Only Love o-4

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Slowly, carefully, moving by fractions of inches, Shannon opened the shutters enough to rest the shotgun on the windowsill. She cocked the hammer on one barrel, settled her finger lightly around one of the two triggers, and waited, watching the man who held a gun on Whip.

  «Any sign of the gal?» dim asked, dismounting.

  Darcy shook his head. «She took off into the forest.»

  Beneath Whip’s predatory readiness, relief spread through him, warming the soul-deep cold that had begun when he thought of Shannon’s fate at the hands of the Culpeppers.

  «But we’ll get her, just like we got her damned hound,» Darcy added. «Beau’s tracking her now.»

  «Looks more like Prettyface got you,» Whip said. «Chewed you up and spit you right out. No hound likes the taste of skunk.»

  Darcy shifted his cud of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and measured Whip for a grave.

  «It was the last thing that damned hound did,» Floyd said. «Beau shot him.»

  «I should have killed Beau back at Holler Creek,» Whip said. «Live and learn. Or in your case, boys, live and die ignorant.»

  Darcy spat a stream of tobacco juice onto Whip’s boots.

  Whip just looked at him and wondered what kind of insults it would take to distract Floyd long enough for Whip to grab his six-gun. Then Whip would feed the gun to Darcy. Sideways.

  «What do we do now?» Floyd asked.

  «Wait for Beau.»

  «I need whiskey. Goddam wrist is paining me something fierce,» Floyd muttered, eyeing his right arm in disgust. «Every time my mule takes a step it feels like somebody’s a-hammerin’ on my arm.»

  Whip smiled. «It doesn’t look too good, Floyd. All those red streaks. And the smell. Lord above. I’m surprised you can stand it.»

  Darcy and Floyd ignored Whip.

  «You’ll have to wait,» Darcy said to Floyd. «Beau’s got the tanglefoot with him.»

  Behind Whip, Floyd’s mule shifted and stamped its right foreleg, dislodging a deerfly.

  «Goddam,» Floyd groaned. «Hurts.»

  «Then get down and quit your bellyaching,» Darcy said. «I’m still bleeding from that damned hound and you don’t hear me whining, do ya?»

  A saddle creaked as Floyd prepared to dismount.

  Adrenaline went through Whip. It was the moment he had been waiting for. From the corner of his eye he could see Floyd’s shadow sliding along the ground as he moved.

  He was still holding the six-gun in his left hand, keeping the barrel trained on Whip. Floyd’s natural grip was right-handed. As he dismounted the barrel of the six-gun wavered from its target. It was just for an instant, but an instant was all that Whip had been waiting for.

  In a blur of motion, Whip spun around and simultaneously kicked outward. His boot connected with Floyd’s injured wrist. Floyd made an odd sound and forgot all about the six-gun. Pain knocked him senseless.

  Whip struck the gun from Floyd’s loose fingers and whirled around again. The side of Whip’s left hand connected with Darcy’s neck.

  The sound of the impact was lost in Clim’s bellow of rage. He drew a long knife and lunged for Whip’s back.

  But Whip was no longer there. He spun aside so suddenly that Clim went staggering past Whip, off-balance, knife slicing uselessly at air. A flashing movement of Whip’s hands added to Clim’s forward momentum.

  Clim went head over heels and landed flat on his back. When he rolled to his feet and lunged again, Whip slipped the knife attack as he had before, grabbed Clim on the way by, and launched him headfirst into the side of the cabin. Clim hit with a force that shook the logs…and then he slid down onto the ground and lay very still.

  Just as Whip bent over to check Clim, Shannon screamed from inside the cabin. Her high cry was cut off by the thunder of a shotgun blast.

  The window was closer to Whip than the door. He kicked the partially open shutters aside as he vaulted over the windowsill, counting on surprise to help him against whatever he found inside.

  Shannon spun toward him, her face pale and her hand frantically cocking the shotgun.

  «Easy, honey girl. It’s just me.»

  Shannon made a small sound and stood, swaying, her eyes huge in her bloodless face.

  «I —» she said. Her voice broke. «A Culpepper — the cave — he —»

  Whip saw the open cupboard door behind Shannon. A man’s boots stuck out into the room, toes up. There was blood on them.

