Only Love

11

W HIP slammed the pick into rock and felt the shock wave all the way down his arms to his ankles. Stone splintered and sheared away from bedrock, showering him with biting pieces of grit in the process.

Nothing useful lay behind the rock Whip had hammered from the end of the short tu

Reno might be able to make this sorry claim pay, but not me.

No wonder Silent John took to man-hunting. It’s a damned sight more interesting than hammering on stone.

Despite Whip’s sour thoughts, he kept on swinging the pick with all the power in him. He hoped if he worked long enough, hard enough, his body wouldn’t stand up and howl every time he thought of Sha

Sun-warmed honey in my hands.

Steel pick slammed into the mountain of stone.

A virgin.

Whip swung harder. Rock chips exploded.

Hotter, sweeter, wilder than any woman I’ve ever known.

Steel met stone and rang like a bell.

A goddamned virgin!

Whip tried to drown out the endless circling of his thoughts with the sound of steel hammering into rock, but it was impossible. He hadn’t been in control of his own mind since two days before, when he had knelt between a virgin’s legs and learned more about sensuality than he had since he was a man-sized fourteen and a widow woman had hired him to make repairs on her hayloft.

The pick struck, stone shattered, and new rock surfaces appeared. They looked even less promising than the stone Whip had been hammering on.

With a weary curse, he stopped, wiped sweat and rock dust from his face, and lifted the pick again. He didn’t want to go back to Sha

Rock chips exploded, scoring Whip’s skin. He barely noticed. He was too busy wrestling with his conscience and his body’s driving need for a virgin widow who would give him everything he asked for as a man and take from him everything he had to give to a woman.

And never ask for more.

That was what was riding Whip with long spurs, digging into his pride and conscience. If Sha

The pick whistled down, sliced through air and slammed into the unyielding stone. The shock of the impact rang in the silence and traveled up through the hickory handle with numbing force.

Whip barely noticed. Whatever punishment the mountain delivered was lost in the larger punishment of the vise of hunger and conscience that was squeezing him mercilessly with every breath, every heartbeat.

He knew that Sha

What possible use is a man who puts a baby in you and then flits off around the earth until it’s time to come back and put another baby in?

I will never marry a man who wants me less than he wants a sunrise he’s never seen.

Whip believed Sha

And Sha

Someday I’ll thank you for teaching me how to build a cage of sunlight. But not today.

Sha

Whip didn’t want Sha

Now she didn’t want to love him, either.

Go away, yondering man. You don’t want my body, you don’t want my love, you don’t want anything but the sunrise you’ve never seen. Go chase it and leave me be.

Whip pla

The pick attacked cold stone, rang harshly, and retreated only to return again, even more violently. Yet no matter how hard Whip worked, no matter how much solid rock he reduced to rubble, the Rifle Sight claim showed about as much hope of gold as a mule’s hind end.

With a searing word of disgust, Whip stopped hammering and leaned on the pick handle. He talked to the ungiving stone the way a teamster talks to his animals, describing in harsh, profane, and inventive detail just how aggravated and disappointed he was with life in general and this chunk of mountain in particular.

When Whip ran out of breath, he wiped his forehead, set aside the pick in favor of his rifle, and headed back to camp even though there was still plenty of sun in the sky. He was tired of wearing himself out on a claim that a blind man could see was as useless as teats on a boar hog.

Rifle on one shoulder and coiled lash on the other, Whip strode down out of the grim, cold notch where meltwater collected and ran down to Grizzly Meadow. He couldn’t see the meadow from where he was, but he knew it was there.

Just as Whip knew Sha

As Whip hurriedly descended the rubble slope at the mouth of the ravine, rocks still cold with winter gave way to unexpected beauty. Willow, stunted aspen, and wind-harried spruce clung in shades of green to every pocket of soil and warmth. The icy rill that flowed from the ravine was joined by other ribbons of meltwater until they became a small creek flowing into Grizzly Meadow. Wildflowers bloomed in scarlet and purple and yellow and white as rocky slopes gentled into a high mountain meadow.

Smiling, Whip emerged from shadow into the meadow’s pouring sunlight, expecting to hear Sha

I’m coming in early, but Sha

Unless something went wrong. Another grizzly or…

A cold that had nothing to do with sweaty clothing went through Whip. Eyes as clear and icy as meltwater probed every shadow of the meadow.

Whip wasn’t even aware of moving until he felt the worn, hard butt of the bullwhip nestled in his left hand and heard the restless seething of the lash at his feet. His right hand was closed around the rifle, his finger was on the trigger, and his eyes were looking for a target. If he found one, he wouldn’t have to switch hands. He had learned long ago the value of being able to shoot with either hand.

There. At the far end of the meadow. Movement.

Smoothly Whip pivoted to face whatever was coming toward him.

Feminine laughter rippled through the quiet summer meadow, laughter bubbling as clearly as the creek itself. Suddenly Sha