Only Love (8 page)

Whip looked down at her through half-lowered lids.

“Change your mind?” he asked.

“About what?”

As Shannon spoke, she took the damp rag from Whip’s hands and blotted his mustache right above the peak of his lip.

“There,” she said, examining the cleanly drawn curves of Whip’s mouth. “Now the biscuits won’t taste like soap to you.”

Then Shannon looked up into Whip’s eyes and forgot to breathe. Close up, his eyes were a clear, luminous gray surrounded by a glittering circle of black. Intriguing splinters of blue and green radiated from the pupils, which were expanding as she watched them. Soon there was only a smoky crystal band of color left in his eyes.

Whip was looking at Shannon’s mouth with a smoldering intensity that made her feel weak.

“You missed a bit of lather,” she explained, her voice shaky.

“Just one?”

She nodded.

“Sure there aren’t any more?” he coaxed.

His dark, husky voice made shimmering sensations chase down from Shannon’s breastbone to her thighs, as though she were watching him in secret from the cabin window again.

“More?” she whispered.

“Bits of lather. To wipe off.”

With shuttered eagerness, Shannon’s glance went over the pronounced planes and masculine angles of Whip’s face.

“No,” she said, unable to conceal her disappointment. “Not a speck.”

“Maybe next time.”

The smile Whip gave Shannon was like his voice, dark and very male. It sent another odd cascade of sensation through her, making her breath break.

“I’d better go inside first,” Shannon said. “Prettyface might get the wrong idea otherwise.”

Her voice was faintly husky, reflecting the quickening of her pulse.

Well,
Whip thought in relief,
whatever Silent John did to Shannon as a husband, he didn’t ruin her. There’s real passion in that sweet body.

And real hunger.

Whip watched with a barely veiled hunger of his own while Shannon opened the cabin door.

Instantly, gleaming fangs appeared in the narrow opening. Shannon stepped between the dog’s muzzle and Whip. Snarling, growling, the big hound stood squarely in the opening.

“No,”
Shannon said firmly. “Prettyface, stop that! Whip is a friend. Friend, Prettyface,
Friend.
”

Slowly the dog’s lips came down over his fangs, but the rumbling sounds of menace didn’t stop.

“It’s all right, Prettyface,” Shannon said.
“Friend.”

Whip looked into the dog’s feral eyes, saw the wolf blood staring back at him, and knew that Prettyface wasn’t convinced he was any man’s friend.

“No wonder you didn’t bring Prettyface into town,” Whip said. “That’s one hardheaded son of a bitch. What is he?”

“Mastiff, mostly. And some wolf, I think. I’m sorry he’s so edgy.”

“Don’t apologize. I know the hardheaded breed well,” Whip said dryly. “Got a brother just like him. And a brother-in-law.”

Shannon looked at Whip, startled.

“Come to think of it,” he added with a slight smile, “I’ve been accused of being too slow to back down, myself.”

Shannon tried to look as though the thought of Whip’s being hardheaded had never occurred to her. The effort dissolved into something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

Prettyface looked at his mistress as though she had lost her mind.

Whip smiled. He was discovering what a keen pleasure it was to bring the light of laughter to Shannon’s beautiful eyes.

“Go lie down, Prettyface,” Shannon said, pointing toward the dog’s favorite corner.
“Go.”

Prettyface went. Slowly. With ever step he looked over his shoulder at Whip. A low, almost inaudible growl seethed inside the dog’s big body.

Despite Whip’s easy smile, he never looked away from the beast who combined the savage traits of mastiff and wolf alike. Prettyface was both powerful and fierce.

Whip would have called the dog vicious, but in
the past week he had seen Prettyface lying tamely on his side while Shannon pulled burrs from between the dog’s tender pads and from inside his big, sensitive ears.

The dog was possessive, not vicious.

“Does Prettyface act this way when you’re around the shaman?” Whip asked.

“Cherokee?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course not,” Shannon said absently as she lifted biscuits from the pan onto a platter. “He only hates men.”

“What does that make the shaman—a eunuch?”

Shannon realized her mistake and mumbled, “Guess Cherokee must smell different, being so old and all. Whatever,
he
doesn’t set off Prettyface.”