  Shannon started to turn back toward the cupboard. Before she could finish turning, Whip took the shotgun from her hands and stepped between her and the fallen man, blocking her view.

  «You did what you had to,» Whip said gently. «I’ll take care of it now. You go outside and make sure that Floyd doesn’t get into mischief.»

  «F-Floyd?»

  «The one with the bandaged wrist.»

  «What about the other t-two?»

  «I don’t think they’ll be much trouble,» Whip said neutrally. He handed Shannon the shotgun again. «Go on, honey girl. I’ll be out real soon to collect their weapons.»

  Whip unbarred the front door and watched closely as Shannon walked by him. Her eyes were too dark and her skin was much too pale, but her hands were steady on the shotgun. She kept walking until she was in a place where she could watch all three Culpeppers at once.

  «You’ll do, Shannon Conner Smith,» Whip said beneath his breath. «You’ve got real sand.»

  Whip turned and went to the cupboard. He lit the lantern and held it above Beau Culpepper. After a single look Whip blew the lantern out and went to Shannon.

  «Is he dead?» she asked starkly.

  «Yes.»

  Shannon closed her eyes for an instant. A tremor ripped through her, but her grip on the shotgun didn’t loosen.

  «He had a knife in one hand,» Whip said, «and a six-gun in the other. Don’t feel bad for him. He’s had it coming for a long, long time. It’s just too bad you had to be the one to deliver it.»

  Shannon took a steadying breath. «Prettyface —»

  She could say no more.

  «I’ll look for him,» Whip said. «But first, I’d better see to these boys.»

  To Whip’s surprise, Clim was still alive, but only barely. Darcy hadn’t been so lucky. Floyd was already coming back to his senses, moaning and complaining every breath of the way.

  Talking softly, Whip went to one of the mules. The animal eyed him warily but made no attempt to flee; obviously the Culpeppers had trained their mounts not to be upset by a little gunfire and blood. With a few quick motions, Whip untied the blanket roll behind a saddle.

  «I’ve never seen a man fight like you did,» Shannon said, watching Whip and remembering his flashing, always unexpected movements. «Did you learn that in West Virginia?»

  «China.»

  With one hand Whip removed Darcy’s weapons. With the other, he shook out a blanket and covered the dead man. Then Whip turned to the other Culpeppers.

  «The Chinese have tricks that make what I did look like child’s play,» Whip added.

  Shannon made a disbelieving sound.

  «It’s true,» Whip said. «The man who taught me didn’t come up to my breastbone and weighed less than you. But he could lay me out like a fish for filleting in about five seconds flat. Damnedest wrestling tricks you ever saw.»

  While Whip spoke, he stripped away guns and knives from the fallen men, retrieved his own bullwhip, and put it on his shoulder. Then he bound Clim’s wrists and knees together with rawhide thongs. He did the same for Floyd, ignoring the groans.

  «Where did they jump you?» Whip asked Shannon as he stood up.

  «Halfway between here and the big stump on the far side of the meadow.»

  Whip went to Shannon, tilted her chin up with his hand, kissed her lips lightly, and released her.

  «You keep an eye on things here,» he said. «I’ll bring Prettyface back to you.»

  For a moment Shannon looked at Whip with haunted blue eye
s. Then she nodded and turned back to watching Culpeppers.

  Whip swung up onto a mule and headed out into the meadow. When he neared the place Shannon had described, he began quartering the tall grass and wildflowers. It didn’t take him long to find the big hound.

  Cursing under his breath, Whip looked down at Prettyface. Bloody cloth was still gripped in his jaws. A shallow scarlet groove went across his skull, just above the glazed, half-open eyes. Another wound left a bright strip of blood across his brindle chest. A third bullet had clipped his haunch.

  Blood welled slowly from the wounds.

  Whip made a startled sound and dismounted in a single rushing movement. An instant later he was kneeling by Prettyface’s side. The hound’s flank rose and fell slightly, steadily, as much a proof of life as the fact that his wounds still bled.

  «You’re a tough son, aren’t you?» Whip said in a low voice.

  Gently, thoroughly, he went over the big brindle body. Prettyface flinched once and made a high sound.

  «Easy there,» Whip said soothingly. «Looks like you got kicked pretty good, and you’re bleeding in three or four places, and knocked sillier than a squirrel from that crease on your skull, but you’re young and strong. You’ll live to play with your mistress in the flowers again.»

