Whip was tempted to get up behind Shannon, ride to the cabin, and to hell with the venison. Instead, he stalked over and picked up the backpack. The sheer determination Shannon had shown in hunting the deer moved Whip in ways he couldn’t express; the venison meant survival to her in the most fundamental sense of all. Though it infuriated Whip that Shannon had gone after deer in the first place, he couldn’t deny her the fruits of her hunt.
“Here,” he said roughly.
Whip shoved the backpack into Shannon’s lap and swung up behind her.
As soon as Whip put his arm around Shannon to take the reins, he realized that she was colder than he had thought.
Dangerously cold.
Beneath his heavy, loose jacket, Shannon’s whole body was racked by convulsive shivering.
“Son of a bitch,” Whip said harshly.
His other arm came around Shannon and he set his spurs to the big gray. Sugarfoot took off down the slope at a pace just short of reckless. As far as Whip was concerned, it was much too slow, but common sense told him otherwise.
It was only a few minutes until they reached the cabin, but Shannon’s shivering was worse by then. If it hadn’t been for Whip’s strong arms holding her in the saddle, she wouldn’t have been able to stay on.
Prettyface was waiting patiently by the cabin door.
Whip dismounted, lifted Shannon off, and carried her to the cabin. Despite her shivering, she hung on to the venison as though it was life itself.
“I wish to God you had as much sense as you have sheer grit,” Whip said as he kicked the cabin door open.
Prettyface shot through the opening. Shannon shivered violently and said nothing.
It was dead cold inside the cabin. A fire had been laid in the stove, waiting for a match to bring heat and life to the room.
Prettyface didn’t mind the lack of warmth. He simply went to his corner and stretched out on a ragged saddle blanket with a groan of pleasure.
Whip put Shannon on her bed, threw the bearskin blanket over her, and went to light the fire in the stove. His hands were so cold that it took several tries before he could hold and strike a match without breaking it. Once touched by the match, flames caught and held very quickly.
That wasn’t fast enough to suit Whip. He was bigger than Shannon, he hadn’t been in the water as long as she had, and he was damned cold.
It took Whip five tries to light the lantern. When he turned toward the bed once more, his glance fell on the dry goods cupboard that led to the hot spring.
Without hesitation Whip went to the bed, scooped up Shannon, grabbed the lantern, and went through the cupboard to the darkness beyond. The warmth of the cave was like a benediction.
Whip set the lantern on the wooden box that served as a table. Golden light spilled over everything as Whip took off Shannon’s soaked boots, the bearskin blanket, and the jacket he had wrapped her in. Ruthlessly he stripped off her clothes, ripping the old cloth in his haste to get her free of its icy folds.
Shannon neither spoke nor focused her eyes on Whip while he undressed her. She simply shuddered convulsively, repeatedly.
“Shannon, can you hear me? Shannon!”
Slowly her eyes focused.
Whip let out a breath of relief.
“You’re going to have a nice, warm bath,” he said. “Then all the shivering will stop and you’ll be fine. Do you understand?”
Shannon’s head made a motion that could have been a nod. Her teeth chattered audibly until she clenched her jaw.
“That’s it, honey girl. Keep on fighting the cold. Don’t let it put you under.”
As Whip spoke, he wrenched off his own soaked boots and clothing. Moments later he carried Shannon into the pool. The broad bench Silent John had chipped and hammered out of stone was too shallow for Whip to get warm water up as high as his breastbone, but it was just right for Shannon.
When Shannon was on his lap, the water came up to the hollow of her throat. The hot spring swirled gently around Shannon, engulfing her with heat.
Breath hissed through Whip’s teeth at the touch of the water. Though he knew it wasn’t really hot in this part of the pool, for the first few moments the water felt like fire against his chilled skin.
“Are you all right?” Whip asked. “Does this hurt you?”
Shannon shook her head.
For a time there was only the soft hiss of the lantern and the subtle currents of warmth drawing the chill from their bodies. Whip’s arms surrounded Shannon, holding her upright against his chest while she shivered.
Whip could tell when Shannon’s brain started to thaw out. Though she was still shivering, she stiffened and tried to draw away from him. His arms locked, holding her against his chest.
“P-Prettyface,” she said.
“Prettyface is fine. Hell, he’s better off than you are. No need to jump out and check on him. You’re still cold enough to shiver icicles. Stay put until you’re warm.”
Shannon didn’t argue. It was too much effort to speak. She simply nodded.
But she didn’t rest against Whip’s chest again, either. She was remembering all too clearly how he had pushed her away the last time she had been close. She wasn’t going to put herself in that position again. It had hurt too much.
It still hurt.
Whip’s mouth settled into a tight line that had nothing to do with being cold. He had liked the feeling of Shannon leaning on him. He had liked the gentle weight of her on his chest and the fragrant silk of her hair brushing against his shoulder with each shift of her body.
But when he tried to draw her dose again, she stiffened and pushed away.
After a time the hot spring won out against the chill left by the icy meltwater. Shannon’s shivering subsided and her body slowly relaxed.
