Only Love

5

The next day Shannon awoke not to the sound of Whip’s flute calling up the sun, but to the rhythmic sounds of a man splitting wood.

It was a sound she hand’t heard for years.

Instantly Shannon looked toward Prettyface. The dog was lying with his head on his massive paws and his ears cocked in the direction of the noise. He was growling slightly, but with no real menace.

Shannon left the bed in a rush and ran to one of the cabin’s two windows. Neither window had glass. Instead, they were covered with shutters that were solid but for a gun slit plugged by a rag. Despite the plug, cold air came through the slit in a ceaseless, invisible flow.

Removing the rag, Shannon eased the shutters apart just a bit and peeked out.

Whip was standing just fifteen feet away. Despite the cold, sleet-streaked dawn, he had taken off his thick jacket. The red of his wool shirt burned like wildfire in the gray light and heat lifted from his big body in tongues of mist.

Legs braced slightly apart, sleet lashing across his body, Whip lifted the heavy maul and brought it swiftly down on a round of fir. The wood split cleanly into half circles. He bent, set one of the halves on end, and brought the maul down again, splitting the wood once more.

The grace and power of Whip’s movements sent an add, glittering sensation from Shannon’s breastbone to her thighs. For a long time she stood motionless, watching the measured, masculine dance of maul and wood, strength and balance.

Finally a stray piece of sleet stung Shannon’s nose, breaking her trance. Shivering, stiff from not moving, she stepped back and eased the shutter closed, sealing out the icy dawn.

But there was no way Shannon could seal out the memory of Whip’s male beauty, the elegance and easy power of his body, and the heat rising like smoke from him s he warmed to the work.

Feeling almost light-headed, Shannon went about her morning tasks. Because she wouldn’t have to spend hours gathering downed wood in the forest to replace whatever she burned, she decided to make a hot breakfast.

Humming softly, not realizing that she was singing one of the tunes Whip played on his haunting flute, Shannon raked the coals in the wood stove to new life. She added wood and dipped up a bucket of steaming hot spring water, smiling in anticipation of breakfast.

One of Whip’s gifts to Shannon had been coffee beans. It had been two years since she had ground beans and made coffee, but she hadn’t forgotten how.

It wasn’t long before the smell of biscuits, bacon, coffee and a wood fire filled the cabin. When the coffee had brewed, Shannon carefully poured some from the battered kettle into an equally battered tin mug. Then she let herself out of the cabin and walked toward the man whose presence no longer alarmed her.

When Whip bent down to stand another log on end, he saw Shannon standing quietly a few feet from him. Sleet was tangled in her shiny chestnut hair. In her hands was a steaming cup of coffee.

She was holding the cup out to him.

Whip took it, careful not to touch Shannon as he did, even though he was wearing leather work gloves. He didn’t want to do anything to spook his shy mustang.

Not now.

Not when she was so close to eating from his hand.

«Thank you,» Whip said, his voice deep.

Shannon’s breath caught.

«You’re welcome, Whip.»

Her voice was as sweet and husky as Whip had remembered. Smoke and honey combined. Hearing him name on her lips was like being licked by a tender flame.

And looking at Shannon was like breathing pure fire.

Her eyes were sapphire gems gleaming in the midst of the colorless dawn. Her silky chestnut hair had refused to be completely confined by braids. Soft tendrils escaped to brush against her cheeks and curl against her vulnerable neck.

When the breath Shannon exhaled touched Whip in a silver rush, he breathed in deeply, hungry to touch her in even so small a way.

A color that had nothing to do with the cold dawn appeared on Shannon’s cheeks. Belatedly Whip realized he was staring at her. He lifted the tin cup to his mouth, silently cursing himself for acting like a boy who had never seen a pretty girl before.

«Careful!» Shannon said quickly, reaching out to prevent Whip from lifting the cup any farther.

Whip froze, but not because of the warning. Shannon’s fingers had slipped from his glove to rest on bare skin just above his wrist. Her fingers were warm, amazingly delicate, and smelled of spearmint. Her breath was the same.

