«Hunting Culpeppers, huh?» Whip asked softly. «Well, this is your lucky day, my friend. Those three are Clim, Darcy, and Floyd.»
«Dead?»
«Darcy is. Clim and Floyd are alive for the time being. Wouldn’t bet a Confederate dollar on their chances, though. Clim’s back is broken and Floyd’s wrist smells like it’s gone bad.»
«Gangrene?»
Whip nodded.
«From the fight in Holler Creek?» the stranger asked.
«Wasn’t much of a fight. I took them by surprise and just kept at it until the job was done.»
If one corner of a mouth lifting slightly could be called a smile, the stranger smiled.
«Thought it might be you,» the man said, looking at the long, restless lash. «Whip, isn’t it?»
«That’s what they call me.»
«I’m called Hunter since the war.»
«Hunter,» Whip said neutrally, nodding.
«Heard Beau was with them,» Hunter said, gesturing to the Culpeppers.
«He was.»
«Then he got away again,» Hunter said savagely. «Damn his slippery hide! Excuse me, ma’am.»
«Don’t apologize,» Shannon said without looking up from Prettyface. «I’m no gentle Southern lady. I just killed a man.»
Hunter’s black eyebrows rose. «A Culpepper?»
Shannon nodded curtly.
«Well, ma’am, some folks would argue that a Culpepper doesn’t count as a man, ’ Hunter said.» «Especially the folks who buried what was left of those three young women.»
Hunter turned back to Whip.
«Which way did Beau go?» Hunter asked.
«Straight to hell, I imagine.»
«He’s dead?» Hunter asked, looking around again.
Whip nodded. «In the cabin.»
Hunter gestured with his head toward Shannon, asking a silent question.
Again, Whip nodded.
Some of the fierce tension left Hunter’s body. Not until he began to relax did Whip realize just how poised for battle Hunter had been.
«I owe you,» Hunter said simply. «There was five hundred dollars on Beau’s head, two hundred on Floyd and Darcy, and one hundred on Clim. I’ll see that you get it.»
«No,» Shannon said fiercely. «No blood money. We wouldn’t have killed them if we had a choice.»
Hunter looked at Whip. Again, the left corner of Hunter’s mouth turned up very slightly, not even Enough to disturb his black mustache.
Though he didn’t say a word, Whip knew that Hunter understood what Shannon hadn’t yet realized: once the Culpeppers had grabbed Shannon, they had signed their own death warrants as far as Whip was concerned.
«If you’ll help me load the Culpeppers on two mules,» Hunter said, «I’ll give them to the first bounty hunter I find.»
«You’re not taking them in yourself?»
«Abner, Horace, Gaylord, Erasmus, and Jeremiah are still alive. Erasmus and Jeremiah are rumored to be on their way to Virginia City. I’ll be looking for the other three now that these boys are taken care of.»
«What about the rest?»
«My brother Case is tracking Erasmus and Jeremiah. When the Culpeppers split up, we split up, Too. Case drew the short straw, so he only got to Chase two of the sons of bitches. He’ll make up for It, though. I expect he might beat me to Virginia City.»
«Eleven, you said,» Whip muttered. «Is that all of them?»
«All there is to speak of,» Hunter said dryly. «But Pappy Culpepper was a tireless old goat. I expect he left quite a few eggs in other nests before my daddy shot him.»
«Eleven. Damnation. What about the rest of the alphabet? Am I likely to meet them any time soon?»
«Not likely. They’re buried back Texas way.»
Whip didn’t have to ask who had done the burying. Hunter had a look about him that reminded Whip of Caleb Black; a good man, but hard as flint.
The kind who made a very bad enemy.
«Hope you get the last of them,» Whip said.
«We will. You can count on it.»
Whip smiled slightly, glad that his name wasn’t Culpepper.
«Get on one of those racing mules and fetch that shaman,» Whip said, turning to Shannon. «He can nurse Prettyface while we’re gone.»
Shannon’s head snapped up. «Where are you going?»
«We,» Whip corrected. «We’re going to my sister’s ranch.»
Shannon opened her mouth.
«No,» Whip said, cutting across whatever she had been going to say. «Common sense be damned. You’re going with me this time if I have to tie you to the saddle.»
13
Shannon awoke with a start and looked around wildly, heart pounding. It was first light, with stars fading in the east. She was in a small bedroom. A man was calling in a low voice from the porch to the corral. Another voice answered.
Whip’s voice calling.
Caleb Black’s voice answering.
That was what had awakened Shannon. The sound of men’s voices. Even three days after the brutal fight at her cabin, she was jumpy, flinching at sounds, looking over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t being followed.
Shannon drew a ragged breath. The scent of coffee and biscuits and bacon curled against her nostrils. Her stomach growled in instant response. She and Whip had arrived at such a late hour the previous night that Willow had done little more than greet them before going to bed. The trip had taken so long because Shannon refused to ride either of the two racing mules Hunter had left for her.
Hurriedly Shannon got out of bed and dressed, not wanting to lie abed while others were up and working. From what Whip had told her, Willow had her hands full with her young son, her pregnancy, and cooking for all of the ranch hands. Not to mention sewing, mending, knitting, cleaning, washing clothes, ironing them, tending the kitchen garden, feeding the chickens, collecting eggs, and the hundred other small jobs that added up to a mountain of work.
It was no easier for Caleb, who had the cattle and horses to tend, wood to chop, fences to build and mend, outbuildings to construct and maintain, waterholes and troughs to keep clean, horses to shoe, barns and corrals to muck out, calves to brand, horses to break, furniture to make…the list was endless.
With quick steps Shannon went down the wooden stairs from the attic loft where she had slept. She hurried through the house to the kitchen.
Willow was working over the wood stove, frying bacon and making biscuits and stirring a pot of stewed fruit. Her hair was heaped in gleaming golden coils on her head. If the sunlight color of Willow’s hair hadn’t told Shannon that this was Whip’s sister, the catlike tilt of her wide hazel eyes would have.
«Good morning, Mrs. Black,» Shannon said.
Willow turned and smiled. «Call me Willow, please. It’s the western way to be informal.»
«Willow,» Shannon repeated, smiling in return. «Then you must call me Shannon.»
«That’s a pretty name,» Willow said. «Has the West given you a nickname yet?»
Shannon didn’t think honey girl qualified as a nickname. And even if it did, she wasn’t about to mention it to Whip’s little sister.
«Not yet,» Shannon said.
Then she smiled slightly, looking at the pronounced curve of Willow’s pregnancy pressing against her dress.
«It beats me how Whip can call you Willy,» Shannon said.
«Whip?» Willow frowned, then smiled. «Oh, you mean Rafe.»
«Tall, wide-shouldered, sun-haired, handsome as a fallen angel and thickheaded as a Missouri mule?»
Willow snickered. «That’s Rafe. He calls me Willy because I used to follow my brothers around like a tomboy.»
«How many brothers do you have?»
«Five. Matt lives less than a day’s ride from here with his wife, Eve.»
«Matt?» Shannon asked.
«You’ve probably heard him called Reno. That’s the name the West gave him. Half the time I call him that, myself, just like I’m getting used to thinking of Rafe as Whip.»