“I was just trying to remember the last time I saw a matched set of dishes and flatware and napkins,” Shannon said. “It all looks so pretty I almost hate to eat.”
“Eat anyway. You’re too thin.”
“I’ve done nothing but eat ever since you showed up,” she muttered.
“Good thing, too. When I first saw you, you were skinnier than a bitch nursing twelve pups.”
“How could you tell?” she challenged. “I was wearing a man’s jacket and trousers!”
“I could tell.”
The raking, sideways look Whip gave Shannon ended the argument by stopping her breath in her throat. The silver smoldering of his eyes told her that his hunger for her hadn’t abated one bit.
Caleb looked down at his plate, hiding his amusement. Clearly Whip had a powerful male interest in Shannon. It was equally clear that Whip hadn’t bedded the slender girl who might or might not be a widow. They lacked the ease with one another that lovers enjoyed.
But they certainly didn’t lack the fire. The air fairly burned when Whip watched Shannon with hungry silver eyes. It was the same when she looked at him, a hunger that was almost tangible.
Whip had told Caleb that he believed Silent John was dead. Shannon hadn’t spoken of her missing husband at all.
Caleb hoped it wasn’t lack of proof of Silent John’s death that was keeping Whip and Shannon from the affair each plainly wanted. Many a man had died in the West with no one to know of his passing but God—particularly when the man was a loner and man-hunter like Silent John.
“Whip tells me you have a cabin up above Echo Basin,” Caleb said.
“Yes, on the north fork of Avalanche Creek,” Shannon said.
“I remember chasing Reno through there a few years back,” Caleb said. “Pretty place, once you get used to the altitude.”
Shannon smiled. “That’s all I remember about the first month or two I lived there, being breathless and feeling like I was carrying a fifty-pound sack of flour around on my back.”
“Hard to grow much food up there,” Caleb said.
“It’s worse than hard,” she said. “Sometimes there are only six weeks from the last frost of spring to the first frost of winter.”
“It must be lonely for you, being the only woman,” Willow said.
Shannon hesitated, then continued spreading bright red jam on a biscuit.
“To be lonely,” Shannon said slowly, “you have to have someone to miss. I didn’t leave behind anyone I cared about when I came west.”
“But you spend so much of your time alone,” Willow said.
“I have Prettyface.”
“Prettyface?” Willow asked.
“The biggest, meanest, ugliest quarter-breed wolf you’ve ever seen,” Whip said dryly. “He was still healing up from indigestion, so we left him with the shaman.”
Caleb snickered, for Whip had told him about the Culpeppers.
“Indigestion, huh?” Caleb asked mildly. “Is that what you call it?”
“Yeah,” Whip said. “The Culpepper he tried to eat would have gagged a skunk.”
“Honestly, Rafael,” Willow said. “How can you make a joke out of it? They had you at gunpoint!”
“Not when I jumped them. They were no more expecting my Chinese fighting tricks than they had expected the bullwhip.”
Shannon made an odd sound. “If you had seen Whip move, you wouldn’t have worried about him. He had them down and out cold before I could blink.”
“All the same, big brother,” Willow muttered, “one of these days you’re going to bite off more than you can chew all by yourself.”
“He already did,” Shannon said, “in a place called Grizzly Meadow.”
Caleb turned swiftly toward Shannon. His uncanny speed had been one of the first things she had noticed about him. She had thought no man could be quicker with his hands than Whip, but she no longer doubted that Caleb was faster.
“What happened?” Caleb asked Shannon.
“Whip took on a grizzly with a bullwhip.”
Caleb turned on Whip. “A grizzly? Judas Priest! I thought you had better sense!”
“It wasn’t exactly my idea,” Whip said wryly. “I was having a bath quiet as you please, and then Prettyface went on the warpath and I turned around and there that damned bear was reared up on his hind legs. All I had was the bullwhip, so I used it.”
“You drove off a grizzly with a bullwhip?” Caleb asked, astonished.