The realization that Shannon had eaten mint so that she would smell sweet to him made Whip want to pull her into his arms and show her just how much he liked the taste of spearmint.

But he didn’t do it. He had come too far to lose his sweet, silky mustang by startling her into flight.

«The coffee is devilish hot,» Shannon explained.

Whip smiled, revealing teeth as clean and white as her own.

«It’s best that way,» he said slowly. «Hot. Steaming hot. And sweet.»

Shannon’s smile was a little shaky, but then, so was her heartbeat. Whip radiated heat like a big stove, only nicer, because she didn’t have to worry about burning herself.

«I’m sorry,» Shannon said. «I didn’t think to put sugar in your coffee.»

«No need. I like it black.»

«But you just said it was best when it was steaming hot and sweet.»

«Did I?»

Shannon nodded.

Whip smiled slightly. «I must have been thinking of something else.»

He took a sip from the battered metal cup, closed his eyes, and savored the heat and taste of the fragrant brew.

«Now that’s fine. Really fine,» Whip said. «And no sugar on earth could be sweeter than having you bring me coffee.»

Color burned on Shannon’s cheeks, but she almost smiled before she looked shyly away.

«Breakfast will be ready soon,» she said, turning back toward the cabin. «I’ll leave warm water by the door so you can wash up.»

«I’ll eat out here.»

Shannon turned around, surprise clear in her extraordinary eyes. She pushed a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear and frowned at Whip.

«There’s no need to eat in the cold,» she said. «I may be poor as a church mouse, but I have two chairs for the table.»

«It’s not that. I just don’t want to make you nervous by coming inside.»

Shannon’s glance went to the bullwhip that lay neatly coiled on a log, easily within reach of Whip’s long arm.

«My cabin isn’t as big as Murphy’s mercantile. Once you’re inside, that bullwhip of yours won’t be much use,» she said dryly. «Prettyface is quicker, anyway.»

Whip looked back down at his coffee, not wanting Shannon to see the light of amusement in his eyes. There were more ways to fight than with a bullwhip, as his travels in the Far East had taught him. As for Prettyface, the dog was quick enough — and big enough — to kill a careless man.

Whip wasn’t a careless man.

But it would be stupid to point that out to Shannon. Whip didn’t want to disturb her peace of mind. It was pure pleasure to see a smile on her mouth rather than the grim lines of a girl trying to do work that would have taxed many a man.

«Then I’ll be honored to share breakfast with you,» Whip said. «Call me when you’re ready.»

He took another deep drink of coffee, set the tin cup aside, and picked up the maul once more.

«I’ll do that,» Shannon said.

She lingered for a moment longer, hoping to catch another glimpse of Whip’s unusual, quicksilver eyes, but he didn’t look in her direction again. He simply braced his legs slightly apart, lifted the heavy maul, and brought it down with an easy motion.

The fir split cleanly, but Shannon hardly noticed. She had eyes only for the casual, purely male grace of the man called Whip. She Wondered what it would be like to be that skilled, that sure, to feel power flowing through her with every motion of her body.

Then Shannon realized she was staring at Whip as though she had never seen a man before. Cheeks bright, she turned and hurried back into the cabin as though pursued.

Whip split four more round logs into eights before he trusted himself to look over his shoulder.

Shannon was gone.

He let out a long, whistling breath. He was aching from his forehead to his heels, and the knowledge that she liked watching him move hadn’t helped to cool him off one bit.

But he had to cool off.

The closer Whip got to Shannon, the more he realized that she wasn’t like the windows he had met from time to time and shared a few days or weeks with. She blushed when she looked at him. She glanced away an instant after she met his eyes. Yet it wasn’t flirting. She no more knew how to flirt than she knew how to stalk deer.

Silent John mustn’t have been any great shakes when it came to making a girl feel like a woman, Whip thought as he slammed the maul into a big log. Shannon acts more like a nervous bridge fresh from the church than a window who’s done it all a thousand times before.