  Before Prettyface could regain his senses completely. Whip eased the big hound into his arms, stood up, and grabbed the mule’s rein. The dog whined, but made no other protest as he was carreid across the meadow to the cabin with the mule Following along behind.

  The first thing Whip saw as he approached the cabin was a big stranger standing off to one side of the yard, watching him with eyes the color of gunmetal.

  Damnation, Whip thought grimly. I sure to God hope that man’s name isn’t Culpepper.

  «Shannon?» Whip called.

  «If you mean the girl with the shotgun, she’s inside the cabin, fixing to ventilate my spine if I do something foolish.»

  Whip looked past the man to the window. Sure enough, the barrel of the shotgun was poked through the window, plainly tracking the stranger’s every breath.

  Prudently, Whip stepped to the side.

  The dark-haired stranger nodded slightly, understanding Whip’s move. If the shotgun went off, Whip wouldn’t be in the way of any stray buckshot.

  «Take care of your hound,» the man said, looking at Prettyface with sympathy. «I’ll keep.»

  Then the man’s eyes changed, becoming as hard as flint when he glanced at the three Culpeppers on the ground.

  Whip knelt and lowered Prettyface gently to the grass. As whip stood again, the long lash dropped from his shoulder. The butt of the bullwhip came into his left hand as though summoned. Leather coils seethed and rippled restlessly at his feet.

  «Come on out, Shannon,» Whip said clearly. «Prettyface is cut up some, but he’ll live.»

  The shotgun barrel vanished from the window. The cabin door opened and banged shut as Shannon ran out, hope and fear clear in her face.

  «Prettyface?» she asked huskily.

  «Right behind me. Watch that shotgun, now.»

  Shannon didn’t bother to answer Whip. She had already uncocked the shotgun and was kneeling by her dog, making soft, happy noises.

  Whip never took his eyes off the tall, long-boned stranger whose riding cape, trousers, and boots had once been part of a Confederate uniform.

  «You know these boys?» Whip asked.

  «Culpeppers, from the look of their mules.»

  «Friends of yours?»

  «I’ve been hunting them ever since Appomattox. All eleven of them.»

  «Any particular reason?» Whip asked mildly.

  «They’re wanted, dead or alive, in Texas. During the War Between the States, they murdered three young Texas women and sold their children to the Comancheros. By the time the fathers came home from the war, found out what had happened, and went to rescue their children, it was too late. Every last child was dead.»

  Whip didn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t need to. The man was obviously a former Confederate officer. Whip suspected that the man’s wife had been one of the three young women murdered by Culpeppers.

  As for the rest, Whip had only to look at the man’s bleak eyes to know that his children had been among the missing.

  «Hunting Culpeppers, huh?» Whip asked softly. «Well, this is your lucky day, my friend. Those three are Clim, Darcy, and Floyd.»

  «Dead?»

  «Darcy is. Clim and Floyd are alive for the time being. Wouldn’t bet a Confederate dollar on their chances, though. Clim’s back is broken and Floyd’s wrist smells like it’s gone bad.»

  «Gangrene?»

  Whip nodded.

  «From the fight in Holler Creek?» the stranger asked.

  «Wasn’t much of a fight. I took them by surprise and just kept at it until the job was done.»

  If one corner of a mouth lifting slightly could be called a smile, the stranger smiled.

  «Thought it might be you,» the man said, looking at the long, restless lash. «Whip, isn’t it?»

  «That’s what they call me.»

  «I’m called Hunter since the war.»

  «Hunter,» Whip said neutrally, nodding.

  «Heard Beau was with them,» Hunter said, gesturing to the Culpeppers.

  «He was.»

  «Then he got away again,» Hunter said savagely. «Damn his slippery hide! Excuse me, ma’am.»

  «Don’t apologize,» Shannon said without looking up from Prettyface. «I’m no gentle Southern lady. I just killed a man.»

  Hunter’s black eyebrows rose. «A Culpepper?»

  Shannon nodded curtly.

  «Well, ma’am, some folks would argue that a Culpepper doesn’t count as a man, ’ Hunter said.» «Especially the folks who buried what was left of those three young women.»

  Hunter turned back to Whip.

