Only silence answered Shannon, a silence that echoed with Whip’s good-bye.
I want you like hell on fire, but I won’t give up my soul to have you. That’s what love is, honey girl. Giving up your soul.
12
Prettyface nudged Shannon and whined deep in his throat. The movement and the sound reminded her that she was standing in front of her cabin with tears cold on her face. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the long list of things that must be done if she was to get through the summer, much less the coming winter.
Crying definitely wasn’t on the list.
She put one hand under Prettyface’s big jaws and rubbed his head with her other hand. His shrewd wolf’s eyes glazed with pleasure. She smiled slightly, smoothed thick fur back into place, and put her cheek against his broad head.
«I’ll be all right, Prettyface,» she said. She straightened and released him. «Go rustle up your dinner while I unpack Crowbait and Razorback and picket them in the meadow.»
Prettyface stood, head cocked, watching Shannon.
«Go on, boy. I know you’re hungry. The pickings were pretty slim for you up in Grizzly Meadow. Go.»
Waving her arm in the direction of the meadow and forest beyond the cabin, Shannon repeated her soft command.
After a moment Prettyface turned and trotted off to the edge of the meadow. He put his nose to the ground and began quartering the area for scent of game.
Shannon turned to Crowbait and Razorback. She unsaddled the mule, switched bridle for halter, and turned to the packhorse. As she worked over the neat diamond hitches securing the supplies, she felt tears crowding her eyes again. It had been Whip’s hands that had tied the knots, Whip’s hands that had loaded the pack saddle, Whip’s hands that had smoothed the blanket pad in place and adjusted the halter.
«Don’t think about it,» Shannon whispered. «There’s too much to be done. Crying over a stubborn yondering man won’t butter any biscuits.»
Shannon tried not to, but her hands still lingered over the pack saddle and supplies, touching everything that Whip had touched, until finally everything was put away in its place. Numbly she led the animals into the meadow to picket them so that they could graze their fill of the sweet grasses.
Just as Shannon was driving in the second picket pin, she heard Prettyface break into savage barking. Her heart hesitated, then beat frantically.
Prettyface made that sound only when strangers came too close.
Motionless, cursing herself for being so addled by Whip’s leaving that she had forgotten to carry the shotgun, Shannon scanned the meadow’s edge for any sign of men.
Abruptly two long-legged mules appeared at the edge of the concealing forest and came swiftly toward Shannon. She leaped to her feet and spun toward the cabin, only to find two more Culpeppers between her and the shotgun she had stupidly left behind.
Shannon didn’t waste any breath calling for help. There was no one around but Prettyface, and he had already warned her. She whirled away from the two-pronged attack and raced for the forest, praying that she had enough speed to make the cover of the trees ahead of the racing mules.
Before Shannon was halfway to the forest, the beating of hooves sounded louder and louder in her ears. Even as she strained to run faster, she knew she was losing the race. She simply wasn’t quick enough to reach the trees before the Culpeppers caught her.
A long, wiry arm reached out and grabbed Shannon just beneath the rib cage. Darcy wasn’t strong enough to lift his struggling prize into the saddle, but he hung on no matter how hard she clawed and bit and screamed.
«Clim was right,» Darcy crowed, slowing his mule. «She’s plumb full of piss and vinegar!»
Beau grunted. It had been the extent of his conversation ever since he had learned just how fast and accurate a bullwhip could be.
«Hold still, darlin’,» Darcy said. «I’m just as ready for it as you are, but Beau gets firsts, him bein’ the oldest and all. I get thirds, so save your fightin’ till — eeeiow!»
The words ended in a cry of shock and fear as Prettyface came up on Darcy’s blind side and leaped straight for his throat.
Darcy dropped Shannon in order to protect himself. An instant later, one hundred and forty pounds of enraged dog slammed into Darcy’s shoulder. The force of the attack knocked him right out of the saddle.
Prettyface followed Darcy down, snarling and snapping the whole way.
Shannon landed on hands and knees on the other side of the mule from the fight. No sooner did she hit the ground than she was on her feet and running again. As she ran, she yelled at Prettyface to break off the attack and flee, for she knew the Culpeppers would have no mercy in them for the loyal hound.
Just as Shannon reached the forest, she glanced back. There was a snarling, swearing tangle of flesh and fur on the ground. Beau was still in the saddle. His six-gun was drawn. The barrel tracked the fight, waiting for an opening.
Inevitably, it would come.
Tears streaming down her face, her breath tearing at her lungs, Shannon raced into the forest, taking the chance Prettyface had given her to escape. And as she ran, she prayed that she could circle back up the mountainside, sneak into the cabin through the cave and grab the shotgun before it was too late to help Prettyface.
Shannon was only partway up the mountainside behind the cabin when Beau’s six-gun opened fire.
WHIP reined Sugarfoot to an abrupt halt at the edge of one of the trail’s many crossings of Avalanche Creek. The horse chewed unhappily at the bit, but was otherwise quiet.
Listening intently, motionless but for his eyes, Whip probed the shadows and forest in all directions. He neither saw nor heard anything to explain his deep unease.
«You’re imagining things,» he muttered.
Yet still he heard Shannon’s voice calling his name with every shift of the wind, every stirring of the forest, every swirl of water over rocks.
Whip, I really didn’t mean to ask for your love.
His big hands clenched into fists.
«Damn you, Shannon. You’re tying me in knots.»
I love you, yondering man.
Whip closed his eyes. His fingers were so tightly clenched that the reins cut even through his riding gloves.
«I don’t want your love,» he said through his teeth. «I don’t want to feel beholden. I can’t stay in just one place, honey girl.»
Suddenly Sugarfoot’s ears pricked and his elegant gray head whipped around to watch the trail behind him.
His rider heard the sounds, too.
Back toward Shannon’s cabin, someone had opened fire with a six-gun. Shannon didn’t own a weapon like that.
But the Culpeppers did.
Whip spun Sugarfoot around and spurred him. As the horse leaped forward, Whip checked that his repeating rifle was safe in its scabbard. There were times when a bullwhip just wouldn’t get the job done. Whip was certain this was one of those times.
Bending low over his mount’s neck, Whip urged the horse to a reckless pace. Rocks and trees raced by, but it seemed to him that he was nailed to the ground, moving at a snail’s space, slow as dawn on the longest night of winter.
He would have sold his soul to be able to reach Shannon before the Culpeppers hurt her.