Damnation. I wonder just how green she is when it comes to being a woman with her man?

The thought was unnerving.

Whip shifted his grip and brought the maul down so hard it whistled through the air. The wood broke apart violently and leaped beyond his reach.

With a muttered curse at his own clumsiness, Whip grabbed one of the chunks and set it on the chopping block once more.

«It’s hot and waiting for you,» Shannon called from the window.

The maul missed its target completely.

«Well, son of a bitch,» Whip muttered softly. «Looks like I’m no more use than a broken handle.»

He lifted the maul over his head again and swung down, using less force. The log obediently fell into two pieces and lay within easy reach.

Let that be a lesson, Whip told himself sardonically. Whether it’s logs or women, finesse beats raw strength any day of the week.

Whip split the log again for good measure before he set aside the maul, removed his leather work gloves, and stuffed the gloves into the back pocket of his pants. From long habit he picked up and settled the bullwhip on his shoulder.

As he went to the cabin, sleet fell against his face and lodged in his clothes. When he removed his hat to wash up, sleet mixed into his hair. He bent down over the washbasin, then stopped, sniffing the steam that rose from the water. Through it was mint rather than Willow’s favorite lavender scent rising from the basin, the smell of the water kindled a memory in him.

Willow’s bathhouse. All full of warmth from the hot spring water Wolfe and Reno piped in for them. No real sulfur to it, just a richness of minerals.

Whip scooped up steaming water and lowered his face into his palms. He made a sound of pleasure as the water spilled over him, washing away sweat and sleet alike.

Wish I’d had this when I shaved this morning. Cold water is pure hell, no matter how sharp the razor is.

Whip paused as a though struck him. He looked at the surrounding forest and the clearing itself. No telltale plumes of white rose into the cold, clear air.

I haven’t seen sign of a hot spring around here for miles in any direction, either. It must be in a cave somewhere.

«Come and get it before I feet it to Prettyface,» Shannon said from the window.

«Don’t you dare, woman!»

Quickly Whip splashed hot water over his face and hands. He followed it up with the morsel of soap that was balanced on the basin’s wide rim. Then he rinsed again, making certain he was clean. When he lifted his head, dripping, the cabin door was closed and Shannon was standing very close.

«Here,» she said softly.

Whip looked at the piece of cloth Shannon was holding out to him. It was faded and threadbare, but enough remained for him to see that the fabric once had held a vivid pattern of flowers and birds. It was a very feminine design, as clean and graceful as the hand that held it.

Looking at the rag, Whip guessed that it was the remainder of a favorite dress. Or perhaps Shannon’sonlydress. Certainly he had seen her in nothing but secondhand men’s clothing that had been cut down to fit her slender frame.

«Thank you,» he said huskily.

When Whip took the towel, he thought he felt the silky brush of Shannon’s fingers against his own, but he couldn’t be certain.

Yet Shannon was certain she had touched him. Whip could see it in the sudden expansion of her pupils, the rush of color to her cheeks, the breath that hesitated and then came out in a ragged sigh.

«I’ll — I’ll wait by the door,» she said breathlessly.

«You don’t have to,» Whip said. He lowered his face into the fabric Shannon had once worn against her skin. «I won’t bite.»

«Prettyface might. That’s why I’m keeping him inside for now. He’s not used to being around men.»

«How old is he?»

The question was muffled, but Shannon understood.

«Oh, a little more than two years, I guess,» she said.

Whip’s head came up quickly.

«What about Silent John?» Whip asked. «He’s a man, isn’t he?»

Shannon blinked, bit her lip, and flushed.

«Silent John is the exception, of course,» she said, looking at her hands.

Whip had a strong suspicion that Shannon was lying. He just didn’t know why.

Maybe she doesn’t want anyone to know how often Silent John is gone. And for how long.

Then Whip understood more than he wanted to: Shannon’s husband had been absent so much that her dog never had a chance to get used to men.