  «Which way did Beau go?» Hunter asked.

  «Straight to hell, I imagine.»

  «He’s dead?» Hunter asked, looking around again.

  Whip nodded. «In the cabin.»

  Hunter gestured with his head toward Shannon, asking a silent question.

  Again, Whip nodded.

  Some of the fierce tension left Hunter’s body. Not until he began to relax did Whip realize just how poised for battle Hunter had been.

  «I owe you,» Hunter said simply. «There was five hundred dollars on Beau’s head, two hundred on Floyd and Darcy, and one hundred on Clim. I’ll see that you get it.»

  «No,» Shannon said fiercely. «No blood money. We wouldn’t have killed them if we had a choice.»

  Hunter looked at Whip. Again, the left corner of Hunter’s mouth turned up very slightly, not even Enough to disturb his black mustache.

  Though he didn’t say a word, Whip knew that Hunter understood what Shannon hadn’t yet realized: once the Culpeppers had grabbed Shannon, they had signed their own death warrants as far as Whip was concerned.

  «If you’ll help me load the Culpeppers on two mules,» Hunter said, «I’ll give them to the first bounty hunter I find.»

  «You’re not taking them in yourself?»

  «Abner, Horace, Gaylord, Erasmus, and Jeremiah are still alive. Erasmus and Jeremiah are rumored to be on their way to Virginia City. I’ll be looking for the other three now that these boys are taken care of.»

  «What about the rest?»

  «My brother Case is tracking Erasmus and Jeremiah. When the Culpeppers split up, we split up, Too. Case drew the short straw, so he only got to Chase two of the sons of bitches. He’ll make up for It, though. I expect he might beat me to Virginia City.»

  «Eleven, you said,» Whip muttered. «Is that all of them?»

  «All there is to speak of,» Hunter said dryly. «But Pappy Culpepper was a tireless old goat. I expect he left quite a few eggs in other nests before my daddy shot him.»

  «Eleven. Damnation. What about the rest of the alphabet? Am I likely to meet them any time soon?»

/>   «Not likely. They’re buried back Texas way.»

  Whip didn’t have to ask who had done the burying. Hunter had a look about him that reminded Whip of Caleb Black; a good man, but hard as flint.

  The kind who made a very bad enemy.

  «Hope you get the last of them,» Whip said.

  «We will. You can count on it.»

  Whip smiled slightly, glad that his name wasn’t Culpepper.

  «Get on one of those racing mules and fetch that shaman,» Whip said, turning to Shannon. «He can nurse Prettyface while we’re gone.»

  Shannon’s head snapped up. «Where are you going?»

  «We,» Whip corrected. «We’re going to my sister’s ranch.»

  Shannon opened her mouth.

  «No,» Whip said, cutting across whatever she had been going to say. «Common sense be damned. You’re going with me this time if I have to tie you to the saddle.»

  13

  Shannon awoke with a start and looked around wildly, heart pounding. It was first light, with stars fading in the east. She was in a small bedroom. A man was calling in a low voice from the porch to the corral. Another voice answered.

  Whip’s voice calling.

  Caleb Black’s voice answering.

  That was what had awakened Shannon. The sound of men’s voices. Even three days after the brutal fight at her cabin, she was jumpy, flinching at sounds, looking over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t being followed.

  Shannon drew a ragged breath. The scent of coffee and biscuits and bacon curled against her nostrils. Her stomach growled in instant response. She and Whip had arrived at such a late hour the previous night that Willow had done little more than greet them before going to bed. The trip had taken so long because Shannon refused to ride either of the two racing mules Hunter had left for her.

  Hurriedly Shannon got out of bed and dressed, not wanting to lie abed while others were up and working. From what Whip had told her, Willow had her hands full with her young son, her pregnancy, and cooking for all of the ranch hands. Not to mention sewing, mending, knitting, cleaning, washing clothes, ironing them, tending the kitchen garden, feeding the chickens, collecting eggs, and the hundred other small jobs that added up to a mountain of work.

  It was no easier for Caleb, who had the cattle and horses to tend, wood to chop, fences to build and mend, outbuildings to construct and maintain, waterholes and troughs to keep clean, horses to shoe, barns and corrals to muck out, calves to brand, horses to break, furniture to make…the list was endless.