Whip could tell the precise instant when Shannon’s skin thawed out enough for her to recognize what he had known ever since he climbed into the pool with her—they were both naked.
“Let me g-go,” Shannon said stiffly.
“You’re still shivering.”
A tremor went through her that had nothing to do with cold.
“I’m f-fine,” she whispered.
“Good,” Whip said coolly. “Then maybe you can tell me what the hell you were doing floundering around the countryside when you should have been snug and warm and safe in your bed?”
“Hunting.”
“I figured that out. What I didn’t figure out was why.”
Shannon’s head came up. For the first time she saw Whip’s eyes. For all his outer calm, he was furious.
No news in that, Shannon told herself. Seems like he’s been furious with me ever since I admitted to loving him.
“Why do people usually hunt?” Shannon asked.
“Do you think I’m such a bastard that I won’t hunt for you?”
Shannon’s surprise showed dearly in her wide sapphire eyes.
“Of course not,” she said.
“If I hunted for you, would you take what I gave you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why in the name of God were you out hunting?” Whip demanded.
“You won’t always be here to hunt for me, so I have to learn to fend for myself.”
“You would do one hell of a lot better fending for yourself with Cal and Willy.”
“By your estimate, yes.”
“But not by yours,” he retorted.
“Not by mine,” she agreed. “Besides, I can’t just walk out on Cherokee and Prettyface.”
“Prettyface would warm to the ranch.”
“Cherokee wouldn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked first thing after I got back.”
It was Whip’s turn to be surprised. “You did?”
Shannon nodded.
“I had a long time to think about how sad and angry you looked when you rode off,” Shannon said simply. “I decided I could go back and—and try—try living someone else’s life.”
> Whip’s eyelids flinched at the pain in Shannon’s voice.
“If—if it didn’t work, the cabin would still be here,” Shannon said, “but I couldn’t go unless Cherokee was taken care of, too.”
Relief coursed through Whip. The arms holding Shannon gentled. He brushed his lips lightly over her hair, so lightly that she couldn’t feel the caress.
“That tough old boy has been taking care of himself twice as long as you’ve been alive,” Whip said. “He’ll do fine up here alone. You won’t.”
“Wrong,” Shannon said succinctly. “She has been taking care of herself for a long time. She likes it that way. That’s the way it’s going to stay.”
“She?”
“She,” said Shannon. “Cherokee is a woman.”
“Judas H. Priest.” Whip shook his head in disbelief. “You sure?”
Shannon nodded.
“So stop worrying about me, yondering man,” she said in a low voice. “A woman can make it just fine alone, even all the way up Avalanche Creek.”
“No. You won’t survive the winter alone.”
There was no inflection in Whip’s voice, simply an absolute certainty that said more than any shouted tirade could have.
“I survived last winter,” Shannon said, “and the one before that, and the one before that.”
Whip tried to speak, couldn’t, and tried again.
“What do you mean?” he asked roughly.
“Silent John disappeared three winters ago.”
For a moment Whip was motionless. Then he shook himself as though he had been hit with a board.
He felt like he had.
“You’ve wintered alone here three times?” Whip asked harshly.
“Yes.”
Whip wanted to believe Shannon was lying, but he knew all the way to his soul that she wasn’t.
“Then Silent John must be dead,” Whip said.
Shannon nodded and closed her eyes. “He’s buried in a landslide up Avalanche Creek.”
“How long have you known?” Whip demanded angrily.
“I guessed he was probably dead the second winter. But I wasn’t truly certain until just a bit ago, when Cherokee told me she had backtracked Razorback to a fresh landslide when Silent John didn’t come back from the claims. His tracks went in, but none came out.”
“Then nothing’s holding you here but your own stubbornness,” Whip said.
“There’s nothing holding anyone to life but sheer stubbornness,” Shannon said wearily.
“You’re planning on staying here.”
Shannon nodded.
“Damn you!” Whip said roughly. “You’re trying to tie me down!”
“No! I’m just tell—”
“How can I leave you alone and helpless up here?” he asked, his eyes as hard as his voice. “I can’t and you know it! You’re counting on me to—”
“I’m not helpless!” Shannon interrupted. “I’m not counting on you for one damned thing! I don’t need you!”
A turmoil of emotions twisted in Whip, tightening his throat, making it raw. The cold he had felt in the stream was nothing to the freezing emptiness that came to him when he thought of Shannon lying dead in the high country, her grave as unmarked as Silent John’s.
“The hell you don’t need me,” Whip said in a low, savage voice. “You nearly died out there today.”
For the space of two long breaths, Shannon looked at the man who was so close to her, yet so very far away. Lantern light made his hair burn like the sun and turned the icy clarity of his eyes into a quicksilver mystery. Nothing had ever called to Shannon the way Whip did. She would have given the blood from her body to see herself reflected in his eyes, in his heart, in his soul.
She would have sold her own soul to be a distant sunrise calling his name…and to hear him answer.
“Yes,” Shannon said calmly. “I could have died. But so what? The stars would have come out tonight and the sun would have risen tomorrow morning. The only difference would be that I wouldn’t see it.” She smiled oddly. “Not much difference, really. About the same as this.”