Judas Priest!

Shannon has had God’s own luck keeping out of reach of gold miners and renegades. But she can’t count on luck to keep the Culpeppers at bay forever.

Before I go yondering, I’ll have to have another talk with those boys. Make them understand all the way to their black souls just how lacking in Christian charity their manners have been.

Absently Whip wiped off his hands and started toward the cabin door.

«Wait,» Shannon said, stepping closer.

Whip looked down at her through half-lowered lids.

«Change your mind?» he asked.

«About what?»

As Shannon spoke, she took the damp rag from Whip’s hands and blotted his mustache right above the peak of his lip.

«There,» she said, examining the cleanly drawn curves of Whip’s mouth. «Now the biscuits won’t taste like soap to you.»

Then Shannon looked up into Whip’s eyes and forgot to breathe. Close up, his eyes were a clear, luminous gray surrounded by a glittering circle of black. Intriguing splinters of blue and green radiated from the pupils, which were expanding as she watched them. Soon there was only a smoky crystal band of color left in his eyes.

Whip was looking at Shannon’s mouth with a smoldering intensity that made her feel weak.

«You missed a bit of lather,» she explained, her voice shaky.

«Just one?»

She nodded.

«Sure there aren’t any more?» he coaxed.

His dark, husky voice made shimmering sensations chase down from Shannon’s breastbone to her thighs, as though she were watching him in secret from the cabin window again.

«More?» she whispered.

«Bits of lather. To wipe off.»

With shuttered eagerness, Shannon’s glance went over the pronounced planes and masculine angles of Whip’s face.

«No,» she said, unable to conceal her disappointment. «Not a speck.»

«Maybe next time.»

The smile Whip gave Shannon was like his voice, dark and very male. It sent another odd cascade of sensation through her, making her breath break.

«I’d better go inside first,» Shannon said. «Prettyface might get the wrong idea otherwise.»

Her voice was faintly husky, reflecting the quickening of her pulse.

Well, Whip thought in relief, whatever Silent John did to Shannon as a husband, he didn’t ruin her. There’s real passion in that sweet body.

And real hunger.

Whip watched with a barely veiled hunger of his own while Shannon opened the cabin door.

Instantly, gleaming fangs appeared in the narrow opening. Shannon stepped between the dog’s muzzle and Whip. Snarling, growling, the big hound stood squarely in the opening.

«No,» Shannon said firmly. «Prettyface, stop that! Whip is a friend. Friend, Prettyface, Friend.»

Slowly the dog’s lips came down over his fangs, but the rumbling sounds of menace didn’t stop.

«It’s all right, Prettyface,» Shannon said. «Friend.»

Whip looked into the dog’s feral eyes, saw the wolf blood staring back at him, and knew that Prettyface wasn’t convinced he was any man’s friend.

«No wonder you didn’t bring Prettyface into town,» Whip said. «That’s one hardheaded son of a bitch. What is he?»

«Mastiff, mostly. And some wolf, I think. I’m sorry he’s so edgy.»

«Don’t apologize. I know the hardheaded breed well,» Whip said dryly. «Got a brother just like him. And a brother-in-law.»

Shannon looked at Whip, startled.

«Come to think of it,» he added with a slight smile, «I’ve been accused of being too slow to back down, myself.»

Shannon tried to look as though the thought of Whip’s being hardheaded had never occurred to her. The effort dissolved into something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

Prettyface looked at his mistress as though she had lost her mind.

Whip smiled. He was discovering what a keen pleasure it was to bring the light of laughter to Shannon’s beautiful eyes.

«Go lie down, Prettyface,» Shannon said, pointing toward the dog’s favorite corner. «Go.»

Prettyface went. Slowly. With ever step he looked over his shoulder at Whip. A low, almost inaudible growl seethed inside the dog’s big body.

Despite Whip’s easy smile, he never looked away from the beast who combined the savage traits of mastiff and wolf alike. Prettyface was both powerful and fierce.

