Only 04 - Only Love

forcefully. Shannon turned her back on Whip again.
    “So I got down the shotgun,” she said distinctly.
    “To save my life?”
    “You needn’t sound so shocked,” Shannon said through her teeth.
    But Whip was shocked. He knew how much Shannon loved her dangerous mongrel. He also know how much she depended on Prettyface for companionship and safety.
    Yet she had been ready to kill Prettyface in order to save a man who had made no promises to her.
    Not one.
    “I see,” Whip said.
    “Do you? That would be a first.”
    The irritability in her own voice surprised Shannon.
    “Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know why I’m so touchy lately.”
    “I do. It comes from wanting someone and going to bed aching and alone.”
    “Then it’s a pure blue wonder that couples survive courtship,” Shannon retorted.
    Whip tried not to laugh. He didn’t succeed.
    He tried not to touch the buried fire in Shannon’s hair. He didn’t succeed in that, either. Slowly he reached through the open window and stroked down between her braids to the graceful nape of her neck.
    Shannon shivered.
    “We’ll survive, honey girl.”
    “That’s because yondering men don’t court ignorant little widowed eggs,” Shannon said crisply, stepping beyond Whip’s reach. “Come in when you’re ready. The biscuits are almost done.”
    While Whip washed his hands, Shannon took a quick look at the larder. Supplies that would have lasted months for her were vanishing at a startling rate.
    Dear Lord, that man eats enough for three. Of course, he works enough for six.
    She bit her lip. Whip kept them in meat and fish, and she gathered fresh greens, but flour couldn’t be stalked and shot in the forest. Nor could it be gathered in the meadow. Neither could beans, apples, rice, salt, and other necessities. Not to mention luxuries like coffee and cinnamon.
    “I’ll have to go into Holler Creek and buy more,”Shannon muttered, closing the cupboard.
    Sure. And just how will I pay for them?
    Shannon thought of the miserable amount of wealth she had concealed in an old poke back in the cave. It was the last of Silent John’s gold. When it was spent, Shannon would be exactly what she had been at thirteen—dead broke, alone, and no one giving a damn whether she lived or died.
    No. I won’t touch that gold.
    I’m not that desperate.
    But Shannon was afraid she would be. Soon.
    After she spent the last of Silent John’s legacy, she would have to depend entirely on her own ability to wrest gold from the stubborn rocks. So far, she had enjoyed even less luck hunting gold that she had hunting meat.
    Shutting the cupboard door firmly, Shannon turned her back on its empty shelves.
    Whip was standing only a few feet away, watching her with quicksilver eyes.
    “I’ll go into Holler Creek for more supplies tomorrow,” Whip said.
    “Thank you, but no. You’ve given me too much already.”
    “I’ve eaten nearly all of it myself.”
    “Whose stove wood are you chopping?” Shannon asked mildly. “Whose cabin are you fixing up for winter winds? Whose mule got shod? I should be paying you wages.”
    “I’m barely earning my keep.”
    “You’re earning food, wages, and then some. You never stop working.”
    “I like working,” Whip said.
    “I’ll find a way to pay you.”
    “I won’t take money from you.”
    “But you’ve earned it,” she insisted.
    “No.”
    The single word made Shannon feel as though she had run into a granite wall.
    “You’re as stubborn as that mule you shod,” she said.
    “Thank you. I’ve often thought the same about you. But I’ll outstubborn you, widow lady. You can count on it.”
    Irritation surged through Shannon.
    “No, yondering man. All I can count on from you is that someday I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. Maybe you’ll outstubborn me before then, but I doubt it.”
    Without another word Shannon stepped around Whip and began serving breakfast. He watched her movements with eyes as gray and hard as gunmetal.
    Not until both of them had eaten some food and drunk a cup of coffee did Shannon feel civil enough to break the silence.
    “What kind of jobs have you worked at since you became a yondering man?” she asked.
    Whip’s mouth thinned at the words “yondering man.” He didn’t know why Shannon’s use of the term rankled him so much.
    But it did.
    “Teamster, sailor, surveyor, jackaroo, teacher, shotgun rider,” Whip said in a clipped voice. “You name it and I’ve probably done