Only 04 - Only Love

leading Ishmael, handed me the bridle, and told me to find Whip and find him fast. Then he hightailed it back to Willow.”
    Whip looked up into Wolfe’s dark face. Eyes the same blue-black as twilight looked back at him.
    “You found me,” Whip said. “Now spit it out.”
    “You have a woman called Shannon?” Wolfe asked.
    Whip was too surprised to answer.
    “Let me put it this way,” Wolfe said sardonically. “If you know a woman called Shannon, she’s not staying with Willow and Cal anymore.”
    “What? Where is she?”
    Wolfe took off his hat, smoothed back his straight black hair, and settled the hat firmly into place once more. Whip had the look of a man on a hair trigger. Wolfe suspected that his next words would set his friend off.
    “All Caleb said was the tracks went north and he couldn’t leave Willow alone to follow them,” Wolfe said. “Besides, Shannon wasn’t lost. She knew where she was going.”
    Whip started swearing in a language none of the others had ever heard. But they knew it was cursing just the same. Whip didn’t have the look of a man strewing blessings.
    He ran toward the corral, cursing fit to burn stone at every step.
    “Stop by our place on the way,” Wolfe called out. “Jessi will give you a fresh horse to use along with your own.”
    Whip jammed the rifle into the saddle scabbard and grabbed his bridle and saddle from the corral rail. He walked swiftly toward the hobbled horses that were a hundred feet away, grazing at the river’s edge.
    Reno glanced at Wolfe. “Are you coming with us?”
    “Do you need another gun?” Wolfe asked bluntly.
    “Doubt it.”
    “Then I’ll stay with Jessi.” Wolfe’s smile flashed, changing the predatory lines of his face to something much gentler. “She started losing her breakfast a week ago.”
    Reno’s face lit up with an answering smile. “Congratulations! Other than losing her breakfast, how is Jessi taking it?”
    “Just fine. Seeing Ethan born took away most of Jessi’s fears about childbirth. My biggest problem is keeping her from dancing around so much with joy that she wears herself out.”
    Whip swung up onto Sugarfoot and cantered toward the house.
    “Where should I meet up with you?” Reno asked.
    “Avalanche Creek,” Whip said curtly.
    “Which fork?”
    “East!”
    With that, Whip set his heels in the big gelding and headed out at a dead run.

16
    S HANNON stood at the door to Cherokee’s tiny cabin. Prettyface was by her side, looking almost as healthy as before the fight. Above Shannon the wild Colorado sky seethed with clouds in every color from pearl to pewter to a strangely radiant midnight. A freshening wind swept over peaks and forests alike, making narrow stone ravines sing eerily and trees shiver and bow.
    “Nice-looking mule,” Cherokee said from the doorway.
    Shannon glanced back at the old woman. She was leaning on the cane she had carved to ease the burden on her ankle. Shannon suspected that the cane might become a permanent part of Cherokee’s life. The thought made Shannon frown. It was Cherokee’s stalking skills that had kept both of them alive the past winter, when snow had come early and stayed late.
    “Last time I saw a mule like that was nigh onto two years ago,” Cherokee said, “when I dusted a Culpepper’s hat with two bullets from more than a thousand yards.”
    “They thought it was Silent John doing the shooting.”
    “Close enough. I used his long gun. Shoots true as a dying man’s prayer. I was grateful. No need to waste a fine mule with bad shooting.”
    Shannon looked at the long-legged mule that was tied to a tree, waiting patiently while she visited with Cherokee.
    “After the ride from the Black ranch, Razorback was too tired to go another foot,” Shannon said. “I don’t like riding a dead man’s mule, but there wasn’t much choice. Crowbait isn’t broken to the saddle.”
    “Hell, gal, you been riding a dead man’s mule for years. Time you face up to it and get on with your life.”
    Shannon winced. “Now that the Culpeppers are gone, I suppose there’s no real harm in folks knowing. Murphy is a weasel, but I can handle him.”
    “Sic Prettyface on that old boy. Bet Murphy’s manners perk up something joyful.”
    Smiling, fondling the dog’s big ears, Shannon glanced again at the wild sky. The wind rushed over her face, fresh and cold as ice water.
    “I better ride soon,” Shannon said. “It smells like snow.”
    “Won’t be the first