Whip would have called the dog vicious, but in the past week he had seen Prettyface lying tamely on his side while Shannon pulled burrs from between the dog’s tender pads and from inside his big, sensitive ears.

The dog was possessive, not vicious.

«Does Prettyface act this way when you’re around the shaman?» Whip asked.

«Cherokee?»

«Yeah.»

«Of course not,» Shannon said absently as she lifted biscuits from the pan onto a platter. «He only hates men.»

«What does that make the shaman — a eunuch?»

Shannon realized her mistake and mumbled, «Guess Cherokee must smell different, being so old and all. Whatever, hedoesn’t set off Prettyface.»

«Maybe I should borrow some of his herbs and change my smell.»

«His herbs?»

«Cherokee’s»

«Oh, of course, Cherokee’s. His. Well, it’s a thought.»

Quickly Shannon turned back to the stove, hiding her amusement at the idea that a handful of herbs would diminish Whip’s manhood enough to put Prettyface at ease.

She set the platter of biscuits and bacon on the scarred, handmade table and pointed to a chair.

«Have a seat,» Shannon said.

Instead of sitting, Whip pulled out Shannon’s chair and waited to seat her. She looked at him, confused. Then she remembered courtesies from a time so long ago she sometimes though it must have been a dream.

«Why, thank you,» Shannon murmured.

But as she sat in the chair that Whip held out for her, Prettyface came to his feet in snarling rage.

«No!» Shannon said sharply. «Lie down!»

Prettyface started forward with menace in every gliding stride.

Whip reached for the bullwhip’s coils.

«Step away from my chair,» Shannon said urgently. «Quickly! Prettyface doesn’t like it when you get between him and me.»

For a moment Whip considered having it out with the dog then and there, but decided against it. Maybe if Prettyface had a little time, he would settle down. That way Whip wouldn’t be forced to frighten Shannon by jerking the dog off his big feet and teaching him who gave orders and who obeyed.

Maybe it will work out peacefully, Whip thought. Sure as hell hope so. I’d have to take a lot of chewing to put that dog in his place without killing him.

But Whip wouldn’t have bet a Confederate dollar that Prettyface would accept Whip as his superior without a fight. The wolf in him would demand it.

Calmly, without any hurry at all, Whip moved away from Shannon’s chair. He held Prettyface’s eyes every inch of the way.

«Now lie down!» Shannon said sharply.

«Me or the dog?»

Shannon winced at the tone of Whip’s voice and remembered what he had said a moment earlier.

I’ve been accused of being too slow to back down, myself.

Yet Whip had meekly given way to the dog when she had ordered him to do so.

«I’m sorry,» Shannon said unhappily. «Prettyface is just…»

«Jealous?»

«Protective.»

«I don’t think so.»

Whip held Shannon’s eyes with the same unflinching stare he had used on the snarling dog.

«A protective dog takes his cue from his master,» Whip said. «A jealous dog acts like Prettyface, purely pissed off when anyone gets close to you, no matter how you might feel about it.»

«He hasn’t had much time to get used to strangers.»

«You might think on ways to get Prettyface to accept your friends,» Whip said mildly. «Or else your friends will have to do it for you. May I pour you some coffee?»

The change of subject distracted Shannon. By the time she realized what had happened, it was too late. Whip was pouring her coffee and holding out the platter of biscuits and bacon to her.

Prettyface snarled when Shannon’s hand touched the platter. She turned and gave the dog a level stare.

«No, Prettyface,» Shannon said, her voice firm. «Nothing is wrong. Now behave yourself!»

The dog whined uneasily and settled back to watch the stranger in his cabin with the unblinking, feral eyes of a wolf.

At first Shannon and Whip ate without talking. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, for they were hungry. When Shannon had eaten her fill, she poured another cup of coffee for Whip and herself and settled back in her chair to savor the unexpected luxury of the coffee.

Whip reached for another round of bacon and biscuits. As he did, he found himself wondering how chickens would survive in Echo Basin. A few eggs would have gone very well with the meal.

