Eyes closed, jaw clenched, Whip held Shannon, rocking her slowly, trying to ease the anguish that came from a hurt he had never meant to give, an agony that sprang from what he was and didn’t know how to change.
Yondering man.
After a time Whip carried Shannon to his horse, for he couldn’t force himself to let go of her. They rode down the mountain together, followed by a long-legged mule and a packhorse, with a huge hound trotting alongside.
Somewhere between Rifle Sight’s dreams of gold and the cabin’s lonely reality, Shannon’s tears finally stopped. Even then, Whip didn’t release her. He simply held her against his chest, his arms close around her as though he expected her to be taken from him without warning.
When they reached the cabin, Whip carried Shannon inside and put her on the bunk. Despite the heat of the day, the cabin was chilly, for no fire had been lit for many nights. He pulled the thick bearskin blanket over her and tucked it beneath her chin.
«I’ll be back as soon as I’ve taken care of the animals,» Whip said.
Shannon started to protest, then simply nodded agreement. She had never felt so tired in her life, or so cold. Not even after she had tried to dig Prettyface out of the creek’s icy trap.
When Whip returned he found Shannon curled beneath the heavy, furry blanket, staring at the rich sunset colors that were seeping through the ill-fitting shutters. A narrow shaft of redgold light lay across her eyes, transforming them into an orchid color that was as exotic as anything Whip had ever seen in his years of yondering.
Then Shannon turned and looked at Whip. The grief in her eyes hit him like a blow.
«Honey girl,» he said roughly, kneeling beside her bed. «Oh, God, I wish I were a different man!»
«I don’t.» Shannon touched Whip’s sun-bright hair with fingers that trembled. «I wouldn’t have loved a different man.»
«I’ll stay.»
For an instant joy blazed in Shannon, burning away the desolate shadows. Then Whip’s eyelashes lifted and she saw the metallic sheen of his eyes. He had the fierce, hunted look of a wolf brought to bay.
«It wouldn’t work.» Shannon smiled with trembling lips. «But thank you for offering.»
«I’ll make it work.»
«How?» she asked simply. «Will you stop playing your flute at dawn, calling to the sunrise you’ve never seen? Will you stop looking into the clouds at sunset with hunger in your eyes for a different land, a different language, a different life? Will you stop yearning for something that has no name, no description, simply your soul-deep belief that such a thing exists somewhere on the face of the earth, waiting for you to discover it?»
Whip’s breath caught. He hadn’t realized that Shannon understood him so well.
Better than he understood himself.
«I want you,» he said starkly.
«I know,» Shannon said. «But you’ll leave anyway. Desire isn’t enough to satisfy your yearning, yondering soul. Only love could do that.»
Abruptly Whip closed his eyes. «I’ll come back to you, honey girl.»
«Don’t,» Shannon whispered, stroking the fierce lines of Whip’s face. «The pain would be too much when you left again. For both of us.»
«Shannon — God, I’m so sorry —»
Whip’s voice broke. Tears glittered wildly in his eyes.
«It’s all right, yondering man,» she whispered. «It’s all right.»
She kissed Whip’s eyelids, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth.
«I never should have touched you,» Whip said, shivering beneath the delicate caresses.
«You never lied to me,» Shannon said, kissing him gently, repeatedly. «You warned me every step of the way that you were a yondering man. I didn’t understand at first. Then I didn’t believe. But I do now.»
«I should be horsewhipped for taking your innocence,» Whip said roughly. «No decent man would have.»
«I wanted you. You were kind and gentle when other men were savage and crude. I couldn’t have asked for a more decent man to teach me passion.»
«I didn’t want you to love me,» Whip whispered, for his throat was closed around emotions he refused to release. «I didn’t want to hurt you.»
Shannon smiled sadly. «I can hardly be the first widow who watched you leave with love in her eyes.»
«You’re the first one whose sorrow cut me until I bled and just kept on bleeding.»
There was pain in Whip’s tone, and accusation, and bafflement.
