size her breasts were.

If Shannon were my wife, when I came back from yondering I would hunt the Culpeppers down like the coyotes they are.

The thought didn’t satisfy Whip. Sometimes a yondering man didn’t come back. And even when he did, nothing could erase the sickening memory of humiliation in his woman’s eyes.

Damn Silent John anyway! If he can’t take care of a girl like Shannon, he never should have married her and brought her to such a rough place.

«Well, Floyd,» Beau persisted. «What do you think about them teats?»

Floyd belched, scratched his crotch thoughtfully, and said, «I think Silent John is a damned good shot.»

«So what?» Beau retorted. «We ain’t touchin’ her. Thet was all we was warned about. Touchin’.»

«And followin’,» Clim added.

«We ain’t done thet, neither,» Beau said.

«Not after the first time,» Floyd agreed.

He pulled off his hat and stuck two fingers through two bullet holes in the brim.

«Damn fine shootin’,» Floyd said. «Must have been near a thousand yards. Sure never saw hide nor hair of him, neither.»

«All we done is try to be friendly-like to his wife,» Clim said. «Follow her an’ see she got home safe.»

«Yeah. We was bein’ neighborly.» Beau smiled, showing a line of sharp, uneven teeth. «Like now. Right neighborly. Thinkin’ warm thoughts about birds and tight little nests.»

«Downright hot nest, I’ll bet,» Darcy mumbled.

«Stuck-up bitch,» Clim muttered.

«Murphy,» Whip said sharply. «Start measuring that flour instead of staring at it. I’m getting tired of hearing dogs break wind.»

«Huh?» Clim said.

For a few moments there was silence while the Culpeppers tried to figure out if they had been insulted, and if so, how.

Murphy slammed the lid back on the flour barrel and walked slowly to the front of the store. He was carrying a small sack of flour over one shoulder and a much smaller bag of salt in his left hand.

«Do you think she yells?» Darcy asked no one in particular.

«What you yammerin’ about now?» Beau demanded.

«Her, what else?» Darcy said impatiently. «When the old fart bends her over a chair and goes to rutting on her, does she fight and yelp and beg for mercy, or does she just let him do it any way he wants and whimper for more like a bitch in heat?»

Darcy will be the second one, Whip decided.

A subtle movement of Whip’s right shoulder dislodged the bullwhip’s coils, sending them sliding down his right arm. His left hand closed around the butt of the long lash as the coils fell toward the floor.

The bullwhip came alive.

With each small motion of Whip’s left hand, waves of energy rippled through the bullwhip, making the long, slender length of the lash seethe and whisper delicately like a snake gliding through dead grass.

Whip began whistling softly through his teeth, looking at nothing, yet seeing every move the four Culpeppers made. None of them noticed. They had already decided Whip was no threat.

Last chance, boys. Clean up your talk or have it cleaned up for you.

Murphy walked past Shannon, leered at her, and plunked the flour and salt down on the counter.

«Be back with the lard in a minute,» Murphy said. «Take good care of her, boys.»

The Culpeppers laughed. Then they stopped laughing and eased closer to Shannon. Beau looked Shannon over with speculative, watery eyes, eyes that stripped her as she stood there, eyes that probed every curve and shadow for the vulnerable female body beneath the cloth.

Shannon stood like a wild animal frozen in the moment of discovery by a hunter, poised on the edge of panicked flight. She was white and flushed by turns, obviously fighting for control.

«Dunno how she likes it, Darcy, or if she likes it a’tall,» Beau drawled.

Shannon flinched despite her desperate attempt not to show that she heard Beau’s words.

«Know how I’d like it, though,» Beau continued. «I’d cut her pants open with a knife, put those little feet behind her ears, and — Ow!»

Beau’s screech covered the pop of the bullwhip, but nothing could hide the bright gush of blood from his mouth.

Like lightning, Whip’s hand flicked again.

The long lash writhed and snapped, striking too quickly for the eye to follow. Darcy bent over, grabbing his crotch and trying to yell through a throat closed by pain.

Whip didn’t even hesitate. Surprise was on his side, but only for a few more seconds.

Snap.

Clim grabbed his shirt, which was suddenly split from collar to waist.

Snap.

Floyd’s hat was sliced in two.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Beau grabbed for his trousers. The steel buttons that had once held up his pants were bouncing and rolling across the mercantile’s uneven wood floor.

