The pick whistled down, sliced through air and slammed into the unyielding stone. The shock of the impact rang in the silence and traveled up through the hickory handle with numbing force.
Whip barely noticed. Whatever punishment the mountain delivered was lost in the larger punishment of the vise of hunger and conscience that was squeezing him mercilessly with every breath, every heartbeat.
He knew that Shannon wasn’t playing the marriage game of tease and retreat and leave the quarry wild with hunger. She didn’t expect—and no longer even wanted—marriage with the man called Whip Moran.
What possible use is a man who puts a baby in you and then flits off around the earth until it’s time to come back and put another baby in?
I will never marry a man who wants me less than he wants a sunrise he’s never seen.
Whip believed Shannon’s words. He had seen the pain and bafflement in her beautiful eyes as she spoke, a darkness that couldn’t be faked by even the most accomplished coquette.
And Shannon was far from a coquette. Her honesty was as unflinching as the land itself.
Someday I’ll thank you for teaching me how to build a cage of sunlight. But not today.
Shannon might not understand why Whip would leave her, but she knew that he would. The knowledge was there in her eyes, in her words, in the fine trembling of her hands when she spoke about it.
Whip didn’t want Shannon to love him, but she did.
Now she didn’t want to love him, either.
Go away, yondering man. You don’t want my body, you don’t want my love, you don’t want anything but the sunrise you’ve never seen. Go chase it and leave me be.
Whip planned to do just that. But first he had to be certain of Shannon’s safety after he left.
The pick attacked cold stone, rang harshly, and retreated only to return again, even more violently. Yet no matter how hard Whip worked, no matter how much solid rock he reduced to rubble, the Rifle Sight claim showed about as much hope of gold as a mule’s hind end.
With a searing word of disgust, Whip stopped hammering and leaned on the pick handle. He talked to the ungiving stone the way a teamster talks to his animals, describing in harsh, profane, and inventive detail just how aggravated and disappointed he was with life in general and this chunk of mountain in particular.
When Whip ran out of breath, he wiped his forehead, set aside the pick in favor of his rifle, and headed back to camp even though there was still plenty of sun in the sky. He was tired of wearing himself out on a claim that a blind man could see was as useless as teats on a boar hog.
Rifle on one shoulder and coiled lash on the other, Whip strode down out of the grim, cold notch where meltwater collected and ran down to Grizzly Meadow. He couldn’t see the meadow from where he was, but he knew it was there.
Just as Whip knew Shannon would be there, waiting for him. She would heat water for him and he would bathe and pull on the shirt she had cleaned for him yesterday. The cloth would be warm from the sun and sweet from washing, but sweetest of all would be the mixture of caring and womanly hunger and approval in Shannon’s eyes when she watched him.
As Whip hurriedly descended the rubble slope at the mouth of the ravine, rocks still cold with winter gave way to unexpected beauty. Willow, stunted aspen, and wind-harried spruce clung in shades of green to every pocket of soil and warmth. The icy rill that flowed from the ravine was joined by other ribbons of meltwater until they became a small creek flowing into Grizzly Meadow. Wildflowers bloomed in scarlet and purple and yellow and white as rocky slopes gentled into a high mountain meadow.
Smiling, Whip emerged from shadow into the meadow’s pouring sunlight, expecting to hear Shannon’s voice raised in welcome when she saw him. But no cry of recognition and delight came. Frowning, he walked even more quickly.
I’m coming in early, but Shannon should be here. Hell, where else would she be/
Unless something went wrong. Another grizzly or…
A cold that had nothing to do with sweaty clothing went through Whip. Eyes as clear and icy as meltwater probed every shadow of the meadow.
Whip wasn’t even aware of moving until he felt the worn, hard butt of the bullwhip nestled in his left hand and heard the restless seething of the lash at his feet. His right hand was closed around the rifle, his finger was on the trigger, and his eyes were looking for a target. If he found one, he wouldn’t have to switch hands. He had learned long ago the value of being able to shoot with either hand.
There. At the far end of the meadow. Movement.
Smoothly Whip pivoted to face whatever was coming toward him.
Feminine laughter rippled through the quiet summer meadow, laughter bubbling as clearly as the creek itself. Suddenly Shannon darted out of the aspens with Prettyface hard on her heels. The huge hound caught up in three bounds and put himself squarely across Shannon’s path, forcing her to stop. Quick as a deer she turned and raced toward the aspens again. Prettyface followed, blocked her before she reached the trees, and chased her when she spun aside once more.
The game continued until Shannon was too breathless with laughter to run any longer. She leaned on Prettyface and petted him and praised him and hugged him until her breath came back. Then she told him to stay and tiptoed off into the aspens. Panting, his tongue lolling out in silent canine laughter, Prettyface stayed put and watched with alert wolf’s eyes while Shannon vanished into the trees.
Whip watched too, motionless, aching with feelings he couldn’t name.
A rock arced out of the aspens to land with a soft thump at Prettyface’s side. It must have been the signal for the game to resume, because the hound leaped forward, nose to the ground, tracking his mistress at a lope. Soon Prettyface vanished into the aspens.
