«What kind of jobs have you worked at since you became a yondering man?» she asked.
Whip’s mouth thinned at the words «yondering man.» He didn’t know why Shannon’s use of the term rankled him so much.
But it did.
«Teamster, sailor, surveyor, jackaroo, teacher, shotgun rider,» Whip said in a clipped voice. «You name it and I’ve probably done it, one time or another.»
«What’s a jackaroo?»
«An Australian cowpuncher.»
«Oh.» Shannon frowned and asked, «Did you ever prospect for gold?»
«Here and there.»
«Find any?»
Whip shrugged. «Here and there.»
«But not enough to stake a claim?»
«Claims are like wives. They tie you down.»
«You mean you’ve walked away from gold just because it would tie you down?»
«Yes,» he said succinctly.
She swallowed. «I see.»
«Do you?» Whip asked, echoing her earlier words.
«Indeed I do. You’ll walk away from home, family, friends, gold, land, any or all of them. And for what, yondering man? What’s worth more than all that put together?»
«The sunrise I’ve never seen,» Whip said flatly. «For me, there’s nothing more beautiful or compelling than that.»
Shannon wanted to shake Whip, but knew it would do no good. He believed what he believed.
And she had just realized a truth that would break her heart.
«Love is more compelling,» she whispered. «Love is like the sun, burning through darkness…always burning, always beautiful.»
Whip started to argue, but Shannon’s smile stopped him. Her smile was one of the saddest things he had ever seen, as haunting as the sorrow in her eyes, her voice, her very breath.
«And like the sun,» Shannon said softly, «love is always beyond reach. It can no more be caught and held than sunlight itself. Love touches you. You don’t touch it.»
Whip shifted uncomfortably and reached for the biscuits again.
«For you, maybe,» he said in a clipped voice, rankled again. And again not knowing why. «For me, love is a cage.»
«No one can build a cage of light.»
Whip bit back a savage word and drank scalding coffee.
«What about you?» he asked after a moment. «What do you want? Love?»
«I don’t know.»
«You mean you don’t have any dreams?» he asked curtly.
«Dreams?»
Shannon’s soft laughter taught Whip what sorrow really was. He fought against the sensation of living in her skin, breathing her breath, feeling her pain as though it was his own.
«Once I dreamed of a home,» Shannon said, «a garden, children, and most of all a man who loved me like the sun burning…»
Shannon’s voice died.
Whip paused in the act of reaching for a biscuit. He didn’t want to pursue the subject, but found it impossible not to do just that.
«Once you dreamed of those things, but not now?» he asked.
«No, not now.»
«Why not? You can still have your dreams, Shannon. Plenty of fine, upstanding men would be glad to marry a pretty young widow like you.»
«Marry me?»
Shannon laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Nor was there any sadness. There was simply a bleak acceptance of what was and what was not.
«All thosefine, upstanding men,» Shannon said sardonically, «want the same thing from me a certain yondering man does, and —»
«Just because I won’t be tied to —»
«— a home, a garden, and love don’t have a damn thing to do with what those men want,» Shannon continued, talking over Whip. «As for children, the men don’t want them either, but they sure as sin don’t mind leaving their seed behind for the pretty widow lady to raise.»
Whip’s cheekbones became ruddy against the tan of his face.
«I told you, I never left any kids behind,» he said flatly.
«What does that have to do with anything?» Shannon asked, arching her dark eyebrows. «We’re talking aboutfine, upstanding menwho would be glad to marry a pretty young widow like me. We already know you’re not one of them, yondering man.»
«I would make a piss-poor husband!»
«Am I arguing with you?» she asked gently.
Whip opened his mouth, then closed it with a distinct clicking of his teeth.
«No,» he said curtly.
«Then why are you yelling at me?»
«I’m not yelling.»
«I’m so relieved. I fall apart when I’m yelled at.»
Whip shot Shannon a searing gray glance, but she seemed to be too busy eating bacon to notice.
«Now,» she said, chewing thoughtfully, «where were we? Ah, yes. We’re not yelling about the fact that neither one of us is in a rush to get married.»
«It’s fine for me to be on my own,» Whip said grimly. «It’s different for you.»
«Really? Why?»
«Because you can’t take care of yourself and you damn well know it!»
«Oh, good. Another subject not to yell about. Pass the jam, please, and isn’t the weather lovely?»
Whip said something blasphemous under his breath.
Shannon acted as though she hadn’t heard. She reached past Whip, took the pot of preserves, and began slathering jam on a biscuit.
«Do you prefer sleet or snow?» she asked.
«Shannon —»
«I know,» she interrupted. «Such a difficult choice. What about hail? Do you think we could not yell about that?»
«Doubt it,» he retorted. «I wouldn’t yell about another cup of coffee, though.»
Hiding a smile, Shannon twisted in her chair and reached back to the stove, grabbing the coffeepot without getting up. She turned back gracefully, surprising an expression of frank hunger on Whip’s face as he looked at her breasts. An instant later the expression was gone.
Silently Whip held out his coffee cup. Just as silently Shannon poured coffee and replaced the pot on the stove.
«How about half of whatever you find on Silent John’s gold claims?» Shannon asked. «Would you yell about that?»
The tin cup of coffee stopped an inch from Whip’s mustache.
«What?» he asked.
«Silent John had — has — several claims on Avalanche Creek.»
Whip shrugged.
«He worked those claims to pay for food he couldn’t hunt,» Shannon explained.
«Do tell,» Whip said dryly.
