Only 04 - Only Love

what I thought,” she said. “Thank you, but no thank you. I’ve got everything I need until Silent John gets back.”
    “What if he never gets back? Damn it, what if he’s dead? What then?”
    Shannon’s finger tightened on the shotgun’s double trigger. Hearing her own fears spoken by Whip’s deep, angry voice reinforced them.
    And undermined her.
    Don’t argue with him, Shannon warned herself. You’ll lose. Then you’ll be like those two sad whores in Whiskey Flat, with every man in Colorado Territory knowing the color of your nipples.
    “You earned the name Whip,” Shannon said harshly, “but even you aren’t faster than a shotgun shell. So take your supplies and your hungry silver eyes and ride out.”
    To Shannon it seemed like a week before Whip finally turned around and began loading supplies back onto his skinny black packhorse.
    Lightning split the rainy twilight, turning the world to burning silver. Thunder followed instantly, loud enough to drown out all other sounds. Rain came down harder and then harder still, a torrent fit to put out the fires of hell.
    Though Whip was only twelve feet away, Shannon had to strain to see him. She blinked her eyes fiercely, knowing she must see through tears and rain alike.
    When lightning came again, the clearing was empty.
    Whip was gone.
    Shannon bit her lip against the urge to scream Whip’s name into the teeth of the storm, calling him back, offering him whatever he wanted in return for food and safety.
    And she knew exactly what he wanted.
    The Culpeppers had made what men wanted savagely clear to Shannon on more than one occasion. What men wanted was to bend her over a chair and rut on her until she begged and bled and begged some more.
    The thought of it made her stomach clench, sending bile into her throat.
    Maybe Whip wouldn’t ask that of me. Maybe he didjust want to help and wouldn’t have asked for anything more than thanks and a home-cooked meal.
    Then Shannon remembered Whip’s words and the heat in his silver glance. She gave up trying to fool herself.
    Whip wants me, all right. Just like the Culpeppers want me.
    Shannon shuddered and felt cold all the way to her soul. Nothing in her experience had led her to believe that women did more than endure men’s brutal rutting in exchange for shelter and food and safety.
    And children. Sweet-faced little bits of humanity to sing to and cuddle and love.
    Prettyface whined and set his teeth gently around Shannon’s hand, reminding her of his presence. It also reminded Shannon that she was standing in the icy evening rain, feeling as empty as the clearing had become when Whip rode out.
    Stop dreaming, Shannon told herself savagely. Mother dreamed, and what did she get? A no-account traveling man who left her flat.
    And she got me. I loved her, but all she loved was laudanum.
    Cherokee is right. Love is a fairy tale spun to keep women from setting off on their own and leaving men to take care of themselves.
    Slowly Shannon turned and went into the cabin that was little warmer than the rain itself.

3
    W HEN Shannon awoke before dawn, the storm had spent itself. Night was slowly draining from the sky, leaving it a transparent silver that reminded her all too much of Whip’s hungry eyes.
    Prettyface made a low sound in his throat and nudged Shannon’s cheek again.
    “Brrrrrr,” she muttered. “Your nose is as cold as the floor will be.”
    But Shannon ruffled Prettyface’s fur anyway. He was the only living thing that had ever returned her love. If it hadn’t been for Prettyface, she didn’t know what she would have done when Silent John disappeared in the winter of ’65.
    Not that her great-uncle had ever been much company. He had fully earned the nickname “Silent John.” But Shannon was grateful to him just the same. No matter how remote, no matter how lonely, no matter how hard life was in Echo Basin, she much preferred it to the life she had left behind in Virginia.
    In the Colorado Territory, Shannon was free.
    In Virginia, she had been little more than a slave.
    “Good morning, my beautiful monster,” Shannonsaid to the dog, stretching. “Do you think summer will ever truly come? Sometimes I feel so cold even the hot spring can’t warm me.”
    At the words “hot spring,” Prettyface’s ears came up. He cocked his head, whined, and looked toward the back of the cabin, where a cupboard door opened onto a narrow tunnel. At the end of the tunnel was a cave with a hot spring