Whip waited, smiling, guessing what was going to happen next; the stalk and the laughter stifled into silence, and then the instant of discovery.
A few minutes later he heard laughter and saw flashes of movement in the aspen grove. Shannon burst into the meadow at a dead run, her long legs moving so quickly that they blurred.
No wonder she got to me so fast when that grizzly cornered me. She and that hellhound of hers keep each other sharp.
Despite Shannon’s speed, she was no match for Prettyface. The hound caught her in ten strides, barred her way into the meadow, and leaped after her when she took off in another direction.
Whip laughed softly as he uncocked the rifle, coiled the long lash so that it could ride once again on his shoulder, and walked toward the girl and the savage mongrel that played like a puppy with her.
I’ll bet Shannon and Willy would get along like a house afire. They both have grit and the gift of laughter no matter how bleak things really are. Shannon could help with the kids and the cooking, and Cal could keep everyone safe. Even the Culpeppers aren’t dumb enough to take on a man like Caleb Black.
And there’s always Reno or Wolfe or both of them together if the fight gets too hard for Cal to handle alone. Shannon would be safe with them. She would have Willy and Jessi and Eve for company. Shannon wouldn’t be at the mercy of strangers. She would be with…family.
I could go yondering again and not always be looking back, wondering if Shannon was hungry or tried or frightened or hurt, needing someone and no one was nearby.
Relief at the solution to his problem swept through Whip, loosening some of the tension that had ridden him without mercy since he had discovered just how innocent a window Shannon Conner Smith really was. Smiling, he walked even faster into the meadow.
Shannon took one look at the man striding toward her and felt her heart leap with a joy she knew would end in heartbreak. Yet she could no more stop the joy than she could stop the sun from rising at dawn.
She had seen very little of Whip in the two days since he had discovered she was a virgin. When she awoke at dawn, he was already gone to Rifle Sight. He didn’t come back until it was too dark to work any longer. By then he was too tired to do much more than b
athe and eat and fall asleep.
“I’m glad you came back early,” Shannon said.
Whip smiled. “You sure?”
She nodded almost shyly.
“Even though I’ve been less company to you than that beast?” he asked ruefully.
She nodded again and whispered, “Yes.”
Whip looked at the heightened color of Shannon’s cheeks, the sweet curve of her mouth, and the endless blue of her eyes. He realized anew how pleased he was to have found a solution to the problem of Shannon’s future. A solution that didn’t involve marriage.
To any man.
“Whip?”
“Mm?”
“What is it? You look as smug as a rooster with twenty hens.”
Whip laughed and wished he could hug Shannon. Yet he knew he must not. Touching her would end up only one way-with her virginity gone and him so hard and deep inside her that it would be like tearing off their own skin when they finally separated.
But separate they would, for the undiscovered sunrise would call to him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Whip said, no longer smiling.
Shannon’s smile turned upside down. Are you leaving? Is that why you came back early? Has that damned distant sunrise called your name?
But Shannon didn’t give voice to the questions that were tearing her apart. There was no purpose in speaking. Whip would go when he wished to. Knowing when he was leaving wouldn’t make the remaining moments any better for her.
Knowing would make it worse. Knowing would cut out her heart and leave nothing but darkness in its place, an emptiness she couldn’t hide from Whip no matter how hard she tried.
“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” Shannon said, balancing her voice as carefully as she would a pan of scalding water. “Don’t worry about it, yondering man.”
“Horse—”
“I’m fully of age,” she interrupted, “and I’ve been warned more than once that you don’t want ties. If I get hurt, it’s on my head, not yours.”
“But—”
“Come back to camp and wash up,” Shannon interrupted again, determined not to talk about leaving. “That shirt must be about as comfortable as a handful of nettles. Do you want an early supper?”
“My shirt isn’t what’s nettling me,” Whip retorted. “It’s you. My conscience won’t let me leave you at the mercy of the likes of the Culpeppers.”
Then don’t go!
But Shannon knew better than to voice the cry of her soul. Whip would go no matter what his conscience and her heart wanted. Nor did she want him to stay at the cost of his own happiness, his own heart and soul.
He loved the unseen sunrise more than he would ever love any woman.
“Tell your conscience that I got along just fine before I met you,” Shannon said.
“But you didn’t!”
“How do you know?” she asked reasonably. “You weren’t here.”
“Damn it, Shannon—”
“Yes. Damn it.”
With that, she started walking to camp. Prettyface and Whip fell into step along either side.
“How did the digging go?” Shannon asked.
Whip grunted. “Worse than yesterday, better than tomorrow.”
She tried to think of something encouraging to say. She couldn’t. Fear for her own future was too strong. Yet if she talked about that, Whip would think she was building a cage for him, nailing him to the floor of her dreams while his own dreams called to him from the other side of the bars.
“I’m not going to find gold in Rifle Sight,” Whip said bluntly. “Not tomorrow. Not the day after. Not ever.”
Shannon stumbled, then righted her balance before Whip could touch her.
“There are other claims,” she said through pale lips.
