Only Love o-4

by Elizabeth Lowell

  «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 n
arrowed 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.

  6

  A week later Shannon awoke just after dawn to the sound of an ax taking big bites from a tree. Relief washed through her.

  Nothing changed while I slept. He’s still here.

  If the Culpeppers came skulking around, they would find Shannon with a shotgun in her hands, a snarling dog at her heels…and a man called Whip by her side.

  «See?» Shannon whispered to herself. «I told you he would still be here in the morning.»

  This time.

  When Shannon hadn’t heard Whip’s panpipes last night, she wondered if he had saddled up and left Echo Basin, never to return again. But he hadn’t. He was still here, still doing all the cho
res that had been difficult for Shannon to do alone.

  Whip had repaired the lean-to where the old mule spent the worst of the winter, then he had trimmed and shod the beast’s hooves with horseshoes Silent John never had gotten around to using. Whip had rehung the cabin door so that it closed evenly without being shoved or leaned on or kicked. Then Whip had rammed caulking so tightly between the cabin’s logs that the wind couldn’t get past to steal the fire’s warmth. He had chopped down eight trees and was working on a ninth.

  Not only would Shannon have firewood curing for winter, with those trees gone there would be enough sun on the south side of the cabin for her to have a small kitchen garden. It was something she had always wanted, but she had given up on the idea four years ago. It had taken six days for her to gnaw through a tree with an ax, and then the tree had knocked her silly by falling the wrong way.

  Silent John had laughed when she told him the story about the tree falling on her. But when she told Whip about it a few days ago, he hadn’t laughed at all. He had said something under his breath and then told her in very plain English that if he ever caught her trying to chop down a tree, they would both regret it — but she would regret it more.

  Then, yesterday morning, the trees on the south side of the cabin had started to come down one by one, felled by a man who attacked each tree as though it was an enemy.

  Humming quietly to herself, Shannon got out of bed and started the breakfast fire. As she worked, anticipation swirled through her like heat through flame. Soon Whip would call out and she would bring a pan of warm water to the bench at the side of the cabin. Then she would watch while he washed and shaved.

  If she was lucky, he would overlook a bit of lather on his mustache or in the dimple on his chin. She would stand close to dab at the soap…and then she would look up and see the quicksilver of his eyes burning down at her, and the flare of his nostrils as he caught the scent of spearmint on her hands and breath.

  «You’re a fool, Shannon Conner Smith,» she told herself firmly. «You’re letting that yondering man get too close.»

  Yet all Shannon truly cared about was getting Whip closer still. She hungered for him in ways that were as old as desire and as new as sunrise.