okay?”
Because Shannon was alone, she made no attempt to hide her hunger and fatigue. Her posture and her tone of voice showed just how worn out she felt.
Other than a few scraps of jerky just after shehad gotten up, there had been nothing to put in her stomach all day long. The jerky she had stuffed in her pocket that morning had ended up in Cherokee’s soup, along with whatever tender greens Shannon had found growing near the old woman’s cabin.
It was a better dinner than Shannon would have for herself. She had been hunting ever since she left Cherokee’s cabin. But no matter how hard Shannon had tried, no matter how stealthily she had followed tracks, the deer always fled before she was close enough to risk shooting one of her few precious shells.
Glumly Shannon started picking her way down the rise where the back wall of the cabin was the mountainside itself. Somewhere beneath her feet was the cave where a hot spring breathed warmth and moisture into the darkness, but no sign of that showed on the surface. Off to the left was a pile of jumbled rocks where Silent John had dug out a second, hidden exit to the cabin. Nothing of that showed on the surface, either.
Prettyface trotted ahead of Shannon, sniffing the wind that swirled through the clearing. Suddenly the hound froze. His ears flattened to his skull and his lips lifted in a soundless snarl.
Instantly Shannon put her back to a tree, raised the shotgun, and began searching the area ahead, her weariness forgotten.
Prettyface reacted like that only in the presence of men.
Someone was near her cabin. Perhaps even inside it, hiding, waiting for her to walk in unawares.
Trying to make no noise, Shannon angled down the rocky, wooded rise. When the ground flattened,she began circling the cabin without ever leaving the forest.
Prettyface showed no interest in any of the scents he found along the way. Only the cabin held his attention.
When Shannon finally circled to the far side of the clearing, she found out the reason for the dog’s reaction. A freshly killed, fully dressed-out buck was hanging from the crossed logs at one corner of the cabin.
Silent John had used the same logs to hang game on while he sliced it up to be dried.
“Silent John?” Shannon whispered.
Suddenly Prettyface whipped around and looked back up the steep rise that they had just descended. His ruff stood on end.
Shannon turned and looked, too. There, silhouetted against the crimson and orange of sunset, was a man on horseback. The breadth of his shoulders was unmistakable to Shannon, as was the shape coiled around his right shoulder.
Whip.
He tipped his hat to her, then reined his big gray horse around. Moments later he vanished down the far side of the rise.
Though Shannon waited for a long time, breath held, Whip didn’t reappear.
Finally Prettyface yawned, prodded Shannon with his nose and looked longingly toward the cabin.
“All right, boy. Guess Whip knows better than to come back now that we’re onto him.”
As she spoke the words, Shannon told herself that she wasn’t disappointed that Whip had gone.
But she knew that she was lying.
Shannon also told herself that she would leave Whip’s gift to rot where it hung.
But she knew that was also a lie. She was too hungry, and the little bit of flour she had brought back from Holler Creek would be gone all too soon.
Half grateful, half angry, thoroughly unsettled, Shannon went to the cabin. She pulled Cherokee’s gift from her jacket pocket. The chemise gleamed through an opening in the tissue.
He gets one look at you in that little bit of satin and lace and he’ll forget all about hitting the trail alone. You’ll be married before you can say aye, yes, or maybe.
A curious, tingling sensation went through Shannon at the thought of wearing the chemise, feeling its cool softness against her breasts.
“Would I look pretty enough to hold him?” Shannon whispered. “And would he be gentle with me?”
There was
Because Shannon was alone, she made no attempt to hide her hunger and fatigue. Her posture and her tone of voice showed just how worn out she felt.
Other than a few scraps of jerky just after shehad gotten up, there had been nothing to put in her stomach all day long. The jerky she had stuffed in her pocket that morning had ended up in Cherokee’s soup, along with whatever tender greens Shannon had found growing near the old woman’s cabin.
It was a better dinner than Shannon would have for herself. She had been hunting ever since she left Cherokee’s cabin. But no matter how hard Shannon had tried, no matter how stealthily she had followed tracks, the deer always fled before she was close enough to risk shooting one of her few precious shells.
Glumly Shannon started picking her way down the rise where the back wall of the cabin was the mountainside itself. Somewhere beneath her feet was the cave where a hot spring breathed warmth and moisture into the darkness, but no sign of that showed on the surface. Off to the left was a pile of jumbled rocks where Silent John had dug out a second, hidden exit to the cabin. Nothing of that showed on the surface, either.
Prettyface trotted ahead of Shannon, sniffing the wind that swirled through the clearing. Suddenly the hound froze. His ears flattened to his skull and his lips lifted in a soundless snarl.
Instantly Shannon put her back to a tree, raised the shotgun, and began searching the area ahead, her weariness forgotten.
Prettyface reacted like that only in the presence of men.
Someone was near her cabin. Perhaps even inside it, hiding, waiting for her to walk in unawares.
Trying to make no noise, Shannon angled down the rocky, wooded rise. When the ground flattened,she began circling the cabin without ever leaving the forest.
Prettyface showed no interest in any of the scents he found along the way. Only the cabin held his attention.
When Shannon finally circled to the far side of the clearing, she found out the reason for the dog’s reaction. A freshly killed, fully dressed-out buck was hanging from the crossed logs at one corner of the cabin.
Silent John had used the same logs to hang game on while he sliced it up to be dried.
“Silent John?” Shannon whispered.
Suddenly Prettyface whipped around and looked back up the steep rise that they had just descended. His ruff stood on end.
Shannon turned and looked, too. There, silhouetted against the crimson and orange of sunset, was a man on horseback. The breadth of his shoulders was unmistakable to Shannon, as was the shape coiled around his right shoulder.
Whip.
He tipped his hat to her, then reined his big gray horse around. Moments later he vanished down the far side of the rise.
Though Shannon waited for a long time, breath held, Whip didn’t reappear.
Finally Prettyface yawned, prodded Shannon with his nose and looked longingly toward the cabin.
“All right, boy. Guess Whip knows better than to come back now that we’re onto him.”
As she spoke the words, Shannon told herself that she wasn’t disappointed that Whip had gone.
But she knew that she was lying.
Shannon also told herself that she would leave Whip’s gift to rot where it hung.
But she knew that was also a lie. She was too hungry, and the little bit of flour she had brought back from Holler Creek would be gone all too soon.
Half grateful, half angry, thoroughly unsettled, Shannon went to the cabin. She pulled Cherokee’s gift from her jacket pocket. The chemise gleamed through an opening in the tissue.
He gets one look at you in that little bit of satin and lace and he’ll forget all about hitting the trail alone. You’ll be married before you can say aye, yes, or maybe.
A curious, tingling sensation went through Shannon at the thought of wearing the chemise, feeling its cool softness against her breasts.
“Would I look pretty enough to hold him?” Shannon whispered. “And would he be gentle with me?”
There was
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