«And I tried to warn them. They didn’t listen. So as Caleb would say, I read to them from the Book. Maybe they’ll listen better in the future.»
Shannon’s dark eyes jerked toward the braided leather coils riding so comfortably on Whip’s powerful shoulder. She hadn’t seen the lash strike Beau, but she knew it had. At the first sight of blood on a Culpepper mouth, she had grabbed her supplies and run for old Razorback.
«Caleb?» Shannon asked.
It was the only thing she could think of to say, for the smile was gone from Whip’s face. Now he was looking at her like she was food and he was a man who had gone hungry far too long.
What frightened Shannon was how much a part of her wanted to ease this one man’s hunger.
I’m still scared after what happened in town, Shannon told herself stoutly. Tomorrow I’ll go see Cherokee. Then I won’t feel so alone that a stranger’s smile turns my heart upside down and makes my knees shaky.
«Caleb Black,» Whip explained gently, «is my sister Willow’s husband. They have a ranch west of here. So does my brother Reno, and his wife, Eve.»
«Oh.»
Shannon forced herself to breathe normally. Her hands ached from being clenched around the heavy shotgun, but she wasn’t about to put the weapon down. She had seen how terrifyingly fast that bullwhip could move.
«I’m Shannon Conner, uh, Smith,» she said. Then added hastily, «Smith is my married name.»
Whip frowned as though he didn’t like the reminder that she was married.
«Is it all right if I get down and give you the supplies you left behind?»
«All right?» she asked, perplexed.
«The shotgun,» Whip said gently.
«Oh. That.»
Whip made no attempt to hide his amusement at his effect on Shannon Conner Smith.
«Yes,» he said in a deep voice. «That.»
Shannon flushed.
And she kept the shotgun’s muzzle where it was, pointing just in front of Whip’s horse.
«Go ahead,» Shannon said. «Get whatever Murphy figured he couldn’t cheat me out of.»
Whip dismounted with a muscular grace that did nothing to set Shannon’s mind at ease.
Lord above, this is one dangerous man.
Beautiful, too.
The second thought was so startling to Shannon that she almost laughed out loud.
I must be going cabin happy. Flowers are beautiful, and butterflies, and a baby’s smile.
Whip isn’t like those things.
Lightning burned whitely across the indigo base of clouds whose towering heads were still washed in crimson light. The mountain wore the storm with the muscular ease of a man carrying a bullwhip coiled on his shoulder.
But mountains are beautiful, too. And thunderheads. And lightning burning through the storm.
Whip is like that. Lightning and storm and a mountain’s strength.
Prettyface’s rippling snarl brought Shannon’s wandering attention back to the clearing.
Whip was walking toward her.
But instead of the small parcels of baking soda and lard she had expected, his big arms were filled to overflowing with supplies.
«Hold it, Mr. Whip.»
The shotgun was no longer pointing at Whip’s horse.
Whip stopped where he was.
«My name is Rafael Moran,» he said calmly, «but call me Whip if you’d rather.»
«It’s how I’ve been thinking of you,» she said.
«Have you?»
«What?»
«Been thinking of me?»
Shannon blushed, realizing what she had admitted.
Whip smiled and started toward her again.
«I said hold it!» she ordered.
«I’m already holding as much as I can,» Whip said reasonably, «but I’ll try.»
Shannon bit her lips against an urge to smile, to laugh, to put away the shotgun and trust the big stranger who seemed as familiar to her as her own breath.
Why didn’t Cherokee ever tell me I would react like this to a man? Lord above, no wonder women do fool things for men.
At least, for men like Whip.
«Don’t come any closer,» she said grimly. «Prettyface doesn’t like strangers.»
Whip blinked. «Prettyface?»
«My hound.»
Whip looked at the huge, snarling animal whose head came up to Shannon’s breasts.
«That’s Prettyface?» he asked.
«Of course. Or maybe you’d like to be the one to tell him he’s ugly?»
There was an instant of silence. Then Whip threw back his head and laughed with surprise and delight.
A ripple of pleasure went through Shannon at the sound. Whip’s laughter was even more beautiful than his smile.
«Prettyface it is,» Whip agreed. «You’d have to be dumb as a roomful of Culpeppers to call that brute anything else.»
This time Shannon couldn’t help smiling.
«Where do you want your supplies?» Whip asked.
Her smile vanished.
«They aren’t mine,» Shannon said flatly.
«That isn’t what Murphy said.»
«Murphy wouldn’t know the truth if it wore a sign.»
Whip smiled again. «Can’t argue that. So think of this as Murphy’s apology for all the times he kept his dirty thumb on the scales when he was weighing your supplies.»
With a hunger Shannon couldn’t entirely conceal, she looked at the sacks of beans and flour, bacon and dried apples, salt and spices, and other things she had gone so long without she could hardly remember their names.
Abruptly Shannon looked away from the bounty that was being offered to her. Her throat worked as she swallowed, for just the thought of food was enough to make her mouth water.
«I’ll take the baking soda and lard I paid for, and thank you for your trouble,» she said tightly. «You can take the rest back.»
Just as Whip started to speak, lightning slashed through the condensing night. Thunder rumbled, closer now. The air itself tasted of sleet. The storm was closing in on Shannon’s clearing, bringing the icy rains of high- country summer.
«If you think I’m going to ride all the way back to Holler Creek in this weather,» Whip said, «you’re crazy.»
«Where you go is your business. What you take with you is mine.»
For a long time there was no sound but that of the twilight storm, of wind rushing and trees bending, thunder growling, the muted drumroll of rain beating against the mountain with tiny silver hammers.
«You need the food,» Whip said bluntly. «You’re too thin.»
Shannon didn’t bother to deny it. She had lost so much weight during the past winter she could barely get Silent John’s cast-off clothes to stay on her. If it hadn’t been for the pronounced flare of her hips, Shannon would have found the pants around her knees every time she moved.
But Whip doesn’t have the right to notice something that personal, much less to take it upon himself to feed
