Only 04 - Only Love

having lived in the first place.
    “ Quiet. ”
    The low command stilled Prettyface for a few moments. Then he began a high whimpering that would soon escalate into true howling.
    “Damnation,” Shannon said beneath her breath.
    She opened the door, grabbed Prettyface’s muzzle with both hands, and clamped down.
    “You can come with me, but you have to be quiet.”
    Prettyface quivered eagerly. And quietly. He knew the hunting ritual too well to make noise now that he was going to be included.
    Silently Shannon and the big dog set out in the darkness. She knew that Whip could follow her tracks as easily as she hoped to find and follow deer, but it was several hours until daybreak.
    In any case, Whip was going to be waiting around for his brother to show up, not looking for Shannon. Whip had made it savagely clear that he had no desire for more of her company.
    With luck, Whip wouldn’t even come to her cabin. Then he wouldn’t even notice she was gone.
    *   *   *
    T HE sound of a shotgun being triggered woke Whip up. He lay beneath the tarpaulin and a layer of fresh snow and listened intently. Another shot came, sounding the same as the first.
    One man. One shotgun.
    No answering fire.
    A hunter, probably, taking advantage of the tracking snow.
    Whip lay half awake, half asleep, feeling worn out and used up, as though he had spent the night in hell rather than in a comfortable bedroll while snow fell softly, making another warm blanket for him to lie beneath. Through slitted eyes, he measured the peach-colored light in the eastern sky. True daybreak was two hours away, for the sun had to climb over some tall peaks before its brilliant rays could fall directly on Echo Basin.
    A third shot came echoing through the cold air, quickly followed by another.
    Whip smiled thinly.
    Must be a miner. No other kind of hunter would take four shots to bring down a deer. Sounded like he was using both barrels, too.
    No sooner had the thought come than Whip sat bolt upright in his bedroll, scattering snow in all directions.
    She wouldn’t!
    But Whip knew that Shannon would. He had never met a girl more stubborn.
    Whip crammed his feet into cold boots, adjusted his bullwhip on his shoulder, grabbed his rifle, and ran to the stony outcropping that overlooked the clearing.
    There was no smoke coming from the cabin.
    She could be asleep.
    Then Whip saw the tracks leading away from the cabin. He began swearing under his breath.
    A very short time later, Sugarfoot was saddled, bridled, and crow-hopping his way across the clearing. It was the horse’s way of letting Whip know how much it resented a cold blanket and a colder saddle.
    Whip rode out his mount’s tantrum without really noticing it. He was still consumed by the knowledge that Shannon was out prowling the gray, icy predawn, hunting her next meal as though she had no other choice but to fend for herself.
    Does she think I’m such a bastard that I won’t hunt a winter’s worth of game for her before I leave? Is that why she’s walking around in worn-out boots and clothing that’s fit only to be made into a rag rug?
    The answer lay in the tracks showing starkly against the gleaming silver snow. Shannon obviously believed she had to hunt for her own winter supplies.
    A harsh wind keened down from the peaks, stirred up by the rising sun. Whip shivered and swore and pulled the collar of his jacket higher against the icy fingers of wind.
    She must be cold.
    The thought only increased Whip’s anger.
    Why didn’t she wait for me to hunt for her? I’m not so much a bastard that I wouldn’t help her out. She must know that by now.
    Christ, other men would have taken what she offered and never looked back when they left.
    But Shannon hadn’t offered herself to other men. Only to Whip.
    And he had turned her down flat.
    Remembering Shannon’s pain and humiliation,Whip suddenly knew why Shannon was out hunting in the icy morning alone. She wouldn’t take food from his hand if she was starving to death.
    Grimly Whip followed the tracks, making the best speed that the land allowed—certainly much better speed than Shannon had made, for she was on foot.
    She at least could have ridden one of the damned racing mules. They’re hers, after all. Sure as hell the Culpeppers don’t need them anymore, and Razorback will be lucky to make it through the winter.
    Whip knew that Silent John’s old mule wasn’t the only creature that would be lucky to survive the coming