«Who?»
«Your husband.»
Shannon opened her mouth, closed it, and hugged herself as though suddenly cold.
«I’ll be more careful,» she promised. «Those Culpeppers are brazen enough as it is.»
«You think Silent John is dead.»
Although it wasn’t quite a question, Shannon sensed Whip’s intense interest in her answer.
«I don’t think I’ll see Silent John again,» she admitted in a low voice. Then, anxiously, «But please don’t say anything about it in Holler Creek. Murphy isn’t much more polite to me than the Culpeppers. If they thought Silent John wasn’t ever coming back…»
Shannon’s voice died.
But she didn’t have to finish the sentence. Whip knew exactly what she meant.
«Maybe you better plan on leaving Echo Basin,» he said flatly.
For an instant hope flared in Shannon that Whip was asking her to go with him when he left.
«Where would I go?» she asked softly.
«I don’t know, but I do know that at least one of those Culpeppers is always camped about two miles down the road.»
«Why?»
«Waiting for me to leave. When —»
«But —» she interrupted.
Whip talked over Shannon. «When I leave, they’ll start bothering you again.»
Quickly Shannon looked away, not wanting Whip to see the hurt in her eyes.
When I leave.
Not if.
When.
Until that moment Shannon hadn’t known how much part of her had counted on having Whip stay. Each day he watched her more intently, wanted her more obviously. Yet despite his urgent male hunger, he cared enough for her not to speak crudely to her of his need or to back her up against a wall and buck against her the way she once had seen a man do with Clementine.
«I’ll manage,» Shannon said in a low voice. «I always have.»
«Not without Silent John.»
«Prettyface protects me now.»
«That’s not good enough and you know it.»
«It isn’t your concern,» she said tightly. «It’s mine. Breakfast is ready.»
With a muttered word, Whip bent and splashed more water on his face, rinsing it. Then he held his hand out for the rag.
His hand remained empty.
Whip looked up, ignoring the water running down his face. Through narrowed eyes he saw that Shannon had gone back into the cabin.
There would be no mint-scented cloth given to him by her hands. There would be no careful dabbing at his face by minty fingers. Worst of all, there would be no sapphire eyes going over his face like loving hands, transparently admiring him, blushing when he caught her watching him.
Whip said something harsh beneath his breath, groped for the rag, and wiped himself with more irritation than care. He hadn’t realized how much the morning shaving ritual pleased him until the moment when he found himself with empty hands and water running down his neck.
You’re a damn fool to be arguing with that girl instead of petting her like a Christmas puppy, Whip told himself sardonically.
So I’m a damn fool. But not a total damn fool. It isn’t safe for Shannon here. Not when I’m gone.
When you’re gone, it will be just like she said — not your concern.
That answer didn’t appeal to Whip, but he didn’t have any other one to put in its place.
Maybe I’ll just have to sidle up to those Culpepper boys and read to them from the Good Book — chapter, verse, and line — until they see the error of their ways.
That thought appealed to Whip. A lot.
Smiling like a wolf, Whip resettled his bullwhip over his shoulder and went into the cabin. He was looking forward to a hot breakfast and Shannon sitting catty-corner from him at the small table, close enough to rub against his leg with every small shift of her body.
Prettyface growled at Whip from his preferred place in the coldest corner of the cabin. The dog’s thick fur kept him warmer than any stove. His teeth gleamed like ice beneath his raised upper lip.
«Whatever made you decide to save that misbegotten cur?» Whip asked, irritated all over again.
«Could you have ridden past him and done nothing about his pain?» Shannon asked.
Whip looked at Prettyface through narrowed eyes. The scars the dog bore showed as pale patches against the brindle of his fur. There were a lot of marks.
«No,» Whip admitted. «At the very least I’d have put him out of his misery.»
«You’re a yondering man,» Shannon said. «I’m the settled type. There was room in my life for something else.»
«Most women would have wanted a baby instead of a savage mongrel with the eyes of a wolf.»
The oven door closed with a metallic clang.
«Be careful, the pan is hot,» Shannon said as she put it down near Whip.
«Didn’t you?»
«Didn’t I what?»
«Want a baby.»
«Silent John was hard put just keeping two souls alive,» Shannon said evasively, sitting down again. «There was nothing left over for a baby.»
Whip took several biscuits from the pan.
«Babies have a way of coming whether you want them or not,» he said.
«Do tell. How many do you have?»
Whip choked on the biscuit he was trying to swallow. He took a gulp of searing coffee, swallowed hard, and looked at Shannon with disbelieving eyes.
«What a question,» he said.
«You brought it up.»
«Did I?»
«You did. How many, Whip?»
«Not a damned one.»
«That you know of,» Shannon added mildly, but her eyes were dark.
«What is that supposed to mean?»
«It takes an instant to make a baby and about four months for it to show. Did you ever hang around that long?»
«No.»
«Then you don’t know, do you?»
«I know,» Whip said flatly.
«How?»
«Same way Silent John knew how not to get you pregnant. Are you going to share that jam or just sit on it like a mother hen with only one egg?»
The change of subject caught Shannon with her mouth still open, staring at Whip in disbelief. She was staggered that a man like Whip was celibate. But he had just said as much.
Same way Silent John knew how not to get you pregnant.
No wonder Whip had changed the subject. It couldn’t have been a comfortable topic for him, for Shannon knew that Whip certainly was capable of coupling with a woman. As often as not, when he was around her, she saw the unmistakable sign of his ability pressing hard against his trousers.
Silent John had been too old for such discomfort. The marriage had been a way to keep men like the