Shannon lifted her hand from the water. Liquid swirled and then flowed back as though her hand had never been there, never known the pool’s warmth.
Whip looked at the dark water and felt a dull knife sawing through his soul, cutting him in two.
“See?” she asked softly. “No real difference. Now do what the water did, Whip. Let me go.”
“You’re still shivering.”
“I’ll be fine as soon as I get some clothes on.”
“The water is warmer than those rags you wear.”
The protectiveness of Whip’s arms around Shannon said much more than his words did. He didn’t love her, but he cared about her safety.
It was a heady feeling to be cared for, to be cherished, to know that she wasn’t alone, if only for a time.
The temptation to give in and rest her head against Whip’s chest undermined Shannon’s determination to stand alone. She longed to lean against Whip’s heat and strength, to pull him around her like a living blanket, to warm herself with his abundant fire.
And then she remembered what Whip had said the last time she reached out for him.
Don’t touch me.
Echoes of shame and humiliation swept through Shannon in waves. Abruptly she pushed at Whip’s arms, trying to get free of him.
“What the hell?” Whip asked. “Why are you fighting me? You act like I’m going to rape you!”
Shannon made a sound that was almost laughter and not quite a sob.
“You wouldn’t have to rape me and you know it,” she said bitterly.
A shudder went through Whip.
“Dangerous words, honey girl.”
“Why? You don’t want me. You can’t even bear my touch.”
The pain and shame in Shannon’s voice shattered Whip’s restraint. He moved suddenly, scattering water in all directions as he captured one of her hands. He dragged her hand below the warm surface of the water and pressed her fingers around the blunt, heavy proof of his hunger for her. His breath hissed in, then came out with a low groan.
“Now,” Whip said through his teeth, “tell me again that I don’t want you to touch me. I’d kill to have you and you damn well know it.”
Shocked sapphire eyes looked at Whip.
“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” Shannon asked raggedly. “I’m not asking you to love me. I’m not begging you to stay with me. I just want…I just want to be alive, really alive, before I die. I’m a widow who was never a bride, and if you don’t take me I’ll go to my grave without knowing what it is to give myself to the man I love.”
Abruptly Whip dragged Shannon’s hand free of his aching flesh and released her.
“I can’t,” he said.
Shannon gave a broken laugh and ran her hand back down Whip’s body.
“You most certainly can,” she said.
Whip’s breath hissed as Shannon explored the rigid evidence of his capability.
“You’re a virgin,” he said through his teeth.
“I’m a widow.”
“I could make you pregnant.”
“I’d love to have your child.”
“I couldn’t leave if you were pregnant,” Whip said. “Is that what you want? To force me to stay?”
“No. You would hate me.”
“I’d hate myself. Oh, God…stop.”
Gently, relentlessly, Whip recaptured Shannon’s exploring hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss he gave her palm was fierce, edged with teeth. It sent a shaft of pure desire through Shannon’s body.
“What did you do with your other widows?” she asked in a husky voice.
A tinge of red appeared on Whip’s cheekbones.
“Honey girl, you ask the damnedest questions.”
“Were they all too old to get pregnant?” Shannon persisted.
Belatedly Whip realized that Shannon wasn’t asking for a detailed descriptio
n of how he coupled with women. He let out a sigh, half laughing and half on fire at Shannon’s combination of innocence and breathtaking honesty.
“No, they weren’t too old to get pregnant,” Whip said. “They were old enough to know how not to get pregnant.”
“Celibacy.”
The disappointment in Shannon’s voice made Whip ache with laughter and a reckless kind of passion he had never known before he met her.
“There are other ways,” he said.
“Truly? What are they?”
“Not coupling.”
“Sounds like celibacy to me.”
Whip’s smile was slow and very male. “Not quite, honey girl. More like half a loaf. Like you under the tarpaulin with hail hammering down.”
A shudder of memory and anticipation went through Shannon.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
“It’s a hell of a lot better than nothing.”
“But…”
“But?” Whip asked, gathering Shannon closer.
“I want to touch you, too. I want to make the world catch fire around you,” Shannon whispered, remembering how it had been for her. “I want to watch you burn. I want to pleasure you until you cry out and the world goes a hot kind of black that’s shot through with all the colors of the rainbow.”
Whip’s heart kicked and blood slammed through his veins. He could barely force words past the heady rush of passion that was closing his throat.
“Did I make you feel like that, honey girl?”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “Only better. I don’t have words to tell you. Except…”
Whip nuzzled Shannon’s hair and made a questioning sound.
“I wanted more,” Shannon admitted. “I wanted to feel your body all hot and strong around me. I wanted…” Her voice faltered. “I don’t know what I wanted. I just knew that there was something missing.”
Every muscle in Whip’s body clenched at Shannon’s words. His breath wedged, then hissed out through his teeth.
He knew exactly what had been missing.
“Is that wrong of me?” Shannon asked when Whip didn’t speak.
“No, it’s not wrong,” Whip said huskily. “It’s damned wonderful. Some women are happy just to be petted a bit from time to time, but men want more.”