«You can no more change my loving you than I can change your not loving me,» Shannon said. «It’s just the way it is, like a river running down to the sea or smoke rising into the sky or the earth turning, carrying you away from me toward the sunrise you’ve never seen.»
Shannon’s name came from Whip’s mouth in a broken rush that was nearly a cry.
«Whip,» she whispered. «Let’s not waste any more breath on what can’t be changed. Love me in the only way you can while you’re here. Join your body with mine and take me to the sun. We have so little time left….»
Whip’s breath came in with a swift, ripping sound as Shannon’s hands slid down his body and cradled his very different, very aroused flesh.
«No,» he said thickly. «It’s too dangerous. Too many days have gone by.»
«Then at least let me bring you ease.»
With an anguished sound, Whip dragged Shannon’s hands back up his body.
«No,» he said curtly. «Don’t you understand?I don’t trust myself. I start out telling myself that we’ll just pet each other a bit, no more. Just mutual ease and comfort. Then your breath begins to break and you tremble and I feel the honey and fire between your legs and all I want to do is bury myself in you.»
Shannon’s breath caught.
«And that’s just what I do each time,» Whip said bitterly. «I lock myself inside you and the honey flows and the fire burns and nothing else is real. No sorrow, no pain, no thought, nothing but you and me and the kind of white-hot pleasure I’ll die remembering.»
«It’s the same for me,» Shannon said against Whip’s mouth. «Be a part of me, Whip. I love the way it feels when you’re deep inside me.»
«Haven’t you been listening? It’s not safe! I don’t trust myself not to make you pregnant!»
A shudder went through Shannon, hunger and grief combined.
A baby.
God, I want Whip’s child. But he doesn’t want to leave that much of himself behind.
Then Shannon remembered Cherokee’s odd gift.
«Cherokee gave me something so I wouldn’t conceive,» Shannon said huskily.
«What?» Whip asked, startled.
«Over there.» Shannon pointed. «On the shelf. The vial and the little bag.»
Whip gave her a strange look. Then he stood with swift grace and went to the shelf. Carefully he opened the bag and tipped it over his open hand. Tiny scraps of sponge rustled onto his palm. He took the stopper out of the vial and sniffed. His eyes widened as he smelled jumper and spearmint combined, plus a whiff of something sharp he couldn’t name.
«I’ll be damned,» he said.
«But I don’t know what to do with any of it,» Shannon said. «Do you?»
He nodded.
«Oh, good,» she said, relieved. «What do I do?»
Whip selected a sponge, doused it thoroughly with the pungent oil and turned toward Shannon with a lazy, very male smile.
«I’ll show you,» he said.
She blinked, startled by Whip’s transformation. Gone was the wildness of an animal brought to bay. His elemental hunger and his certainty of ecstasy were all but tangible.
«Don’t be nervous, honey girl. You’ll love learning how to use this. And I’ll love showing you.»
«WHIP?» Shannon called up the ridge from the cabin doorway. «Lunch is ready. Are you finished dressing out that elk yet?»
Prettyface’s head appeared from the corner of the meadow where he had been dining on scraps from Whip’s latest hunt. She h
ad heard Prettyface bark wildly earlier, followed by Whip’s stern command for silence.
«Go on,» Shannon called, waving her hand at the dog. «It’s Whip I’m looking for, not you.»
Prettyface vanished back into the tall meadow grass.
«Whip? Where are you?»
No answer came from the meadow, where three hobbled mules grazed. No answer came from the woodpile, which now held little but chips. No answer came from the lean-to, where strips of venison and fish cured over a slow, smoky fire. No answer came from the ridgeline, where trees stood tall and windswept, lifting green arms to the sky.
Abruptly Shannon spun back toward the meadow, finally realizing what was wrong.
Whip’s horses weren’t there.
«Whip can’t have gone,» Shannon whispered. «It’s been only four days since we left Reno and Eve at the mine. They haven’t come back with news of gold.»
Surely Whip hasn’t left.
Oh, God, not yet. Not yet!