“No. Shannon came running up and shoved her rusty old shotgun—”
“My shotgun is cleaner than your bullwhip,” Shannon cut in.
“—up against the grizzly’s heart and let him have it with both barrels,” Whip said, ignoring her interruption. “Killed him deader than a stone.”
Caleb looked back at Shannon with new interest in his odd, whiskey-colored eyes.
“That took a lot of courage,” Caleb said.
“Courage?” Shannon asked, and laughed curtly. “I was plain scared, but I’m such a bad shot I knew I had to get in close to do anything useful. Just wounding the grizzly would have been the death of us all.”
“So you ran right up and blew that grizzly to kingdom come,” Caleb said, watching her with unblinking amber eyes.
Shannon looked at Caleb rather warily.
“Are you going to yell at me too?” she asked.
Caleb smiled, making his black mustache shift and gleam in the lantern light.
It struck Shannon that in a dark, hard kind of way, Caleb was every bit as good-looking as Whip.
“Is that what Whip did?” Caleb asked. “Yell at you?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Whip said simultaneously. “I merely pointed out that Shannon was a triple-dyed idiot for racing in where she had no business and nearly getting herself killed. Prettyface and I about had that grizzly on the run.”
Caleb snorted. “Did the grizzly know it?”
Whip shot his friend a hard look and then concentrated on demolishing the pile of biscuits on his plate. It still bothered him that Shannon had risked her life for him and never once had hinted that he owed her anything for it. Not even so much as a thank-you or a hug.
Instead of thanking her, he had yelled at her. That bothered him, too.
No surprise there, Whip thought sardonically. Everything about that girl bothers me.
“If my brother doesn’t have the manners to thank you,” Willow said, “I do. You’re welcome to come to our ranch anytime, and to stay for as long as you like.”
“Amen,” Caleb said. “Much as I hate to admit it, I’d miss the sound of Whip’s flute calling up the dawn when he comes visiting.”
“And just who accused me of stampeding the cattle with my ‘spirit pipes’?” Whip asked instantly, grateful for the change of subject.
“Must have been Wolfe,” Caleb said.
“Huh,” was all Whip said.
Shannon hid her smile. She also tried to hide her longing as she glanced sideways at Whip. She doubted that she was successful.
She had quickly learned that not much got past Caleb’s amber eyes.
After everyone had eaten, Caleb and Whip went out to check on the ranch animals. Willow went about her chores, which Shannon insisted on doing alongside her.
The first day set the pattern for the days that followed. Shannon worked as Willow did, whether it was cooking or sewing or cleaning. When Willow protested that Shannon was doing too much, Shannon simply laughed and said it was much easier than what she would be doing if she was in Echo Basin.
After supper on the fourth day that Shannon and Whip had been at the ranch, Willow coaxed Caleb to get out his harmonica and play some of her favorite songs.
Soon the haunting strains of a waltz were floating through the house. Lanterns glowed in shades of sun-bright gold throughout the main room of the house, softening everything their light touched. The spare lines of furniture and handmade rugs were transformed into solid, gracious forms.
&nb
sp; Smiling, Whip went up to Willow, bowed with polished grace, and held out his hand to her.
“Madam,” Whip said gravely, “as hostess, the first dance of the evening is yours.”
“I’m not as graceful as I was the last time we danced,” she warned.
Whip’s smile was haunting, almost wistful.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Willow, and never more so than when you’re carrying the child of the love you and Caleb share.”
Willow flushed and smiled and allowed her older brother to help her to her feet. She curtsied with the ease of a woman who had been raised with all the refinements wealth and natural elegance could provide.
When Willow stepped into Whip’s outstretched arms, he held his sister as though she were made of fine, very fragile crystal. Their hair was as bright and golden as candle flames, their eyes gleamed with pleasure, and their steps blended smoothly. Together Willow and Whip glided and turned gracefully through the room while Caleb’s harmonica transformed the night with music.
