«What a question,» he said.

«You brought it up.»

«Did I?»

«You did. How many, Whip?»

«Not a damned one.»

«That you know of,» Shannon added mildly, but her eyes were dark.

«What is that supposed to mean?»

«It takes an instant to make a baby and about four months for it to show. Did you ever hang around that long?»

«No.»

«Then you don’t know, do you?»

«I know,» Whip said flatly.

«How?»

«Same way Silent John knew how not to get you pregnant. Are you going to share that jam or just sit on it like a mother hen with only one egg?»

The change of subject caught Shannon with her mouth still open, staring at Whip in disbelief. She was staggered that a man like Whip was celibate. But he had just said as much.

Same way Silent John knew how not to get you pregnant.

No wonder Whip had changed the subject. It couldn’t have been a comfortable topic for him, for Shannon knew that Whip certainly was capable of coupling with a woman. As often as not, when he was around her, she saw the unmistakable sign of his ability pressing hard against his trousers.

Silent John had been too old for such discomfort. The marriage had been a way to keep men like the Culpeppers at bay; a wife was more respected than a grandniece.

«Uh…jam,» Shannon said, trying to gather her scattered wits. «Yes. Of course. Here.»

«Thank you,» Whip said, the courtesy automatic.

He took the jam and began spreading it over biscuits. Though Whip never appeared to move quickly, food disappeared into his mouth with astonishing speed.

Shannon had learned after the first breakfast that Whip could eat a lot of food and still look around for more. Now she routinely made a double batch of biscuits for breakfast and didn’t expect to have any left over for lunch.

«I’d better see to that second batch of biscuits,» Shannon muttered. «Should be about done baking.»

«I’ll get it,» Whip said.

«Thank you, but it’s no trouble.»

«Don’t bang the stove door, then. The hinge is nearly broken off. I’ll try my hand at hammering out a new one as soon as I finish with the firewood.»

Shannon felt the last of her hurt slide away, leaving her vulnerable once more to her longings. She no longer doubted that Whip would move on, leaving her behind. But while he was with her, he watched out for her more tenderly than anyone ever had.

If she was greedy for more, it was her own fault, not his. He had told her plainly that he was a wanderer with no intention of settling down.

«Thank you,» Shannon said. «I tried to make a new hinge from an old horseshoe, but no matter how hard I hammered…»

She shrugged and didn’t finish the sentence.

«Have you ever seen a blacksmith’s arms?» Whip asked dryly.

«No.»

«They’re bigger than mine.»

Shannon’s eyes widened.

Whip smiled at the look on her face. He was used to his unusual height and physical power. Shannon wasn’t. At first the contrast between his strength and her own had made Shannon uneasy. Lately, though, Whip had seen appreciation rather than fear of his strength when she watched him working.

When Shannon pushed back from the table to get the biscuits, Prettyface’s eyes followed his mistress the short distance to the stove. She pulled out the pan and turned toward the table. As she turned, the sole of her boot caught on an uneven floor-board.

Shannon made a startled sound and tried to regain her balance, but it was too late. Whip’s big hands grabbed her and set her upright before she could fall.

«Are you —» began Whip.

The rest of his words were lost in a savage snarl as Prettyface came out of the corner in a lunge and went for Whip’s throat.

Whip pushed Shannon out of danger even as he spun to face the attacking dog. Horrified, Shannon watched Whip yank the coiled lash off his shoulder. His left arm collided with Prettyface in mid-leap.

Man and dog went down in a snarling, cursing tangle. Prettyface ended up on top. His teeth were sunk into Whip’s left hand and the coils of leather it held.

«No, Prettyface!No!»

Shouting and yanking frantically, Shannon tried to drag Prettyface off Whip. The dog ignored her.

Whip didn’t.

«Get the hell out of the way!» he ordered.

«But —»

Shannon never finished her objection. With a powerful movement of his body, Whip turned over, dragging Prettyface beneath him and sending Shannon staggering away from the fight.

She caught her balance on the old trunk full of books and looked around wildly for something to use that would subdue Prettyface. But there was nothing at hand that would free Whip before Prettyface got his feet under him again and sank his teeth into Whip’s throat.

«Prettyface! No!»

Her shouts had no effect.

Struggling, flailing, man and beast slammed into the legs of the old table. It skidded and crashed against the bed, sending blankets flying. An instant later the table careened into the front door, propelled by the thrashing bodies.

Now all Shannon could see was the corded muscles of Whip’s back and Prettyface’s hind feet raking Whip’s legs.

«Stop it!»

Even as she screamed, Shannon knew it wouldn’t do any good. Prettyface had no intention of surrendering.

Shannon’s wild glance fell on the bucket of steaming water on the stove. She reached for the bucket, but a single touch told her that the water was much too hot. It would scald Whip and yet was much too hot. It would scald Whip and yet barely penetrate Prettyface’s thick coat.

Abruptly the sounds of the struggle diminished. Shannon looked around.

Prettyface was on top. Whip wasn’t moving very much at all.

«Oh, God,» Shannon cried. «Whip!»

There was no answer.

Shannon lunged across the room and yanked away the table that was blocking the door. She dragged the shotgun from its pegs over the top of the door frame. Tears running down her face, she cocked the shotgun and turned back to shoot the dog that believed he was defending her.

But he wasn’t. He was killing Whip.

«Put that damned gun down,» Whip said grimly. «I’m not going to kill your mongrel wolf. But by God I’m going to teach him some manners.»

Shannon was too shocked at hearing Whip’s voice to tell him that Prettyface had been her target. Impatiently she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked again, thinking tears must have blurred her view of what was happening.

She saw the same thing she had seen before. Whip was mostly on the bottom of the pile, and he wasn’t moving very much at all. Prettyface’s muzzle was still pressed against Whip’s neck.

Abruptly Shannon realized that the dog’s teeth were set in the bullwhip rather than in Whip’s throat.

Relief swept through Shannon, only to give way to dismay. Whip’s left hand was jammed into the dog’s mouth along with the bullwhip. Dismay became fear when she realized that Whip’s other hand was clamped around Prettyface’s windpipe.

Whip was slowly choking air and life out of her dog.

«You’re killing him!» Shannon cried.

«The hell I am. The son of a bitch is still kicking like a steer.»

«Let go! He’s barely moving!»

«Barely is too damn much with a beast this size.»

Whip bore down harder with his right hand. His mouth was set in a harsh, determined line.

«Whip!»

He ignored Shannon, even when she grabbed his hand and tried to drag it away from Prettyface’s throat. When she set her feet and started to pry at his thumb with both hands, he gave her a glittering, narrow-eyed look.

«Get out of the way before you get hurt,» Whip said through his teeth.

Shannon kept clawing at his hand.

Prettyface kicked feebly and went limp.

Abruptly Whip released the pressure on the dog’s windpipe. Slowly the animal slid off Whip’s chest onto the floor and lay without moving, as slack as a pile of wet laundry.