“Maybe I should borrow some of his herbs and change my smell.”

“His herbs?”

“Cherokee’s”

“Oh, of course, Cherokee’s.
His.
Well, it’s a thought.”

Quickly Shannon turned back to the stove, hiding her amusement at the idea that a handful of herbs would diminish Whip’s manhood enough to put Prettyface at ease.

She set the platter of biscuits and bacon on the scarred, handmade table and pointed to a chair.

“Have a seat,” Shannon said.

Instead of sitting, Whip pulled out Shannon’s chair and waited to seat her. She looked at him, confused. Then she remembered courtesies from a time so long ago she sometimes though it must have been a dream.

“Why, thank you,” Shannon murmured.

But as she sat in the chair that Whip held out for
her, Prettyface came to his feet in snarling rage.

“No!” Shannon said sharply. “Lie down!”

Prettyface started forward with menace in every gliding stride.

Whip reached for the bullwhip’s coils.

“Step away from my chair,” Shannon said urgently. “Quickly! Prettyface doesn’t like it when you get between him and me.”

For a moment Whip considered having it out with the dog then and there, but decided against it. Maybe if Prettyface had a little time, he would settle down. That way Whip wouldn’t be forced to frighten Shannon by jerking the dog off his big feet and teaching him who gave orders and who obeyed.

Maybe it will work out peacefully,
Whip thought.
Sure as hell hope so. I’d have to take a lot of chewing to put that dog in his place without killing him.

But Whip wouldn’t have bet a Confederate dollar that Prettyface would accept Whip as his superior without a fight. The wolf in him would demand it.

Calmly, without any hurry at all, Whip moved away from Shannon’s chair. He held Prettyface’s eyes every inch of the way.

“Now lie down!” Shannon said sharply.

“Me or the dog?”

Shannon winced at the tone of Whip’s voice and remembered what he had said a moment earlier.

I’ve been accused of being too slow to back down, myself.

Yet Whip had meekly given way to the dog when she had ordered him to do so.

“I’m sorry,” Shannon said unhappily. “Prettyface is just…”

“Jealous?”

“Protective.”

“I don’t think so.”

Whip held Shannon’s eyes with the same unflinching stare he had used on the snarling dog.

“A protective dog takes his cue from his master,” Whip said. “A jealous dog acts like Prettyface, purely pissed off when anyone gets close to you, no matter how you might feel about it.”

“He hasn’t had much time to get used to strangers.”

“You might think on ways to get Prettyface to accept your friends,” Whip said mildly. “Or else your friends will have to do it for you. May I pour you some coffee?”

The change of subject distracted Shannon. By the time she realized what had happened, it was too late. Whip was pouring her coffee and holding out the platter of biscuits and bacon to her.

Prettyface snarled when Shannon’s hand touched the platter. She turned and gave the dog a level stare.

“No, Prettyface,” Shannon said, her voice firm. “Nothing is wrong. Now behave yourself!”

The dog whined uneasily and settled back to watch the stranger in his cabin with the unblinking, feral eyes of a wolf.

At first Shannon and Whip ate without talking. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, for they were hungry. When Shannon had eaten her fill, she poured another cup of coffee for Whip and herself and settled back in her chair to savor the unexpected luxury of the coffee.

Whip reached for another round of bacon and biscuits. As he did, he found himself wondering how chickens would survive in Echo Basin. A few eggs would have gone very well with the meal.

You’re dreaming
, Whip told himself sardonically.
Eggs are for people who are settled enough to raise chickens, like Willow, or those folks who are rich enough to buy eggs that are damn near worth their weight in gold.

Whip bit into a tender biscuit and sighed with pleasure. The biscuit was steamy, fragrant, and light as smoke.

“I always thought no one could match my sister Willow’s biscuits,” Whip said, reaching for more. “Looks like I was wrong. These biscuits are pure heaven.”

Shannon watched Whip’s big hands move from biscuit to bacon and back again. He handled the food deftly, which didn’t surprise her. He was a man of rare coordination. What did surprise her was the care he took with the food itself. His manners told her more than words just how much Whip appreciated the meal.

