Only 04 - Only Love

forgotten.
    Prettyface reacted like that only in the presence of men.
    Someone was near her cabin. Perhaps even inside it, hiding, waiting for her to walk in unawares.
    Trying to make no noise, Shannon angled down the rocky, wooded rise. When the ground flattened,she began circling the cabin without ever leaving the forest.
    Prettyface showed no interest in any of the scents he found along the way. Only the cabin held his attention.
    When Shannon finally circled to the far side of the clearing, she found out the reason for the dog’s reaction. A freshly killed, fully dressed-out buck was hanging from the crossed logs at one corner of the cabin.
    Silent John had used the same logs to hang game on while he sliced it up to be dried.
    “Silent John?” Shannon whispered.
    Suddenly Prettyface whipped around and looked back up the steep rise that they had just descended. His ruff stood on end.
    Shannon turned and looked, too. There, silhouetted against the crimson and orange of sunset, was a man on horseback. The breadth of his shoulders was unmistakable to Shannon, as was the shape coiled around his right shoulder.
    Whip.
    He tipped his hat to her, then reined his big gray horse around. Moments later he vanished down the far side of the rise.
    Though Shannon waited for a long time, breath held, Whip didn’t reappear.
    Finally Prettyface yawned, prodded Shannon with his nose and looked longingly toward the cabin.
    “All right, boy. Guess Whip knows better than to come back now that we’re onto him.”
    As she spoke the words, Shannon told herself that she wasn’t disappointed that Whip had gone.
    But she knew that she was lying.
    Shannon also told herself that she would leave Whip’s gift to rot where it hung.
    But she knew that was also a lie. She was too hungry, and the little bit of flour she had brought back from Holler Creek would be gone all too soon.
    Half grateful, half angry, thoroughly unsettled, Shannon went to the cabin. She pulled Cherokee’s gift from her jacket pocket. The chemise gleamed through an opening in the tissue.
    He gets one look at you in that little bit of satin and lace and he’ll forget all about hitting the trail alone. You’ll be married before you can say aye, yes, or maybe.
    A curious, tingling sensation went through Shannon at the thought of wearing the chemise, feeling its cool softness against her breasts.
    “Would I look pretty enough to hold him?” Shannon whispered. “And would he be gentle with me?”
    There was no answer but the echoing silence of the cabin. Quickly Shannon put away the gift and went about dealing with another gift—Whip’s buck.
    Soon the first real meal Shannon had sat down to in months was steaming in front of her. Despite her hunger, she ate carefully, savoring every delicious bite.
    The deer was only the beginning of Whip’s gifts.
    When Shannon woke up the next morning, she found two burlap bags hanging from a tree limb near the creek. The first bag was full of dried apples, sugar, cinnamon, and lard. The second bag held the supplies she had left behind in Holler Creek, and more besides.
    Shannon resisted the temptation for several hours. Then she decided that she could make better use of the supplies than whatever varmint managedto climb the tree and get the bags for itself.
    Decision made, Shannon wasted no time in getting an apple pie baking. And biscuits. And bread.
    When Shannon went to Cherokee’s cabin to share Whip’s bounty, she sensed that she was being followed. It was like a prickling just under the nape of her neck, a shivery animal awareness that she wasn’t alone.
    Yet every time Shannon whirled around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Whip, there was nothing behind her but rocks and trees and a wild highmountain sky.
    Nor did Prettyface ever scent Whip the entire way to Cherokee’s cabin.
    “Come in, gal,” Cherokee said, opening the door.
    “Thank you.”
    Shannon wriggled out of the awkward backpack she had made from strips of leather and an ancient saddlebag.
    “How is your ankle?”
    “Fine as frog’s hair.”
    Shannon looked at Cherokee and knew her ankle wasn’t fine.
    “That’s good,” Shannon said. “Here, I brought you some food to pay back what you gave me this winter.”
    “Now lookee here. It weren’t no loan, so it don’t need no repaying.”
    “I’ll hang the venison back in the corner,” Shannon said, ignoring the old woman’s protests. “The rest I’ll put where it belongs in your dry goods