You’re dreaming, Whip told himself sardonically. Eggs are for people who are settled enough to raise chickens, like Willow, or those folks who are rich enough to buy eggs that are damn near worth their weight in gold.

Whip bit into a tender biscuit and sighed with pleasure. The biscuit was steamy, fragrant, and light as smoke.

«I always thought no one could match my sister Willow’s biscuits,» Whip said, reaching for more. «Looks like I was wrong. These biscuits are pure heaven.»

Shannon watched Whip’s big hands move from biscuit to bacon and back again. He handled the food deftly, which didn’t surprise her. He was a man of rare coordination. What did surprise her was the care he took with the food itself. His manners told her more than words just how much Whip appreciated the meal.

Seeing Whip enjoy the food she had prepared was an unexpected pleasure. It was as though a little bit of her was in each bite…part of her becoming part of him. Quietly Shannon watched Whip eat, her mouth slightly curved, her eyes gentle, liking the thought of it.

«You keep looking at me like that,» Whip said finally, «and I’m going to do something that will put Prettyface on the warpath.»

Belatedly, Shannon realized she was watching Whip far too warmly.

«I’m sorry,» she muttered. «I’m not used to company.»

Whip’s smile was as gentle as his eyes.

«Honey girl, I’m just teasing you. You can look at me all you like. My head might get too big for my hat, but I’ll just go without one. It would be worth it to see your beautiful eyes watching me and liking what they see.»

Shannon’s color heightened, but she didn’t look away for more than an instant before her glance was drawn back to Whip. His sun-colored hair caught light with each motion he made. Thick, fair, shiny, his hair made Shannon itch to sink her fingers into it. Only then would she find out if it felt as warm and silky as it looked.

Whip glanced up, wondering what had caught Shannon’s attention so much that she sat without moving. When he realized that he was the source of her fascination, his eyes narrowed and his pulse kicked hard. There was approval in Shannon’s eyes, and a sensual curiosity that aroused Whip as much as a hungry kiss would have.

Damnation. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her she could look at me all she likes.

Something is growing fast, and it’s not my hat size.

With an effort Whip forced himself to look anywhere but at the sapphire eyes that were watching him with luminous pleasure.

«How did you come to Echo Basin?» Whip asked.

For a moment the question didn’t register on Shannon. Then she blinked and looked down at her coffee cup.

«Silent John brought me here seven years ago.»

«You must have been a child.»

«I was husband-high and had no relatives who wanted me. Even before the war…» Shannon shrugged. «A lot of children were orphaned.»

«Eve, my brother’s wife, was like that. She came west on an orphan train and was bought by two old gamblers to make their lives easier.» Whip looked at Shannon. «Echo Basin must have been a harsh place for you.»

Surprise showed on Shannon’s face. She shook her head, making the mahogany lights in her hair gleam.

«It’s better than where I came from,» she said. «Here I’m beholden to no one for my bread and salt.»

Whip waited, but Shannon said nothing more on the subject of her past or Echo Basin.

«What about you, Whip? How did you end up here?»

He smiled slightly. That was a question few westerners dared to ask a man.

On the other hand, he had just asked her precisely that question.

«Turnabout is fair play, is that it?» Whip asked.

«Unless you mind?»

«Not as long as you’re the one doing the asking. I came to Echo Basin because I’d never been here before.»

Shannon frowned slightly. «You sound like there aren’t many places you haven’t been.»

«There aren’t. I’m a yondering man. I’ve been all over the world.»

«Truly?»

Whip smiled. «Truly.»

«Have you seen the pyramids of Egypt?»

«I saw them,» Whip said.

«What are they like?»

«Big. They rise out of the desert all pitted and racked by time. There’s a city nearby, a place where women go veiled from head to heels so that only their eyes show.»

Shannon made a surprised sound. «Just their eyes?»

Whip nodded. «You would be a sultan’s prize, honey girl. Eyes as blue as heaven itself.»