Shannon leaned against the door frame as her bones turned to sand and her skin went cold. Her hands clutched at the ragged hem of the shirt she wore. The worn cloth gave way beneath the pressure of her fingers, ripping with a muted sound.
«Whip, where are you?»
The ghostly keening of panpipes breathed over Shannon, whispering to her of exotic mysteries, distant sunrises and the unbound soul of a yondering man.
The haunting music came from behind Shannon. Inside the cabin.
She drew a swift breath and spun around.
There was no one behind her.
«Whip? Where are you?»
The trembling harmony of the pipes curled around Shannon like an invisible leash, pulling her toward the cupboard that opened into the cave.
Of course, Shannon thought in relief. Whip just came in the back way after dressing out that last elk. He’s probably washing off in the hot spring pool right now.
Quickly Shannon shut and barred the cabin door. When she opened the cupboard passage, light from a single candle danced in silent welcome. As she closed the cupboard behind her, the husky keening of the panpipes faded into a spectral whisper, then into silence.
Shannon searched darkness that seethed with mist from the hot spring. She couldn’t see Whip. Impatiently she kicked off her boots and socks and tugged off the leather belt that held up her worn men’s pants.
«Whip, are you in the pool?»
There was a hissing whisper as a long lash curled out of the darkness. Shannon felt a tug at her shirt and heard a soft tearing sound. Before she could do more than gasp, she sensed another swift movement, another tug, then another and another. Very quickly her old flannel shirt vanished, floating to the rocky floor in uneven ribbons.
Shannon made a surprised sound as the bullwhip’s supple lash licked over her trousers. There was a soft pop followed by a metallic clink as the single button on her pants hit the ground.
She looked around and saw nothing but twists of steam and the dark curl of the lash returning. Though she saw it coming, she still made a startled noise when the leather whip delicately, precisely, sheared cloth away from her body without touching her skin at all.
She shivered as the remnants of her trousers fell to the stone floor, leaving her wearing the shabby pantalets that were her only underwear.
«W-Whip?»
«I wanted to do this the first time I saw you dressed in ragpicker’s clothes that were an insult to your beauty. But I knew the bullwhip would frighten you then. Does it frighten you now?»
Shannon closed her eyes as a delicious shiver of anticipation went through her.
«No,» she whispered. «Nothing you do could frighten me, Whip.»
The lash curled, tugged, and the worn ribbon came untied, leaving nothing to hold up the pantalets. They slid to the floor. Shannon stood motionless, wearing only candlelight and the seething mist rising from the hot spring.
«You’re like the sun, honey girl. Beautiful. Perfect.»
Whip’s voice was as dark and sultry as the cave itself.
«I’ve seen myself in your shaving mirror,» Shannon said. «I’m not perfect or beautiful.»
«You are to me.»
The truth in Whip’s voice was another kind of caress licking over Shannon as softly as the mist, as gently as the smooth leather kissing her cheek, her shoulder, the swell of a breast, the full curve of one hip, the sensitive skin behind one knee. The cool, delicate touches were swift, always unexpected, shockingly arousing in their restraint and sensual promise.
Shannon whimpered Whip’s name as her body shimmered and caught fire. She captured the teasing, flicking lash and tugged hard, only to find herself pulled in turn toward the steamy darkness where Whip waited. Beneath her feet cool stone gave way to the soft, thick blankets Whip had spread near the edge of the hot spring.
There was a swirl of water and the secret rush of drops onto stone as Whip came out of the seething pool. Wearing only coils of steam and a glistening sheen of water, Whip loomed in front of Shannon.
He was as beautiful to her as a pagan god, but the shadows haunting his eyes were those of a man whose powers were merely human.
I wish I were a different man!
Don’t love me, Shannon. Please. Don’t. It hurts too much.
An eerie stillness wrapped around Shannon’s heart, making it stop. She knew in an instant of total silence that Whip would leave her soon.
Very soon.