Seeing Whip enjoy the food she had prepared was an unexpected pleasure. It was as though a little bit of her was in each bite…part of her becoming part of him. Quietly Shannon watched Whip eat, her mouth slightly curved, her eyes gentle, liking the thought of it.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Whip said finally, “and I’m going to do something that will put Prettyface on the warpath.”

Belatedly, Shannon realized she was watching Whip far too warmly.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not used to company.”

Whip’s smile was as gentle as his eyes.

“Honey girl, I’m just teasing you. You can look at me all you like. My head might get too big for my hat, but I’ll just go without one. It would be
worth it to see your beautiful eyes watching me and liking what they see.”

Shannon’s color heightened, but she didn’t look away for more than an instant before her glance was drawn back to Whip. His sun-colored hair caught light with each motion he made. Thick, fair, shiny, his hair made Shannon itch to sink her fingers into it. Only then would she find out if it felt as warm and silky as it looked.

Whip glanced up, wondering what had caught Shannon’s attention so much that she sat without moving. When he realized that he was the source of her fascination, his eyes narrowed and his pulse kicked hard. There was approval in Shannon’s eyes, and a sensual curiosity that aroused Whip as much as a hungry kiss would have.

Damnation. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her she could look at me all she likes.

Something is growing fast, and it’s not my hat size.

With an effort Whip forced himself to look anywhere but at the sapphire eyes that were watching him with luminous pleasure.

“How did you come to Echo Basin?” Whip asked.

For a moment the question didn’t register on Shannon. Then she blinked and looked down at her coffee cup.

“Silent John brought me here seven years ago.”

“You must have been a child.”

“I was husband-high and had no relatives who wanted me. Even before the war…” Shannon shrugged. “A lot of children were orphaned.”

“Eve, my brother’s wife, was like that. She came west on an orphan train and was bought by two old gamblers to make their lives easier.” Whip
looked at Shannon. “Echo Basin must have been a harsh place for you.”

Surprise showed on Shannon’s face. She shook her head, making the mahogany lights in her hair gleam.

“It’s better than where I came from,” she said. “Here I’m beholden to no one for my bread and salt.”

Whip waited, but Shannon said nothing more on the subject of her past or Echo Basin.

“What about you, Whip? How did you end up here?”

He smiled slightly. That was a question few westerners dared to ask a man.

On the other hand, he had just asked her precisely that question.

“Turnabout is fair play, is that it?” Whip asked.

“Unless you mind?”

“Not as long as you’re the one doing the asking. I came to Echo Basin because I’d never been here before.”

Shannon frowned slightly. “You sound like there aren’t many places you haven’t been.”

“There aren’t. I’m a yondering man. I’ve been all over the world.”

“Truly?”

Whip smiled. “Truly.”

“Have you seen the pyramids of Egypt?”

“I saw them,” Whip said.

“What are they like?”

“Big. They rise out of the desert all pitted and racked by time. There’s a city nearby, a place where women go veiled from head to heels so that only their eyes show.”

Shannon made a surprised sound. “Just their eyes?”

Whip nodded. “You would be a sultan’s prize, honey girl. Eyes as blue as heaven itself.”

And a walk that’s hotter than hell
, he added to himself.

But Whip wasn’t about to say it aloud. If Shannon knew just how much he wanted her, Whip doubted that she would be sitting so at ease across the small table from him.

“Paris,” Shannon said. “Have you seen it?”

“Paris, London, Madrid, Rome, Shanghai…I’ve seen them, and more besides. Do you like cities?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been in one for years and years.”

Shannon looked past Whip to the strips of light coming between the ill-fitting shutters.

“But I think,” she said slowly, “having that many people pressing close would wear on me.”

“Are you eager to find out?”

“No. I only asked about cities because the history books are always going on about Paris and London and Rome. They’re the only places I could think of. And China, of course.”

Whip’s eyes took on a faraway look.

“China is a special place,” he said quietly. “It had empires and art and philosophy long before Christ was born. The Chinese have a real different way of looking at life, from music to food to fighting.”

“Did you like it?”