Only Love o-4

by Elizabeth Lowell

Yet he knew that the only sound in the landscape was that of the keening, ice-tipped wind.

  The little fool. She could break an ankle running like that. A wounded deer can go for miles or days, depending on the wound. If she keeps running she’ll sweat and when she stops running the sweat will freeze.

  Whip didn’t want to think about what would happen after that. He had found more than one man dead of cold or wandering around with no more brains than a bucket of sand, too numbed by cold even to think.

  The reckless trail went on, crossing and recrossing the creek as the deer bounded ahead. The signs of blood became more pronounced and frequent. One deer was tiring, struggling to keep up with its companions.

  The ravine gouged out by the creek became steeper and the way got more rough. Even the deer that weren’t wounded had a hard time of it. Despite having four agile feet apiece, there were signs that the animals slipped on the rough, snowy terrain almost as often as Shannon and Prettyface did.

  Abruptly Shannon’s tracks shortened from a full running stride to a complete halt. Spent shotgun shells poked up from the snow, telling their own story.

  Whip stood in the stirrups and looked around. He quickly sported the remains of the deer. Shannon had dressed it out with an efficiency that told Whip this part of hunting wasn’t new to her. What meat she couldn’t carry, she had strung up on a rope over a high branch, keeping the venison beyond the reach of other predators.

  Well, Silent John was good for something, I guess. The hide itself won’t be worth much from all the buckshot holes, and a man will have to be real careful not to crack a tooth on stray chunks of lead, but the meat will fill an empty belly just fine.

  Shannon’s tracks aimed toward a notch just ahead, a side ravine that snaked up and over the shoulder of the mountain. Whip’s past explorations told him that the notch would open out into a steep forested slope about half a mile from the cabin. Except for having to cross a fork of Avalanche Creek several times getting through the notch, the trail was a handy shortcut back to the cabin for someone on foot.

  Whip wasn’t on foot.

  For a moment he was tempted to push as far up the notch as he could on horseback, just to ease the clammy fear in his gut that something had happened to Shannon.

  Don’t be a bigger fool than you already are, Whip advised himself harshly. The trail ahead is no worse than the one behind. There’s no point making Sugarfoot walk in ice water and take a chance of breaking a leg on those damned slippery rocks just to see Shannon’s tracks heading up and out of the notch.

  Yet Whip wanted very much to do just that. The uneasiness that had begun shortly after he started tracking Shannon had grown into flat-out fear.

  Common sense told Whip that Shannon was all right.

  Instinct whispered a different message, her voice calling wildly to him in the silence.

  Abruptly Whip reined Sugarfoot around and headed back down the ravine. Although he was savagely uneasy, he didn’t hurry the big gelding as it picked its way over the uneven ground. He kept reminding himself that by the time he reached the cabin, Shannon would already be safe inside. There would be a cheerful fire and mint-scented water to wash in and fresh biscuits baking.

  But not for Whip.

  The thought did nothing to shorten the two miles back to the cabin.

  When Whip arrived, there was no smoke coming from the chimney, no scent of biscuits baking — and no tracks coming in from the direction of the notch. The uneasiness that had been riding Whip exploded into raw fear. He spun Sugarfoot around and examined the sparse, windswept forest where Shannon would have descended from the notch to the cabin.

  Nothing was moving.

  Whip yanked open the buckle on his saddlebags and pulled out a telescoping spyglass. He snapped it out to full length and held it up to his eye. Between spaces in the trees, snow gleamed whitely in the growing light.

  Not a single track marred the perfect snow.

  17

  Whip was nearly all the way to the notch itself before he found Shannon. She was in ice water up above her knees, pushing hard on a branch stuck between boulders in the creek.

  Suddenly there was a dry, cracking sound. The branch splintered and Shannon fell headlong into the small pool of water.

  Only then did Whip see what was wrong. Prettyface had slipped while scrambling across the stony creek. Somehow the dog had managed to wedge a hind foot between two boulders. The boulders were too heavy for Shannon to shift aside even an inch.

  From the looks of the broken branches thrown beyond the creek, she hadn’t had much luck finding a sturdy lever to help her free Prettyface.