The rest of the Culpeppers were still dancing in place and looking around for the hornet nest they must have kicked over.

«Wonder how you boys would look without your clothes?» Whip asked sardonically.

Snap. Snap.

«Rawboned and filthy, I’ll wager,» Whip continued, «with privates smaller than a rat’s.»

The lash hissed and snapped in savage counterpoint to Whip’s words, flaying buttons from cloth and cloth from flesh.

While the Culpeppers hopped and yelped and their clothes were shredded too quickly for the eye to follow, Whip kept on giving the Culpeppers back the words they had used to bait Shannon.

«Are you going to scream and beg for mercy?» Whip asked. «Or do you like being whipped so much you’ll whine and ask for more? Which will it be, boys? Speak up. Usually I’m a patient man, but you’ve plumb rode my temper raw.»

By now, three of the Culpeppers were bent over, covering their crotches with whatever remained of their pants.

The fourth Culpepper went for his gun.

The bullwhip uncoiled in a blur of speed. Leather shot hungrily around Floyd’s wrist. After a quick, hard jerk, Whip flicked the lash free, retrieved it, and struck again. Floyd yelped and flailed and fell to his knees. Blood streamed from a long cut just beneath both eyebrows.

«I’ll kill the next one who goes for his gun,» Whip said. «That includes you, Murphy.»

«I ain’t reachin’ for nothin’,» Murphy said calmly.

«Keep it that way.»

Then the lash was still.

Silence gathered like a storm while Whip looked over the Culpepper boys. Other than Beau and Floyd, there was no blood, simply stinging welts. Yet everyone in the room knew that Whip could have reduced the Culpeppers to scarlet shreds as easily as he had disarmed Floyd. The attack had been so unexpected and so swift that they had never had a chance to gather their wits, much less fight back effectively.

«Boys, I’ve known outhouses with cleaner mouths than yours,» Whip said. «I’m purely sick of your filth. If you all want to keep a tongue in your head, put a bridle on it when you’re around a woman. Hear me?»

Slowly the Culpeppers nodded.

«Good,» Whip said. «Shuck your irons.»

Four revolvers hit the floor.

«Leave that girl alone from now on,» Whip said. «Hear me?»

One by one the Culpeppers nodded sullenly.

«I’ve given all my warnings,» Whip continued, «and it’s more than the likes of you deserve. Now get out of my sight.»

Dazed, uncertain, Beau allowed himself to be pulled upright by Darcy. Clim helped Floyd to his feet.

The front door slammed open. The four Culpeppers staggered out into the cold wind. None of them looked back. They had seen as much of the big stranger as they wanted.

The door banged shut. The room was empty but for Whip and the storekeeper. Whip looked at the countertop. The flour and salt were gone. He turned to Murphy. The storekeeper’s hands were in full sight and empty of all but grime.

«You be the one they call Whip,» Murphy said.

Whip said nothing. He was looking through the mercantile’s dirty window. The Culpepper boys were mounting up and riding out on their lean racing mules.

Shannon was nowhere in sight.

«Leastwise,» Murphy said, «folks done called you Whip ever since you skun out them Canyon City boys for talking dirt to that half-breed Wolfe Lonetree’s white wife.»

Whip turned and looked at Murphy with eyes the color of winter.

«Where is Shannon?» Whip asked.

«She lit out when you cut Beau’s tongue.»

The bullwhip seethed restlessly. Murphy eyed it as warily as he would have a rattlesnake.

«Where?» Whip repeated.

«Yonder,» Murphy said, jerking a dirty thumb toward the north. «Silent John works some claims up a fork of Avalanche Creek.»

«Does she come into Holler Creek often?»

Murphy shook his head.

The bullwhip shivered and leaped softly, whispering to itself.

Murphy swallowed. At the moment, Whip bore an uncomfortable resemblance to an avenging angel.

Or Lucifer himself.

«How often does she come in?» Whip asked.

The gentle tone didn’t fool Murphy. He had gotten a good look at Whip’s eyes. They were a preview of hell.

«Once a year,» Murphy said quickly.

«In the summer?»

«Nope. Just the fall. For the last four or five years she fetched the winter supplies for Silent John.»

Whip’s eyes narrowed.

«Now her tail is in a right narrow crack,» Murphy added. «That snake-mean old man is all what keeps the Culpepper boys away from her. Talk now is he’s dead.»

