Elizabeth Lowell - Only Love

«Boys, I’ve known outhouses with cleaner mouths than yours,» Whip said. «I’m purely sick of your filth. If you all want to keep a tongue in your head, put a bridle on it when you’re around a woman. Hear me?»

Slowly the Culpeppers nodded.

«Good,» Whip said. «Shuck your irons.»

Four revolvers hit the floor.

«Leave that girl alone from now on,» Whip said. «Hear me?»

One by one the Culpeppers nodded sullenly.

«I’ve given all my warnings,» Whip continued, «and it’s more than the likes of you deserve. Now get out of my sight.»

Dazed, uncertain, Beau allowed himself to be pulled upright by Darcy. Clim helped Floyd to his feet.

The front door slammed open. The four Culpeppers staggered out into the cold wind. None of them looked back. They had seen as much of the big stranger as they wanted.

The door banged shut. The room was empty but for Whip and the storekeeper. Whip looked at the countertop. The flour and salt were gone. He turned to Murphy. The storekeeper’s hands were in full sight and empty of all but grime.

«You be the one they call Whip,» Murphy said.

Whip said nothing. He was looking through the mercantile’s dirty window. The Culpepper boys were mounting up and riding out on their lean racing mules.

Shannon was nowhere in sight.

«Leastwise,» Murphy said, «folks done called you Whip ever since you skun out them Canyon City boys for talking dirt to that half-breed Wolfe Lonetree’s white wife.»

Whip turned and looked at Murphy with eyes the color of winter.

«Where is Shannon?» Whip asked.

«She lit out when you cut Beau’s tongue.»

The bullwhip seethed restlessly. Murphy eyed it as warily as he would have a rattlesnake.

«Where?» Whip repeated.

«Yonder,» Murphy said, jerking a dirty thumb toward the north. «Silent John works some claims up a fork of Avalanche Creek.»

«Does she come into Holler Creek often?»

Murphy shook his head.

The bullwhip shivered and leaped softly, whispering to itself.

Murphy swallowed. At the moment, Whip bore an uncomfortable resemblance to an avenging angel.

Or Lucifer himself.

«How often does she come in?» Whip asked.

The gentle tone didn’t fool Murphy. He had gotten a good look at Whip’s eyes. They were a preview of hell.

«Once a year,» Murphy said quickly.

«In the summer?»

«Nope. Just the fall. For the last four or five years she fetched the winter supplies for Silent John.»

Whip’s eyes narrowed.

«Now her tail is in a right narrow crack,» Murphy added. «That snake-mean old man is all what keeps the Culpepper boys away from her. Talk now is he’s dead.»

Hope leaped in Whip.

Maybe Shannon is free.

A young widow.

Damn, a yondering man like me couldn’t ask for more than a widow like Shannon between now and whichever tomorrow the sunrise calls my name again.

When Whip had first come to the Rocky Mountains, he had seen their emerald and granite heights and felt that somewhere ahead of him there was a cabin he had never seen and a woman he had never known, and both of them were waiting for him, filled with warmth. The certainty was so deep in him that he even saw it in his dreams, the open door of golden light and snow all around and peaks reaching up into the dawn….

But in the past few years Whip had been from east to west and north to south in the beautiful, deadly mountains, and he had found only his own shadow riding ahead of him, pushed by the rising sun.

«Do you think Silent John is dead?» Whip asked.

Murphy shrugged, looked sideways at Whip, and decided to keep talking.

«He ain’t been seen since the pass opened,» the storekeeper said. «A few days later it snowed somethin’ fierce. Pass didn’t open again for weeks.»

«Where was Silent John last seen?»

«Heading out to his claims on Avalanche Creek on that old mule he favors.»

«Who saw him?»

«One of them Culpepper boys.»

«How long ago?» Whip asked.

«Five, six weeks. We don’t keep track of time much here. It’s either snowing or it ain’t. That’s the only clock what matters.»

«No one has seen Silent John for six weeks?»

«That’s about it, mister.»

«Is that unusual?»

Murphy grunted. «Ain’t nothin’ usual about that old snake. He’s chancy as a hog on ice. Come when you least expect and leave the same way. A hard man, Silent John. Real hard.»

«Most bounty hunters are,» Whip said dryly. «Has he ever been gone longer than six weeks before?»

Squinting, Murphy scratched the tangled hair that covered his chin.

«Can’t rightly say. Once, maybe, back in sixty-six,» Murphy said slowly. «And in sixty-one, when he fetched the gal from back east.»

«Seven years ago,» Whip said. «The War Between the States…»

«That be the one. Lot of folks come westering during them years.»

The thought of Shannon married to a «snake-mean old man» for seven years dug at Whip. He had been in Australia during much of the War Between the States, but he knew how brutal it had been for the people caught between North and South. His sister Willow had barely survived.

It could have been Willy forced to sell herself to an old man in order to survive, Whip told himself silently. But Willy was lucky. She managed to stay alive and single until she met a man she could love. Caleb Black is a hard man, and a damned good one.

«Yup,» Murphy said. «I figure the gal is a widow by now. There was a mess of avalanches this spring. Silent John’s probably froze solid as stone somewhere way up a fork of Avalanche Creek. Culpeppers must think so, else they wouldn’t be so free with their talk.»

Whip said nothing. He simply stood, listening. The bullwhip writhed and hissed at his feet like a long, restless snake.

«The gal will be froze solid, too, come fall,» Murphy said with faint satisfaction. «Them supplies she bought wouldn’t keep a bird alive. Now, if’n she been more neighborly and less uppity…»

The storekeeper’s voice died as Whip looked at him.

«I saw a crowbait black picketed just outside of town,» Whip said. «Would he be for sale as a packhorse?»

«You got gold, ain’t nothin’ you can’t buy in Holler Creek.»

Whip dug coins out of his pants pocket. Gold coins. They rang as they hit the counter.

«Start rounding up supplies,» Whip said.

Murphy’s hand flashed out and scooped up the coins with surprising speed.

«And when you weigh the dry goods,» Whip added gently, «keep your dirty thumb off the scales.»

Surprisingly, Murphy grinned. «Not many folks are quick enough to catch me.»

«I am.»

Murphy laughed and started gathering Whip’s supplies.

BY the time Whip returned to the mercantile leading the thin black packhorse, his supplies were waiting. Within an hour everything was loaded and ready to go.

Whip swung into the saddle of his big, smoke-colored trail horse and grabbed the packhorse’s lead rope. He rode out with a storm building around him, tracking the girl with frightened eyes and a walk like honey.

It was sunset when Whip rode down a wooded draw into a clearing. At the far edge of the clearing a cabin was waiting, the cabin he had seen in his dreams.

And the girl he had dreamed was waiting, too.

But Shannon had a dog the size of Texas by her side, a shotgun in her hands, and an expression on her face that said she didn’t want a damn thing to do with the man called Whip Moran.

Shannon stood in the doorway of the cabin and looked into the eerie radiance that came to the high country during a stormy sunset. All around her thunder rumbled and echoed like distant avalanches. She could smell the storm coming down the mountainside. She could taste it. She could feel it in the freshening wind.