Shannon watched brother and sister dance with a feeling close to envy. She, too, had once known what it was to attend balls, if only by peeking through the second-floor balustrade and watching the swirls of silk and satin and music below. Too young to dance and too old to be sleepy, she had passed many an hour dreaming about the time when she would be of an age to join the laughing, silken dancers.
But before that time had come, the world had changed. Silks and gowns and balls vanished from Shannon’s life before she could enjoy them firsthand.
The final notes of the waltz quivered through the air. Shannon sighed and turned to Caleb.
“I didn’t know a harmonica could make such beautiful music,” she said in a husky voice.
Caleb smiled slightly. “You’ve lived way off in Echo Basin too long. The only music you have to compare with my harmonica is the howling of the wolves.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I enjoy the wolves’ music—as long as I’m safely inside the cabin?”
“Nothing about a girl who charged a grizzly with an antique shotgun would surprise me.”
The approval in Caleb’s eyes made Shannon flush and smile shyly up at him at the same time.
“If you can spare time from flirting with my brother-in-law,” Whip said coolly, “we could rest Willow’s feet and dance together.”
“I don’t know how to dance and I wasn’t flir—” Shannon began.
Her words stopped abruptly. The anger she saw in Whip’s eyes made her mouth too dry to speak.
“Rafael!” Willow said, shocked. “Where are your manners?”
“In his watch pocket,” Caleb suggested dryly, “along with his brains.”
Whip shot him a savage look.
Caleb smiled thinly.
“Save it for Reno,” Caleb suggested. “He’s been waiting for a chance to get even ever since you dumped him on his butt with your Chinese wrestling tricks and then took strips out of his hide for the way he was treating Eve.”
“He had it coming,” Whip said. “He was being a damn fool about not marrying her. Anybody could see it.”
“Except the damn fool involved,” Caleb pointed out. “You might think on that. You might think on it real hard. Then you can apologize to Shannon by teaching her how to waltz.”
With that, Caleb winked at Willow and picked up his harmonica. Soon haunting harmonies once again filled the room.
Shannon looked everywhere but at Whip. Her cheeks were still stained red from his accusation. And from her own anger. She had done nothing to earn the sharp edge of Whip’s tongue.
Whip’s large hand appeared in front of Shannon’s eyes. His fingers were long, tanned, oddly elegant for all their strength. The nails were clean and closely trimmed.
He smelled of peppermint.
Whip saw the accusation in Shannon’s blue eyes when she looked up at him, then the sudden flaring of her nostrils, and then her surprise.
“Peppermint,” she said.
“Willow has it planted out back. I picked some for your room while you and Willow were clearing the dinner table.”
“I—thank you,” Shannon stammered. “That was very kind of you.”
Whip held out his other hand and said softly, “Dance with me.”
Honey girl.
Though Whip didn’t say the words aloud, they were there in the silver blaze of his eyes as he looked at her.
“I d-don’t know how,” Shannon said.
“I’ll teach you, if you’ll let me. Will you let me, Shannon?”
A shiver lanced through her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then come to me,” he whispered in return.
When Shannon stood up, Whip took her left hand and led her to the center of the living room floor. There he turned and faced her, lifting her hand as he did. If they had been alone, he would have kissed the center of her palm. Instead, he circled it with his thumb before pressing lightly in the very center.
Shannon felt as though her palm had been kissed. Her breath shortened and her eyes widened to luminous pools of blue.
“Put your left hand on my shoulder,” Whip said in a deep voice.
“Like this?”
“Yes. Now, rest your right hand in mine.”
A betraying shiver went through Shannon when her palm brushed over Whip’s. He shifted his hand until he could grip hers lightly with his fingers.
“Can you hear the beats of the music?” Whip asked.
Shannon cocked her head, listening despite her nearly overwhelming awareness of Whip’s body close to hers, their breaths mingling, the strong surge of the pulse in his neck. After the space of a few breaths, she heard the rhythms Whip was counting. She began counting with him, softly.
“That’s it,” Whip said. “Now, beginning with your right foot, follow my lead.”