Hope leaped in Whip.

Maybe Shannon is free.

A young widow.

Damn, a yondering man like me couldn’t ask for more than a widow like Shannon between now and whichever tomorrow the sunrise calls my name again.

When Whip had first come to the Rocky Mountains, he had seen their emerald and granite heights and felt that somewhere ahead of him there was a cabin he had never seen and a woman he had never known, and both of them were waiting for him, filled with warmth. The certainty was so deep in him that he even saw it in his dreams, the open door of golden light and snow all around and peaks reaching up into the dawn….

But in the past few years Whip had been from east to west and north to south in the beautiful, deadly mountains, and he had found only his own shadow riding ahead of him, pushed by the rising sun.

«Do you think Silent John is dead?» Whip asked.

Murphy shrugged, looked sideways at Whip, and decided to keep talking.

«He ain’t been seen since the pass opened,» the storekeeper said. «A few days later it snowed somethin’ fierce. Pass didn’t open again for weeks.»

«Where was Silent John last seen?»

«Heading out to his claims on Avalanche Creek on that old mule he favors.»

«Who saw him?»

«One of them Culpepper boys.»

«How long ago?» Whip asked.

«Five, six weeks. We don’t keep track of time much here. It’s either snowing or it ain’t. That’s the only clock what matters.»

«No one has seen Silent John for six weeks?»

«That’s about it, mister.»

«Is that unusual?»

Murphy grunted. «Ain’t nothin’ usual about that old snake. He’s chancy as a hog on ice. Come when you least expect and leave the same way. A hard man, Silent John. Real hard.»

«Most bounty hunters are,» Whip said dryly. «Has he ever been gone longer than six weeks before?»

Squinting, Murphy scratched the tangled hair that covered his chin.

«Can’t rightly say. Once, maybe, back in sixty-six,» Murphy said slowly. «And in sixty-one, when he fetched the gal from back east.»

«Seven years ago,» Whip said. «The War Between the States…»

«That be the one. Lot of folks come westering during them years.»

The thought of Shannon married to a «snake-mean old man» for seven years dug at Whip. He had been in Australia during much of the War Between the States, but he knew how brutal it had been for the people caught between North and South. His sister Willow had barely survived.

It could have been Willy forced to sell herself to an old man in order to survive, Whip told himself silently. But Willy was lucky. She managed to stay alive and single until she met a man she could love. Caleb Black is a hard man, and a damned good one.

«Yup,» Murphy said. «I figure the gal is a widow by now. There was a mess of avalanches this spring. Silent John’s probably froze solid as stone somewhere way up a fork of Avalanche Creek. Culpeppers must think so, else they wouldn’t be so free with their talk.»

Whip said nothing. He simply stood, listening. The bullwhip writhed and hissed at his feet like a long, restless snake.

«The gal will be froze solid, too, come fall,» Murphy said with faint satisfaction. «Them supplies she bought wouldn’t keep a bird alive. Now, if’n she been more neighborly and less uppity…»

The storekeeper’s voice died as Whip looked at him.

«I saw a crowbait black picketed just outside of town,» Whip said. «Would he be for sale as a packhorse?»

«You got gold, ain’t nothin’ you can’t buy in Holler Creek.»

Whip dug coins out of his pants pocket. Gold coins. They rang as they hit the counter.

«Start rounding up supplies,» Whip said.

Murphy’s hand flashed out and scooped up the coins with surprising speed.

«And when you weigh the dry goods,» Whip added gently, «keep your dirty thumb off the scales.»

Surprisingly, Murphy grinned. «Not many folks are quick enough to catch me.»

«I am.»

Murphy laughed and started gathering Whip’s supplies.

BY the time Whip returned to the mercantile leading the thin black packhorse, his supplies were waiting. Within an hour everything was loaded and ready to go.

Whip swung into the saddle of his big, smoke-colored trail horse and grabbed the packhorse’s lead rope. He rode out with a storm building around him, tracking the girl with frightened eyes and a walk like honey.

It was sunset when Whip rode down a wooded draw into a clearing. At the far edge of the clearing a cabin was waiting, the cabin he had seen in his dreams.

And the girl he had dreamed was waiting, too.

But Shannon had a dog the size of Texas by her side, a shotgun in her hands, and an expression on her face that said she didn’t want a damn thing to do with the man called Whip Moran.