  When Sugarfoot came to a plunging, snow-scattering stop near the stream, Shannon was pulling herself upright. Her motions were clumsy, as though she had little feeling in her hands and feet.

  Whip dismounted in a rush.

  «Get out of there before you freeze to death,» he ordered curtly.

  If Shannon heard Whip above the chatter and splash of the icy creek, she didn’t respond. She simply picked up the longest of the discarded branches, jammed one end beneath the smaller boulder, and heaved upward with all her strength.

  The branch broke.

  Only Whip’s quickness saved Shannon from another ice water bath. He grabbed her, lifted her high, and dumped her into Sugarfoot’s saddle. With swift motions he peeled off his jacket and stuffed her into it.

  «Stay right here,» Whip commanded. «Do you hear me, you little fool?Stay put.»

  «Pre-Pretty —»

  «I’ll get him out, but so help me God, if you move from that saddle I’m going to take you to the cabin and tie you to the bed before I help Prettyface. Hear me?»

  Dazed by cold and fear for her dog, Shannon nodded jerkily. When Whip took her hands and wrapped them around the saddle horn, she hung on instinctively. He looked at her for a searching instant before he turned abruptly toward the dog who was standing three-legged in the rushing creek.

  «Well, Prettyface,» Whip said as he waded into the frigid meltwater, «you’ve landed yourself in a mighty cold kettle of fish.»

  The big dog waved his tale in greeting and watched Whip with clear wolfs eyes. Except for his legs, Prettyface was dry. If the dog was cold, he didn’t show it. He wasn’t even shivering.

  Whip bent and ran his hands lightly over as much of the captive leg as he could reach. There were no swellings and only a few scraped places.

  «You’re better off than your mistress, aren’t you?» Whip muttered. «Now all we have to do is get your foot out without banging it up any worse than it already is.»

  Whip rubbed the dog’s head affectionately as he talked, but there was no gentleness in Whip’s silver eyes as he measured the problem. He pushed against one of the boulders, then another, testing them.

  Heavy, damned heavy, but not impossible, Whip told himself.

  Prettyface whined softly as Whip tested the boulders again, trying to decide which might be easiest to lift.

  «All right, boy. I hear you. I won’t pinch you again.»

  Whip gathered up several of the broken branches and jammed them between the boulders as far down as he could on either side of the dog’s captive paw. Then he picked up a water-rounded stone and hammered the branches down between the boulders until the heavy sticks would go no farther.

  «That should keep the boulders off your paw,» Whip said. «Now hang on tight, Prettyface. There’s going to be some shoving and swearing.»

  With that Whip squatted, plunged his hands into the ice water, and groped around the base of the boulder he had chosen. There was a lot of gravel and smaller stones. He began raking the rubble away from the bottom of the boulder until he could get a better grip on it. He worked quickly, for he knew his hands would soon go numb from the icy water.

  «We’re in luck,» Whip said, wrapping his arms around the boulder and straining upward. «There’s a nice little ridge — near the bottom — to hang — on to.»

  The words were spoken thro
ugh Whip’s teeth as he straightened slowly, driving his body upward with his powerful legs while he gripped the base of the boulder. Stone gnashed over stone. Whip’s feet slipped slightly, icy water sluiced over him, but he didn’t let go.

  Despite the freezing water, sweat stood on Whip’s face. The pulse in his neck beat hard. His eyes were slitted and his teeth were clenched with effort as he poured his strength into shifting the heavy boulder enough to free Shannon’s dog.

  Suddenly Prettyface jerked aside and scrambled out of the creek with a happy yip.

  Whip let go of the boulder and straightened, breathing hard and smiling widely. Prettyface was favoring the foot that had been caught, but otherwise was moving well.

  «Go home, boy,» Whip said, gesturing down the slope.

  The big dog looked toward Shannon, who was slumped in Sugarfoot’s saddle.

  «Home,» Whip commanded, wading out of the icy creek.

  Prettyface turned and trotted unevenly down the slope toward the cabin.

