Only 04 - Only Love

choice.”
    Hunter looked at Whip. Again, the left corner of Hunter’s mouth turned up very slightly, not even Enough to disturb his black mustache.
    Though he didn’t say a word, Whip knew that Hunter understood what Shannon hadn’t yet realized: once the Culpeppers had grabbed Shannon, they had signed their own death warrants as far as Whip was concerned.
    “If you’ll help me load the Culpeppers on two mules,” Hunter said, “I’ll give them to the first bounty hunter I find.”
    “You’re not taking them in yourself?”
    “Abner, Horace, Gaylord, Erasmus, and Jeremiah are still alive. Erasmus and Jeremiah are rumored to be on their way to Virginia City. I’ll be looking for the other three now that these boys are taken care of.”
    “What about the rest?”
    “My brother Case is tracking Erasmus and Jeremiah. When the Culpeppers split up, we split up, Too. Case drew the short straw, so he only got to Chase two of the sons of bitches. He’ll make up for It, though. I expect he might beat me to Virginia City.”
    “Eleven, you said,” Whip muttered. “Is that all of them?”
    “All there is to speak of,” Hunter said dryly. “But Pappy Culpepper was a tireless old goat. I expect he left quite a few eggs in other nests before my daddy shot him.”
    “Eleven. Damnation. What about the rest of the alphabet? Am I likely to meet them any time soon?”
    “Not likely. They’re buried back Texas way.”
    Whip didn’t have to ask who had done the burying. Hunter had a look about him that reminded Whip of Caleb Black; a good man, but hard as flint.
    The kind who made a very bad enemy.
    “Hope you get the last of them,” Whip said.
    “We will. You can count on it.”
    Whip smiled slightly, glad that his name wasn’t Culpepper.
    “Get on one of those racing mules and fetch that shaman,” Whip said, turning to Shannon. “He can nurse Prettyface while we’re gone.”
    Shannon’s head snapped up. “Where are you going?”
    “We,” Whip corrected. “We’re going to my sister’s ranch.”
    Shannon opened her mouth.
    “No,” Whip said, cutting across whatever she had been going to say. “Common sense be damned. You’re going with me this time if I have to tie you to the saddle.”

13
    S HANNON awoke with a start and looked around wildly, heart pounding. It was first light, with stars fading in the east. She was in a small bedroom. A man was calling in a low voice from the porch to the corral. Another voice answered.
    Whip’s voice calling.
    Caleb Black’s voice answering.
    That was what had awakened Shannon. The sound of men’s voices. Even three days after the brutal fight at her cabin, she was jumpy, flinching at sounds, looking over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t being followed.
    Shannon drew a ragged breath. The scent of coffee and biscuits and bacon curled against her nostrils. Her stomach growled in instant response. She and Whip had arrived at such a late hour the previous night that Willow had done little more than greet them before going to bed. The trip had taken so long because Shannon refused to ride either of the two racing mules Hunter had left for her.
    Hurriedly Shannon got out of bed and dressed, not wanting to lie abed while others were up and working. From what Whip had told her, Willowhad her hands full with her young son, her pregnancy, and cooking for all of the ranch hands. Not to mention sewing, mending, knitting, cleaning, washing clothes, ironing them, tending the kitchen garden, feeding the chickens, collecting eggs, and the hundred other small jobs that added up to a mountain of work.
    It was no easier for Caleb, who had the cattle and horses to tend, wood to chop, fences to build and mend, outbuildings to construct and maintain, waterholes and troughs to keep clean, horses to shoe, barns and corrals to muck out, calves to brand, horses to break, furniture to make…the list was endless.
    With quick steps Shannon went down the wooden stairs from the attic loft where she had slept. She hurried through the house to the kitchen.
    Willow was working over the wood stove, frying bacon and making biscuits and stirring a pot of stewed fruit. Her hair was heaped in gleaming golden coils on her head. If the sunlight color of Willow’s hair hadn’t told Shannon that this was Whip’s sister, the catlike tilt of her wide hazel eyes would have.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Black,” Shannon said.
    Willow turned and smiled. “Call me Willow, please. It’s the