Shannon acted as though she hadn’t heard. She reached past Whip, took the pot of preserves, and began slathering jam on a biscuit.

«Do you prefer sleet or snow?» she asked.

«Shannon —»

«I know,» she interrupted. «Such a difficult choice. What about hail? Do you think we could not yell about that?»

«Doubt it,» he retorted. «I wouldn’t yell about another cup of coffee, though.»

Hiding a smile, Shannon twisted in her chair and reached back to the stove, grabbing the coffeepot without getting up. She turned back gracefully, surprising an expression of frank hunger on Whip’s face as he looked at her breasts. An instant later the expression was gone.

Silently Whip held out his coffee cup. Just as silently Shannon poured coffee and replaced the pot on the stove.

«How about half of whatever you find on Silent John’s gold claims?» Shannon asked. «Would you yell about that?»

The tin cup of coffee stopped an inch from Whip’s mustache.

«What?» he asked.

«Silent John had — has — several claims on Avalanche Creek.»

Whip shrugged.

«He worked those claims to pay for food he couldn’t hunt,» Shannon explained.

«Do tell,» Whip said dryly.

«I’m trying, yondering man. I’m trying.»

«My name is Whip,» he said finally, rankled by the nickname.

«Why do you get upset when I call you yondering man? It’s what you are, isn’t it?» Shannon asked reasonably. «I don’t get upset when you call me a widow, and you’re not even sure Iamone.»

Whip started to argue but knew it was futile before he said a word. He let out a long breath and concentrated on his coffee and bacon for a few minutes.

Shannon was tempted to push Whip to agree that there was no reason for him to be irritated. Then, reluctantly, she decided that she should quit while she was ahead.

It was difficult, however. The temptation to bait Whip was nearly irresistible. Frowning slightly, she concentrated on her coffee.

«My little sister Willow used to do the same thing,» Whip said finally. «My brothers and I decided mothers must teach it to girls along with how to make good biscuits.»

«What’s that?»

«Tying men up with words.»

Shannon didn’t hide her smile before Whip saw it.

«But we do get even,» Whip drawled.

«Do tell. How?»

Whip simply smiled.

«Tell me about those gold claims, honey girl.»

«There’s not much to tell.»

«Start with where they are,» he suggested dryly.

«Up Avalanche Creek.»

«Which fork?»

«East. Way, way up, where it comes out of a shattered rock wall.»

Whip grunted. «Rugged country. Some of the roughest I’ve seen.»

«Amen,» she said. «Each time I climb up there, I get dizzy and breathless and I just know I’m going to fall.»

«You have no business going up to such a dangerous place!»

Shannon ignored Whip.

«A grizzly got one of the mules there,» she said, «the second summer I was in Echo Basin. After that, Silent John packed in supplies, brought Razorback home, and walked back to the claims.»

«Did you go with him?»

«Sometimes. Sometimes I stayed at the cabin. I didn’t know from day to day what I would be doing. That’s the way he wanted it. He said a hunter can’t kill game that doesn’t have a pattern to its movements.»

«Cautious man.»

Shannon shrugged. «It was just Silent John’s way.»

«Did he have any other work besides prospecting?» Whip asked, curious if Shannon knew about her husband’s other life as a bounty hunter.

«No.»

«Didn’t find much gold for all the time he was gone, did he?»

«We never went hungry.»

«Didn’t he work for other people if the prospecting was slow?» Whip probed.

«Silent John? Hardly. He hated people. Anyway, who would hire him? He was wiry but he wasn’t what you would call a strong man. And he was old. He would be more likely to hire something done than to hire out himself to do another man’s labor.»

«There are some jobs that don’t need a lot of strength,» Whip said dryly.

Shannon frowned. «Silent John never would have tended bar or been a storekeeper or whatever. He was no good with people.»

Whip looked at Shannon’s clear, innocent eyes and realized that she hadn’t the faintest idea that she was the widow of one of the most feared man-hunters in the Colorado Territory.

«You mentioned that Silent John had several claims,» Whip said, changing the subject. «Which was the best one?»

«Rifle Sight.»

«Which one is that?»

«The highest one,» Shannon said. «Way up against the rock wall, a ravine not much bigger than the notch on a rifle sight, and a steep drop-off at the mouth of the ravine.»

«Hard rock mining?»

Shannon nodded.

«Damn,» Whip said. «Tunnels?»

«Just one.»

«One is too many.» He grimaced. «After digging Reno out of a cave-in last year, I don’t hold much love for tunnels and mines.»

«We could try the Chute first.»

«What’s that?»

«Another gold claim. It’s in the belly of an avalanche chute.»

Whip looked out the window. Last winter’s plentiful snows still gleamed on the peaks.

«I’ll pass on that one, thanks,» he said. «There’s too good a chance of an avalanche.»

«Silent John usually worked that one later in the summer,» Shannon agreed, «after most of the snow was gone.»

«What of the other claims?»

«There’s just one more that I know of.»

«What’s it like?»

«Cold. Wet. It’s a miserable crack in the rock where rain collects.»

«Silent John wasn’t a man for comfort, was he?»

«He never said one way or the other.»

Whip grunted and gazed past his coffee cup, considering the claims.

«None of the claims sound real appetizing,» he said finally. «But then, if I liked digging gold, I’d have stayed in the west with Reno years ago instead of going on to China. Is there any feed for horses up at Rifle Sight?»

«Some. There’s a meadow a quarter mile from the mine.»

Whip grunted. «Grizzlies?»

«That’s where the other mule died.»

«I don’t think Sugarfoot will have a problem that way.»

«Sugarfoot?»

«My gelding,» Whip said absently. «They cut him too late, so he still thinks he’s king of the mountain.»

Shannon waited while Whip held his coffee cup and stared into a distance only he could see. As she waited, she memorized the arching line of his fair eyebrows, the catlike tilt of his gray eyes, and the clean planes of his cheekbones and jaw. His mustache gleamed like captive sunlight above his lip. There was a faint sheen of coffee on his mouth.

«What are you thinking?» Whip asked softly.

«That I’d like to lick the coffee from your lips.»

Hearing her own words, Shannon flushed.

Whip’s breath came out with a low sound that could have been a curse.

«Dangerous words, honey girl.»

«I’m…sorry. I didn’t realize how it would sound until I said it.»

«Give me your hand,» Whip said softly.

Hesitantly Shannon held out her hand to him. He turned her palm up and inhaled deeply.

«Spearmint,» he said huskily. «God, I’ll die remembering the sweet scent of you.»

«Whip,» she whispered, her throat aching.

Whip held Shannon’s palm to his mustache, rubbing softly against her sensitive skin.

«I’d give you the kiss we both want,» he said, touching his tongue to her skin, «but if I feel your mouth open beneath mine right now…»

Slowly, thoroughly, Whip tasted Shannon’s palm.

«If I felt your mouth,» he said in a deep, low voice, «I’d start unbuttoning clothes.»

He bit her tenderly, felt her tremble, heard her whimper with passion and surprise.

«If I start unbuttoning clothes,» Whip said, «I’d have you right here, right now, sitting astride my thighs, and I’d watch you ride me all the way to the sun.»

Whip looked up, pinning Shannon with blazing gray eyes.

«Would you like that, honey girl?»