Shannon’s heart turned over and beat frantically. She bit back a cry of protest at all that could have been and now never would be, shared laughter and intertwined lives, building a home and holding babies, children with his eyes and her smile and their love like a sunrise bringing light to the landscape of their lives….
But it was not to be.
All Shannon had was this moment when she would share her body and soul with Whip for the last time.
As graceful as candlelight and mist, Shannon walked to Whip. And like candlelight and mist she flowed over him, touching him, tasting him, learning every bit of his body in a rage of silence that left Whip shaken.
«Honey girl,» he said through his teeth. «My God.»
Shannon’s answer was a delicate movement of her tongue over the blind eye of his passion.
«Stop,» he said hoarsely.
«Not yet,» she whispered, touching him tenderly again. «I haven’t memorized all of you yet. Let me…memorize you.»
Whip didn’t know what to say, nor did he have any breath left to speak. Shannon was a living warmth enfolding him, a sigh and a caress and a tender, searching flame that set his body afire. Softly, wildly, she surrounded him, knowing him in ways he had never expected. Her loving was a sunrise sweeping across his very soul, illuminating more of himself than he could bear to see.
Whip shuddered and fought for control when he realized that Shannon was making love to him as though it were the last time.
She knows, Whip thought bleakly. Somehow she knows.
Shannon’s name was dragged from his lips, but the word was unrecognizable. A sudden, violent ecstasy was raking Whip with claws of fire. He fought it even as he desired it, shaking with the wanting.
When Whip could endure no more, he took Shannon down onto the rumpled blankets and buried himself inside her, trying to ease the bittersweet agony of her love for him. Yet even as he spent himself deep within her clinging heat, Whip wasn’t free of pain or knowledge. When he looked into her eyes he saw the desolate future; and when he kissed her, he tasted her intimate knowledge of him, a knowledge no other woman had ever wanted.
Whip tried to speak but could not force words past the anguish and passion constricting his throat. He bent and began kissing Shannon’s hair, her forehead, her eyebrows, the curves of her ears, her cheekbones, her trembling lips. As he kissed her, he rocked gently within her, caressing her, leading her toward ecstasy, knowing her in a silence that seethed with all that had been and would not be again.
With a rippling cry, Shannon gave
herself to the ecstasy Whip had summoned. He smiled to feel the tender shuddering of her flesh around his…and he kept rocking against her. Gently, relentlessly, he moved within her even as ecstasy itself did, driving her higher with every powerful, restrained movement of his body.
Shannon’s eyes widened as unexpected, intense pleasure speared through her. He moved again and again, rocking against her in primal rhythms, and each time he moved, her body answered with frightening intensity.
A hoarse cry was dragged from Shannon’s throat and her nails dug into the rigid muscles of Whip’s back. Her body arched helplessly, shuddering with the violence of her release.
Whip laughed and kept driving rhythmically into Shannon. His motions were both measured and fierce, demanding everything she had to give as a woman. Her whole body arched once more. Sharp, wild lightning surged through her until she cried out and simply clung to Whip, shaken by savage waves of ecstasy.
Holding her, sheltering her, Whip took Shannon’s mouth as completely as he had taken her body, trembling even as she did, sharing the sweet fury of her release. When Shannon no longer shuddered with each breath, Whip began to move within her again.
And again lightning raked her violently sensitive flesh.
«Whip?» she asked, dazed, almost frightened.
«It’s all right, honey girl. I just have to know.»
«W-what?»
«How high you can take me. Each time higher and then higher again.»
«Me?» Shannon laughed brokenly. «You’re the one who —»
Her words became a hoarse cry of pleasure as Whip put his arms behind her legs and surged forward, opening her to the full power of his body. Then he began to move deep within her, where ecstasy welled up hotly, endlessly.
Whip’s name came from Shannon’s lips with every broken breath, every wild cry, every shattering wave of pleasure driving through her, consuming her utterly.
Deeply sealed within her, Whip held Shannon shivering and wild, letting her sink into him, through him, caressing him body and soul; and then an endless, rippling release raged through him, fusing him to her in an elemental union unlike anything he had ever known.
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