  Whip went to Shannon. He took one look at her dazed eyes and blue lips, and knew that only will-power was keeping her from succumbing to the cold.

  Yet she was trying to dismount.

  «What the hell do you think you’re doing!» Whip demanded. «I told you to stay put.»

  Shannon tried to speak but her lips were too cold. She pointed with a hand that shook.

  For the first time Whip noticed the ragged backpack and the haunch of venison that had been thrown aside in Shannon’s rush to rescue Prettyface.

  Whip was tempted to get up behind Shannon, ride to the cabin, and to hell with the venison. Instead, he stalked over and picked up the backpack. The sheer determination Shannon had shown in hunting the deer moved Whip in ways he couldn’t express; the venison meant survival to her in the most fundamental sense of all. Though it infuriated Whip that Shannon had gone after deer in the first place, he couldn’t deny her the fruits of her hunt.

  «Here,» he said roughly.

  Whip shoved the backpack into Shannon’s lap and swung up behind her.

  As soon as Whip put his arm around Shannon to take the reins, he realized that she was colder than he had thought.

  Dangerously cold.

  Beneath his heavy, loose jacket, Shannon’s whole body was racked by convulsive shivering.

  «Son of abitch,» Whip said harshly.

  His other arm came around Shannon and he set his spurs to the big gray. Sugarfoot took off down the slope at a pace just short of reckless. As far as Whip was concerned, it was much too slow, but common sense told him otherwise.

  It was only a few minutes until they reached the cabin, but Shannon’s shivering was worse by then. If it hadn’t been for Whip’s strong arms holding her in the saddle, she wouldn’t have been able to stay on.

  Prettyface was waiting patiently by the cabin door.

  Whip dismounted, lifted Shannon off, and carried her to the cabin. Despite her shivering, she hung on to the venison as though it was life itself.

  «I wish to God you had as much sense as you have sheer grit,» Whip said as he kicked the cabin door open.

  Prettyface shot through the opening. Shannon shivered violently and said nothing.

  It was dead cold inside the cabin. A fire had been laid in the stove, waiting for a match to bring heat and life to the room.

  Prettyface didn’t mind the lack of warmth. He simply went to his corner and stretched out on a ragged saddle blanket with a groan of pleasure.

  Whip put Shannon on her bed, threw the bearskin blanket over her, and went to light the fire in the stove. His hands were so cold that it took several tries before he could hold and strike a match without breaking it. Once touched by the match, flames caught and held very quickly.

  That wasn’t fast enough to suit Whip. He was bigger than Shannon, he hadn’t been in the water as long as she had, and he was damned cold.

  It took Whip five tries to light the lantern. When he turned toward the bed once more, his glance fell on the dry goods cupboard that led to the hot spring.

  Without hesitation Whip went to the bed, scooped up Shannon, grabbed the lantern, and went through the cupboard to the darkness beyond. The warmth of the cave was like a benediction.

  Whip set the lantern on the wooden box that served as a table. Golden light spilled over everything as Whip took off Shannon’s soaked boots, the bearskin blanket, and the jacket he had wrapped her in. Ruthlessly he stripped off her clothes, ripping the old cloth in his haste to get her free of its icy folds.

  Shannon neither spoke nor focused her eyes on Whip while he undressed her. She simply shuddered convulsively, repeatedly.

  «Shannon, can you hear me? Shannon!»

  Slowly her eyes focused.

  Whip let out a breath of relief.

  «You’re going to have a nice, warm bath,» he said. «Then all the shivering will stop and you’ll be fine. Do you understand?»

  Shannon’s head made a motion that could have been a nod. Her teeth chattered audibly until she clenched her jaw.

  «That’s it, honey girl. Keep on fighting the cold. Don’t let it put you under.»

  As Whip spoke, he wrenched off his own soaked boots and clothing. Moments later he carried Shannon into the pool. The broad bench Silent John had chipped and hammered out of stone was too shallow for Whip to get warm water up as high as his breastbone, but it was just right for Shannon.

  When Shannon was on his lap, the water came up to the hollow of her throat. The hot spring swirled gently around Shannon, engulfing her with heat.

