Whip said something harsh beneath his breath, groped for the rag, and wiped himself with more irritation than care. He hadn’t realized how much the morning shaving ritual pleased him until the moment when he found himself with empty hands and water running down his neck.
You’re a damn fool to be arguing with that girl instead of petting her like a Christmas puppy, Whip told himself sardonically.
So I’m a damn fool. But not a total damn fool. It isn’t safe for Shannon here. Not when I’m gone.
When you’re gone, it will be just like she said — not your concern.
That answer didn’t appeal to Whip, but he didn’t have any other one to put in its place.
Maybe I’ll just have to sidle up to those Culpepper boys and read to them from the Good Book — chapter, verse, and line — until they see the error of their ways.
That thought appealed to Whip. A lot.
Smiling like a wolf, Whip resettled his bullwhip over his shoulder and went into the cabin. He was looking forward to a hot breakfast and Shannon sitting catty-corner from him at the small table, close enough to rub against his leg with every small shift of her body.
Prettyface growled at Whip from his preferred place in the coldest corner of the cabin. The dog’s thick fur kept him warmer than any stove. His teeth gleamed like ice beneath his raised upper lip.
«Whatever made you decide to save that misbegotten cur?» Whip asked, irritated all over again.
«Could you have ridden past him and done nothing about his pain?» Shannon asked.
Whip looked at Prettyface through narrowed eyes. The scars the dog bore showed as pale patches against the brindle of his fur. There were a lot of marks.
«No,» Whip admitted. «At the very least I’d have put him out of his misery.»
«You’re a yondering man,» Shannon said. «I’m the settled type. There was room in my life for something else.»
«Most women would have wanted a baby instead of a savage mongrel with the eyes of a wolf.»
The oven door closed with a metallic clang.
«Be careful, the pan is hot,» Shannon said as she put it down near Whip.
«Didn’t you?»
«Didn’t I what?»
«Want a baby.»
«Silent John was hard put just keeping two souls alive,» Shannon said evasively, sitting down again. «There was nothing left over for a baby.»
Whip took several biscuits from the pan.
«Babies have a way of coming whether you want them or not,» he said.
«Do tell. How many do you have?»
Whip choked on the biscuit he was trying to swallow. He took a gulp of searing coffee, swallowed hard, and looked at Shannon with disbelieving eyes.
«What a question,» he said.
«You brought it up.»
«Did I?»
«You did. How many, Whip?»
«Not a damned one.»
«That you know of,» Shannon added mildly, but her eyes were dark.
«What is that supposed to mean?»
«It takes an instant to make a baby and about four months for it to show. Did you ever hang around that long?»
«No.»
«Then you don’t know, do you?»
«I know,» Whip said flatly.
«How?»
«Same way Silent John knew how not to get you pregnant. Are you going to share that jam or just sit on it like a mother hen with only one egg?»
The change of subject caught Shannon with her mouth still open, staring at Whip in disbelief. She was staggered that a man like Whip was celibate. But he had just said as much.
Same way Silent John knew how not to get you pregnant.
No wonder Whip had changed the subject. It couldn’t have been a comfortable topic for him, for Shannon knew that Whip certainly was capable of coupling with a woman. As often as not, when he was around her, she saw the unmistakable sign of his ability pressing hard against his trousers.
Silent John had been too old for such discomfort. The marriage had been a way to keep men like the Culpeppers at bay; a wife was more respected than a grandniece.
«Uh…jam,» Shannon said, trying to gather her scattered wits. «Yes. Of course. Here.»
«Thank you,» Whip said, the courtesy automatic.
He took the jam and began spreading it over biscuits. Though Whip never appeared to move quickly, food disappeared into his mouth with astonishing speed.
Shannon had learned after the first breakfast that Whip could eat a lot of food and still look around for more. Now she routinely made a double batch of biscuits for breakfast and didn’t expect to have any left over for lunch.
«I’d better see to that second batch of biscuits,» Shannon muttered. «Should be about done baking.»
«I’ll get it,» Whip said.
«Thank you, but it’s no trouble.»
«Don’t bang the stove door, then. The hinge is nearly broken off. I’ll try my hand at hammering out a new one as soon as I finish with the firewood.»
Shannon felt the last of her hurt slide away, leaving her vulnerable once more to her longings. She no longer doubted that Whip would move on, leaving her behind. But while he was with her, he watched out for her more tenderly than anyone ever had.
If she was greedy for more, it was her own fault, not his. He had told her plainly that he was a wanderer with no intention of settling down.
«Thank you,» Shannon said. «I tried to make a new hinge from an old horseshoe, but no matter how hard I hammered…»
She shrugged and didn’t finish the sentence.
«Have you ever seen a blacksmith’s arms?» Whip asked dryly.
«No.»
«They’re bigger than mine.»
Shannon’s eyes widened.
Whip smiled at the look on her face. He was used to his unusual height and physical power. Shannon wasn’t. At first the contrast between his strength and her own had made Shannon uneasy. Lately, though, Whip had seen appreciation rather than fear of his strength when she watched him working.
When Shannon pushed back from the table to get the biscuits, Prettyface’s eyes followed his mistress the short distance to the stove. She pulled out the pan and turned toward the table. As she turned, the sole of her boot caught on an uneven floor-board.
Shannon made a startled sound and tried to regain her balance, but it was too late. Whip’s big hands grabbed her and set her upright before she could fall.
«Are you —» began Whip.
The rest of his words were lost in a savage snarl as Prettyface came out of the corner in a lunge and went for Whip’s throat.
7
Whip pushed Shannon out of danger even as he spun to face the attacking dog. Horrified, Shannon watched Whip yank the coiled lash off his shoulder. His left arm collided with Prettyface in mid-leap.
Man and dog went down in a snarling, cursing tangle. Prettyface ended up on top. His teeth were sunk into Whip’s left hand and the coils of leather it held.
«No, Prettyface!No!»
Shouting and yanking frantically, Shannon tried to drag Prettyface off Whip. The dog ignored her.
Whip didn’t.
«Get the hell out of the way!» he ordered.
«But —»
Shannon never finished her objection. With a powerful movement of his body, Whip turned over, dragging Prettyface beneath him and sending Shannon staggering away from the fight.
She caught her balance on the old trunk full of books and looked around wildly for something to use that would subdue Prettyface. But there was nothing at hand that would free Whip before Prettyface got his feet under him again and sank his teeth into Whip’s throat.
«Prettyface! No!»
Her shouts had no effect.
Struggling, flailing, man and beast slammed into the legs of the old table. It skidded and crashed against the bed, sending blankets flying. An instant later the table careened into the front door, propelled by the thrashing bodies.