Whip’s grip on Shannon changed, becoming more secure, guiding her at all times and supporting her if she wavered. He began with simple steps, but quickly went on to more intricate ones as it became clear that Shannon was capable of more than schoolroom exercises.
“Are you certain you don’t know how to waltz?” Whip asked, turning swiftly, taking Shannon with him.
She laughed and hung on to Whip, trusting him to lead her through the dance. His strength and confidence made learning easy for her.
“I’ve dreamed of dancing like this,” Shannon said softly to Whip, “but I never did it. The closest I came was huddling behind the potted plants and peeking through the balustrade at all the lovely, swirling dancers.”
“How old were you?”
“Five or six or seven. It was a long, long time ago,” Shannon said absently, counting the beat, “before Papa deserted us and Mama took to laudanum.”
Whip was shocked, but he didn’t pursue the subject. He wanted to erase the shadows from Shannon’s magnificent eyes, not create more darkness by recalling unhappy memories.
“I think she’s ready for a polka,” Whip said, looking over Shannon’s head to Caleb.
Immediately the harmonica’s music went from stately to raucous, with rollicking refrains that made Willow laugh out loud and tap her foot to the driving, infectious rhythm.
“Hear the beat?” Whip asked Shannon.
“I’d have to be dead not to!”
“Or dead drunk,” he said. “I suspect the Germans invented this dance as a way to get thirsty enough to drink beer all night long.”
Whip took Shannon’s hands and placed them on his shoulders. By now her foot was tapping along with Willow’s.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
“To romp with me like I was Prettyface and we were in a high-mountain meadow with nothing around but wildflowers and the sun.”
The thought of romping like that with Whip charmed Shannon. Laughter gleamed in her eyes and curved her lips into a dazzling smile.
Then laughter fled in a hot rush as Whip put his hands on her hips. His fingers flexed subtly
, savoring the feminine flesh just beneath the worn cloth trousers. The smile he gave her was as reckless and sexy as the glittering light in his eyes.
With no more warning than that, Whip began the polka, counting out the measure as he had the waltz. But this time his voice was nearly a shout rather than a murmur. Shannon caught on quickly, for the polka was much more simple than the waltz. Whatever lack of experience she had was more than made up for by Whip’s sheer strength. If Shannon faltered, Whip simply lifted her right off her feet.
Soon the two of them were romping and stomping from the living room to the kitchen and down the hall and back again. Every few steps Whip would lift Shannon entirely off her feet, whirl her around, then set her down and head off in another direction.
Cheeks flushed, eyes alight, laughing, Shannon gave herself to the music and to the man who laughed and danced with her. Finally, on the tenth trip from living room to kitchen, she was breathless from laughter and from the polka itself. She clung to Whip and begged for mercy. He whirled her around once more, feet off the ground, and hugged her close, for they were in the kitchen where there was no one to see.
“I know you weren’t flirting with Cal,” Whip said softly. “But if you had smiled like that at me, I’d have wanted to do…this.”
As he spoke, the humor in Whip’s eyes gave way to the passion he no longer could conceal. He bent his head and took Shannon’s mouth in a quick, deep, hungry kiss.
“And then I would have wanted more, so damned much more,” Whip said softly, breathing hard, holding Shannon against him. “I want you, honey girl. Virgin or widow or wife, heaven or hell or everything between, I want all of it.”
With a low sound, Whip let Shannon slide down his body, making no attempt to conceal his arousal from her.
Her breath fragmented over his name.
“Tell Cal and Willy that I went to check on Sugarfoot,” Whip said hoarsely.
The back door banged, leaving Shannon alone in the kitchen with her heart beating frantically and the taste of Whip in her mouth like wine.
14
THE next morning a wind howled down the peaks, herding brief, wild thunderstorms down the long green valley where Caleb and Willow had built their home. As Whip came inside, he held the doorknob carefully, making sure the front door didn’t slip from his grasp and slam shut behind him.
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