Only 04 - Only Love

brother just like him. And a brother-in-law.”
    Shannon looked at Whip, startled.
    “Come to think of it,” he added with a slight smile, “I’ve been accused of being too slow to back down, myself.”
    Shannon tried to look as though the thought of Whip’s being hardheaded had never occurred to her. The effort dissolved into something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
    Prettyface looked at his mistress as though she had lost her mind.
    Whip smiled. He was discovering what a keen pleasure it was to bring the light of laughter to Shannon’s beautiful eyes.
    “Go lie down, Prettyface,” Shannon said, pointing toward the dog’s favorite corner. “Go.”
    Prettyface went. Slowly. With ever step he looked over his shoulder at Whip. A low, almost inaudible growl seethed inside the dog’s big body.
    Despite Whip’s easy smile, he never looked away from the beast who combined the savage traits of mastiff and wolf alike. Prettyface was both powerful and fierce.
    Whip would have called the dog vicious, but inthe past week he had seen Prettyface lying tamely on his side while Shannon pulled burrs from between the dog’s tender pads and from inside his big, sensitive ears.
    The dog was possessive, not vicious.
    “Does Prettyface act this way when you’re around the shaman?” Whip asked.
    “Cherokee?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Of course not,” Shannon said absently as she lifted biscuits from the pan onto a platter. “He only hates men.”
    “What does that make the shaman—a eunuch?”
    Shannon realized her mistake and mumbled, “Guess Cherokee must smell different, being so old and all. Whatever, he doesn’t set off Prettyface.”
    “Maybe I should borrow some of his herbs and change my smell.”
    “His herbs?”
    “Cherokee’s”
    “Oh, of course, Cherokee’s. His. Well, it’s a thought.”
    Quickly Shannon turned back to the stove, hiding her amusement at the idea that a handful of herbs would diminish Whip’s manhood enough to put Prettyface at ease.
    She set the platter of biscuits and bacon on the scarred, handmade table and pointed to a chair.
    “Have a seat,” Shannon said.
    Instead of sitting, Whip pulled out Shannon’s chair and waited to seat her. She looked at him, confused. Then she remembered courtesies from a time so long ago she sometimes though it must have been a dream.
    “Why, thank you,” Shannon murmured.
    But as she sat in the chair that Whip held out forher, Prettyface came to his feet in snarling rage.
    “No!” Shannon said sharply. “Lie down!”
    Prettyface started forward with menace in every gliding stride.
    Whip reached for the bullwhip’s coils.
    “Step away from my chair,” Shannon said urgently. “Quickly! Prettyface doesn’t like it when you get between him and me.”
    For a moment Whip considered having it out with the dog then and there, but decided against it. Maybe if Prettyface had a little time, he would settle down. That way Whip wouldn’t be forced to frighten Shannon by jerking the dog off his big feet and teaching him who gave orders and who obeyed.
    Maybe it will work out peacefully, Whip thought. Sure as hell hope so. I’d have to take a lot of chewing to put that dog in his place without killing him.
    But Whip wouldn’t have bet a Confederate dollar that Prettyface would accept Whip as his superior without a fight. The wolf in him would demand it.
    Calmly, without any hurry at all, Whip moved away from Shannon’s chair. He held Prettyface’s eyes every inch of the way.
    “Now lie down!” Shannon said sharply.
    “Me or the dog?”
    Shannon winced at the tone of Whip’s voice and remembered what he had said a moment earlier.
    I’ve been accused of being too slow to back down, myself.
    Yet Whip had meekly given way to the dog when she had ordered him to do so.
    “I’m sorry,” Shannon said unhappily. “Prettyface is just…”
    “Jealous?”
    “Protective.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Whip held Shannon’s eyes with the same unflinching stare he had used on the snarling dog.
    “A protective dog takes his cue from his master,” Whip said. “A jealous dog acts like Prettyface, purely pissed off when anyone gets close to you, no matter how you might feel about it.”
    “He hasn’t had much time to get used to strangers.”
    “You might think on ways to get Prettyface to accept your friends,” Whip said mildly. “Or else your friends will have to do it for you. May I pour you some coffee?”
    The change of subject