  Breath hissed through Whip’s teeth at the touch of the water. Though he knew it wasn’t really hot in this part of the pool, for the first few moments the water felt like fire against his chilled skin.

  «Are you all right?» Whip asked. «Does this hurt you?»

  Shannon shook her head.

  For a time there was only the soft hiss of the lantern and the subtle currents of warmth drawing the chill from their bodies. Whip’s arms surrounded Shannon, holding her upright against his chest while she shivered.

  Whip could tell when Shannon’s brain started to thaw out. Though she was still shivering, she stiffened and tried to draw away from him. His arms locked, holding her against his chest.

  «P-Prettyface,» she said.

  «Prettyface is fine. Hell, he’s better off than you are. No need to jump out and check on him. You’re still cold enough to shiver icicles. Stay put until you’re warm.»

  Shannon didn’t argue. It was too much effort to speak. She simply nodded.

  But she didn’t rest against Whip’s chest again, either. She was remembering all too clearly how he had pushed her away the last time she had been close. She wasn’t going to put herself in that position again. It had hurt too much.

  It still hurt.

  Whip’s mouth settled into a tight line that had nothing to do with being cold. He had liked the feeling of Shannon leaning on him. He had liked the gentle weight of her on his chest and the fragrant silk of her hair brushing against his shoulder with each shift of her body.

  But when he tried to draw her dose again, she stiffened and pushed away.

  After a time the hot spring won out against the chill left by the icy meltwater. Shannon’s shivering subsided and her body slowly relaxed.

  Whip could tell the precise instant when Shannon’s skin thawed out enough for her to recognize what he had known ever since he climbed into the pool with her — they were both naked.

  «Let me g-go,» Shannon said stiffly.

  «You’re still shivering.»

  A tremor went through her that had nothing to do with cold.

  «I’m f-fine,» she whispered.

  «Good,» Whip said coolly. «Then maybe you can tell me what the hell you were doing floundering around the countryside when you should have been snug and warm andsafein your bed?»

  «Hunting.»

  «I figured that out. What I didn’t figure out was why.»

  Shannon’
s head came up. For the first time she saw Whip’s eyes. For all his outer calm, he was furious.

  No news in that, Shannon told herself. Seems like he’s been furious with me ever since I admitted to loving him.

  «Why do people usually hunt?» Shannon asked.

  «Do you think I’m such a bastard that I won’t hunt for you?»

  Shannon’s surprise showed dearly in her wide sapphire eyes.

  «Of course not,» she said.

  «If I hunted for you, would you take what I gave you?»

  «Yes.»

  «Then why in the name of God were you out hunting?» Whip demanded.

  «You won’t always be here to hunt for me, so I have to learn to fend for myself.»

  «You would do one hell of a lot better fending for yourself with Cal and Willy.»

  «By your estimate, yes.»

  «But not by yours,» he retorted.

  «Not by mine,» she agreed. «Besides, I can’t just walk out on Cherokee and Prettyface.»

  «Prettyface would warm to the ranch.»

  «Cherokee wouldn’t.»

  «How do you know?»

  «I asked first thing after I got back.»

  It was Whip’s turn to be surprised. «You did?»

  Shannon nodded.

  «I had a long time to think about how sad and angry you looked when you rode off,» Shannon said simply. «I decided I could go back and — and try — try living someone else’s life.»

  Whip’s eyelids flinched at the pain in Shannon’s voice.

  «If — if it didn’t work, the cabin would still be here,» Shannon said, «but I couldn’t go unless Cherokee was taken care of, too.»

  Relief coursed through Whip. The arms holding Shannon gentled. He brushed his lips lightly over her hair, so lightly that she couldn’t feel the caress.

  «That tough old boy has been taking care of himself twice as long as you’ve been alive,» Whip said. «He’ll do fine up here alone. You won’t.»

  «Wrong,» Shannon said succinctly. «Shehas been taking care of herself for a long time. Shelikes it that way. That’s the way it’s going to stay.»

  «She?»

  «She,» said Shannon. «Cherokee is a woman.»

  «Judas H. Priest.» Whip shook his head in disbelief. «You sure?»