She kissed Whip’s eyelids, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth.
«I never should have touched you,» Whip said, shivering beneath the delicate caresses.
«You never lied to me,» Shannon said, kissing him gently, repeatedly. «You warned me every step of the way that you were a yondering man. I didn’t understand at first. Then I didn’t believe. But I do now.»
«I should be horsewhipped for taking your innocence,» Whip said roughly. «No decent man would have.»
«I wanted you. You were kind and gentle when other men were savage and crude. I couldn’t have asked for a more decent man to teach me passion.»
«I didn’t want you to love me,» Whip whispered, for his throat was closed around emotions he refused to release. «I didn’t want to hurt you.»
Shannon smiled sadly. «I can hardly be the first widow who watched you leave with love in her eyes.»
«You’re the first one whose sorrow cut me until I bled and just kept on bleeding.»
There was pain in Whip’s tone, and accusation, and bafflement.
«You can no more change my loving you than I can change your not loving me,» Shannon said. «It’s just the way it is, like a river running down to the sea or smoke rising into the sky or the earth turning, carrying you away from me toward the sunrise you’ve never seen.»
Shannon’s name came from Whip’s mouth in a broken rush that was nearly a cry.
«Whip,» she whispered. «Let’s not waste any more breath on what can’t be changed. Love me in the only way you can while you’re here. Join your body with mine and take me to the sun. We have so little time left….»
Whip’s breath came in with a swift, ripping sound as Shannon’s hands slid down his body and cradled his very different, very aroused flesh.
«No,» he said thickly. «It’s too dangerous. Too many days have gone by.»
«Then at least let me bring you ease.»
With an anguished sound, Whip dragged Shannon’s hands back up his body.
«No,» he said curtly. «Don’t you understand?I don’t trust myself. I start out telling myself that we’ll just pet each other a bit, no more. Just mutual ease and comfort. Then your breath begins to break and you tremble and I feel the honey and fire between your legs and all I want to do is bury myself in you.»
Shannon’s breath caught.
«And that’s just what I do each time,» Whip said bitterly. «I lock myself inside you and the honey flows and the fire burns and nothing else is real. No sorrow, no pain, no thought, nothing but you and me and the kind of white-hot pleasure I’ll die remembering.»
«It’s the same for me,» Shannon said against Whip’s mouth. «Be a part of me, Whip. I love the way it feels when you’re deep inside me.»
«Haven’t you been listening? It’s not safe! I don’t trust myself not to make you pregnant!»
A shudder went through Shannon, hunger and grief combined.
A baby.
God, I want Whip’s child. But he doesn’t want to leave that much of himself behind.
Then Shannon remembered Cherokee’s odd gift.
«Cherokee gave me something so I wouldn’t conceive,» Shannon said huskily.
«What?» Whip asked, startled.
«Over there.» Shannon pointed. «On the shelf. The vial and the little bag.»
Whip gave her a strange look. Then he stood with swift grace and went to the shelf. Carefully he opened the bag and tipped it over his open hand. Tiny scraps of sponge rustled onto his palm. He took the stopper out of the vial and sniffed. His eyes widened as he smelled jumper and spearmint combined, plus a whiff of something sharp he couldn’t name.
«I’ll be damned,» he said.
«But I don’t know what to do with any of it,» Shannon said. «Do you?»
He nodded.
«Oh, good,» she said, relieved. «What do I do?»
Whip selected a sponge, doused it thoroughly with the pungent oil and turned toward Shannon with a lazy, very male smile.
«I’ll show you,» he said.
She blinked, startled by Whip’s transformation. Gone was the wildness of an animal brought to bay. His elemental hunger and his certainty of ecstasy were all but tangible.
«Don’t be nervous, honey girl. You’ll love learning how to use this. And I’ll love showing you.»
«WHIP?» Shannon called up the ridge from the cabin doorway. «Lunch is ready. Are you finished dressing out that elk yet?»
Prettyface’s head appeared from the corner of the meadow where he had been dining on scraps from Whip’s latest hunt. She had heard Prettyface bark wildly earlier, followed by Whip’s stern command for silence.
«Go on,» Shannon called, waving her hand at the dog. «It’s Whip I’m looking for, not you.»
Prettyface vanished back into the tall meadow grass.
«Whip? Where are you?»
No answer came from the meadow, where three hobbled mules grazed. No answer came from the woodpile, which now held little but chips. No answer came from the lean-to, where strips of venison and fish cured over a slow, smoky fire. No answer came from the ridgeline, where trees stood tall and windswept, lifting green arms to the sky.
Abruptly Shannon spun back toward the meadow, finally realizing what was wrong.
Whip’s horses weren’t there.
«Whip can’t have gone,» Shannon whispered. «It’s been only four days since we left Reno and Eve at the mine. They haven’t come back with news of gold.»
Surely Whip hasn’t left.
Oh, God, not yet. Not yet!
Shannon leaned against the door frame as her bones turned to sand and her skin went cold. Her hands clutched at the ragged hem of the shirt she wore. The worn cloth gave way beneath the pressure of her fingers, ripping with a muted sound.
«Whip, where are you?»
The ghostly keening of panpipes breathed over Shannon, whispering to her of exotic mysteries, distant sunrises and the unbound soul of a yondering man.
The haunting music came from behind Shannon. Inside the cabin.
She drew a swift breath and spun around.
There was no one behind her.
«Whip? Where are you?»
The trembling harmony of the pipes curled around Shannon like an invisible leash, pulling her toward the cupboard that opened into the cave.
Of course, Shannon thought in relief. Whip just came in the back way after dressing out that last elk. He’s probably washing off in the hot spring pool right now.
Quickly Shannon shut and barred the cabin door. When she opened the cupboard passage, light from a single candle danced in silent welcome. As she closed the cupboard behind her, the husky keening of the panpipes faded into a spectral whisper, then into silence.
Shannon searched darkness that seethed with mist from the hot spring. She couldn’t see Whip. Impatiently she kicked off her boots and socks and tugged off the leather belt that held up her worn men’s pants.
«Whip, are you in the pool?»
There was a hissing whisper as a long lash curled out of the darkness. Shannon felt a tug at her shirt and heard a soft tearing sound. Before she could do more than gasp, she sensed another swift movement, another tug, then another and another. Very quickly her old flannel shirt vanished, floating to the rocky floor in uneven ribbons.
Shannon made a surprised sound as the bullwhip’s supple lash licked over her trousers. There was a soft pop followed by a metallic clink as the single button on her pants hit the ground.
She looked around and saw nothing but twists of steam and the dark curl of the lash returning. Though she saw it coming, she still made a startled noise when the leather whip delicately, precisely, sheared cloth away from her body without touching her skin at all.
She shivered as the remnants of her trousers fell to the stone floor, leaving her wearing the shabby pantalets that were her only underwear.
«W-Whip?»
«I wanted to do this the first time I saw you dressed in ragpicker’s clothes that were an insult to your beauty. But I knew the bullwhip would frighten you then. Does it frighten you now?»