And a walk that’s hotter than hell, he added to himself.

But Whip wasn’t about to say it aloud. If Shannon knew just how much he wanted her, Whip doubted that she would be sitting so at ease across the small table from him.

«Paris,» Shannon said. «Have you seen it?»

«Paris, London, Madrid, Rome, Shanghai…I’ve seen them, and more besides. Do you like cities?»

«I don’t know. I haven’t been in one for years and years.»

Shannon looked past Whip to the strips of light coming between the ill-fitting shutters.

«But I think,» she said slowly, «having that many people pressing close would wear on me.»

«Are you eager to find out?»

«No. I only asked about cities because the history books are always going on about Paris and London and Rome. They’re the only places I could think of. And China, of course.»

Whip’s eyes took on a faraway look.

«China is a special place,» he said quietly. «It had empires and art and philosophy long before Christ was born. The Chinese have a real different way of looking at life, from music to food to fighting.»

«Did you like it?»

«Like, love, hate…» He shrugged. «Those words have no real meaning when it comes to China.»

«I don’t understand.»

Whip lifted his cup of coffee, sipped, and tried to find words to explain to Shannon what he had never explained to himself.

«Once,» he said slowly, «I stood on the banks of a river at midnight and watched men fish with lanterns and black birds instead of hooks and nets.»

Shannon made a startled sound.

«Did it work?» she asked.

«Oh, yes. It had been working like that for thousands of years, golden lantern light swirling with each dive the birds made, the fluting whistles of the fishermen as they called to their birds, midnight and the ebony river flowing by…. It was like breathing time itself to be there. China is old, older than I had ever imagined anything could be.»

A shiver coursed through Shannon as she watched Whip’s eyes. They were hazed with memory and distance and a black river flowing.

It was like breathing time itself.

«Are there other places like this?» Shannon asked when she no longer could bear Whip’s silence and distance.

«Echo Basin?» he asked.

«The Colorado Territory.»

Frowning, Whip ran his hand through his hair.

«I haven’t seen one to beat it,» he admitted finally.

«In all the world?»

«Oh, Ireland is green enough, but it lacks towering mountains like these. Burma and Switzerland have huge mountain ranges, but they’re stone and ice with little place in them for man.»

Shannon leaned forward, her eyes brilliant, fascinated.

«South America has a long, muscular chain of mountains with green lands in between clusters of high peaks,» Whip said, «but the high plains are so high that it makes a man weary just to walk a mile. Australia has green mountains with some snowy peaks. They’re pretty enough, but they aren’t real high. And the smell of the gum forest never appealed to me as much as the evergreen scent of the Rockies does.»

«Then it sounds like the best place on earth for you is right here,» Shannon said.

Whip laughed and shook his head, but when he looked at Shannon, his expression became very serious. He sensed the question buried within her words: Are you going to stay in the mountains that are like nowhere else on earth?

«The Rockies have held me longer than any other place,» Whip said softly, «but someday a distant sunrise will call to me, promising me everything I’ve ever wanted and have never been able to name. Then I’ll set out again, because there’s nothing as grand as the sunrise I haven’t seen. Nothing.»

Shannon fought against a sorrow so sharp it made her breath break. There was no reason for her to feel such grief. Whip was barely more than a stranger to her. She shouldn’t care if he stayed forever or left in the next hour.

But she cared so much it was a knife turning deep inside her. She closed her eyes and fought the unexpected pain.

«Like I said, honey girl,» Whip said gently, «I’m a yondering man.»

Shannon’s eyes opened. She looked at the man she knew only as Whip. Then she looked at his savagely clear eyes, eyes that had seen so much and yet moved on to another view, a different place, one more distant sunrise, for there was always more to see.

Always.

I hear your warning, yondering man. Don’t try to hold you. Don’t dream on you.

Don’t love you.

Yet Shannon had the uneasy feeling Whip’s warning had come too late. Somewhere deep inside her, something she had never felt before had awakened.

She prayed that it was only desire.