“You said Rifle Sight was the best one.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
“Maybe. But I’ve got a better idea.”
“What? Jump somebody’s claim?” she asked bitterly.
“I’ll leave that to the Culpeppers, and I’ll leave robbing trains and banks to the James brothers.”
Shannon smiled despite her unhappiness about the lack of gold on Silent John’s claims.
“What’s your idea?” she asked.
“The only real safety for a girl like you is in a nice town with picket fences around the houses and church bells ringing and a good, settled man for a husband. But—”
“I don’t want to marry,” she interrupted curtly.
“—there’s no place like that in Colorado Territory,” Whip continued.
“Thank God,” Shannon muttered.
Whip ignored her. As he spoke, his original enthusiasm for the idea of sending Shannon to live with Caleb and Willow returned in full force.
“The next safest place for you would be Cal’s ranch,” Whip said firmly.
Shannon cut a sideways look at Whip and said not one word.
“The ranch lies beyond those peaks,” Whip said, pointing to the west, “about a day’s ride from your cabin on a good horse in good weather. Two days if you take Razorback. Four if you walk.”
“And no time at all if you stay home,” Shannon pointed out pleasantly.
Whip kept talking as though she hadn’t said a word.
“Cal and Willy—my sister, remember?”
“Cal is your sister? I thought he was a man.”
Whip shot Shannon a glittering glance.
She gave it right back.
“Willow is my sister. Caleb is her husband.” Whip spoke slowly and clearly, as though to the town drunk. “They have a little boy and are expecting another baby before too long. All she has for help is Pig Iron’s wife, and she only speaks Ute.”
“They should send to Canyon City. Or Denver. Or maybe one of your other widows would want the job. I don’t.”
Whip made a frustrated sound and raked his fingers through his hair, dislodging his hat. He caught it with careless ease and pulled it firmly back into place. He wished his temper were as easy to get hold of and keep in hand.
“They wouldn’t treat you like hired help,” Whip said carefully. “You would be like…family.”
“After my step-aunt, I’d rather be treated like hired help,” Shannon said.
“Damn it! All I meant was you would have a safe place to live with good people around you and kids to enjoy and—”
“Their home, their children,” Shannon said tightly, “Thank you, no. I’d rather have my own home and my own children to love.”
The thought of Shannon having another man’s children sent raw rage through Whip. The sheer violence of his reaction shocked him. He locked his jaw against the reckless words crowding his throat.
What business of mine is it whose kids she has, Whip asked himself savagely, as long as they aren’t mine?
The rational, reasonable, logical question did nothing to cool Whip’s elemental rage. Teeth clenched, he turned away from the girl who could trigger his temper—and his body—as no one else ever had.
That’s the end of it, Whip told himself. Time to pull up stakes and find another sunrise before she has me so hog-tied I can’t even move.
But first I have to see that the stubborn little witch is safe, whether she likes it or not.
Without a word Whip turned away from Shannon and strode toward his own camp.
Shannon let out a long breath, took in another one, and looked at her hands. They were trembling slightly. She knew she had come very close to making Whip lose his temper entirely.
But she didn’t know what she had done to cause it.
“I wish you could talk, Prettyface. You’re a male. Maybe you could tell me what I did.”
The big, brindle hound nudged Shannon’s hand. He didn’t know what was wrong with his mistress, but he sensed something was.
“I thanked him very politely for his offer of a place in his sister’s house,” Shannon pointed out.
Prettyface’s tongue lolled as he panted softly.
>
“Well, maybe not very politely,” she conceded, “but I certainly wasn’t rude. Not nearly as rude as he was.”
The hound cocked his head to one side, ears erect, looking as though he were about to speak to Shannon.
“If only you could talk.” She sighed deeply. “But you can’t. So I guess I’ll have to ask Whip why he got so furious when I said I wanted a home and children of my own. It’s not like I was asking him to provide either one.”
Unsettled, torn between anger and hurt, Shannon walked after Whip.
But when she got to his campsite, all her questions fled. Whip was quickly, efficiently, packing up his belongings.
No! Oh, Whip, don’t leave me yet.
Shannon’s short fingernails bit into her palms as she tried to stem the tears burning against her eyelids.
I won’t cry. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t think it would be like this. In anger.
Shannon started to speak, then thought better of it. She couldn’t trust her voice not to reveal her hidden tears. Silently she turned away and went to her own campsite.
By the time Shannon heard Whip’s big gray horse walking toward her campfire, she could trust herself to speak. Whip pulled the horse to a stop and dismounted without a word.
“Leaving?” she asked him evenly.
“I told you I was.”
“Yes.”
Shannon looked at her hands, took a deep, secret breath to calm herself, and smiled up at Whip.
“Thank you for all you’ve done, Whip. If you ever come back through here—oh, that’s right. You never chase the same sunrise twice.” She made a vague, jerky gesture with her right hand. “Well, thank you. Are you certain you won’t take some pay? You’ve done so much and I do have a bit of gold left.”
Whip looked at Shannon’s pale face and trembling hands and wanted to comfort her and shake her at the same time. Silently he stalked past her and began packing up her camp.