Shannon shivered.

«We’ll survive, honey girl.»

«That’s because yondering men don’t court ignorant little widowed eggs,» Shannon said crisply, stepping beyond Whip’s reach. «Come in when you’re ready. The biscuits are almost done.»

While Whip washed his hands, Shannon took a quick look at the larder. Supplies that would have lasted months for her were vanishing at a startling rate.

Dear Lord, that man eats enough for three. Of course, he works enough for six.

She bit her lip. Whip kept them in meat and fish, and she gathered fresh greens, but flour couldn’t be stalked and shot in the forest. Nor could it be gathered in the meadow. Neither could beans, apples, rice, salt, and other necessities. Not to mention luxuries like coffee and cinnamon.

«I’ll have to go into Holler Creek and buy more,» Shannon muttered, closing the cupboard.

Sure. And just how will I pay for them?

Shannon thought of the miserable amount of wealth she had concealed in an old poke back in the cave. It was the last of Silent John’s gold. When it was spent, Shannon would be exactly what she had been at thirteen — dead broke, alone, and no one giving a damn whether she lived or died.

No. I won’t touch that gold.

I’m not that desperate.

But Shannon was afraid she would be. Soon.

After she spent the last of Silent John’s legacy, she would have to depend entirely on her own ability to wrest gold from the stubborn rocks. So far, she had enjoyed even less luck hunting gold that she had hunting meat.

Shutting the cupboard door firmly, Shannon turned her back on its empty shelves.

Whip was standing only a few feet away, watching her with quicksilver eyes.

«I’ll go into Holler Creek for more supplies tomorrow,» Whip said.

«Thank you, but no. You’ve given me too much already.»

«I’ve eaten nearly all of it myself.»

«Whose stove wood are you chopping?» Shannon asked mildly. «Whose cabin are you fixing up for winter winds? Whose mule got shod? I should be paying you wages.»

«I’m barely earning my keep.»

«You’re earning food, wages, and then some. You never stop working.»

«I like working,» Whip said.

«I’ll find a way to pay you.»

«I won’t take money from you.»

«But you’veearnedit,» she insisted.

«No.»

The single word made Shannon feel as though she had run into a granite wall.

«You’re as stubborn as that mule you shod,» she said.

«Thank you. I’ve often thought the same about you. But I’ll outstubborn you, widow lady. You can count on it.»

Irritation surged through Shannon.

«No, yondering man. All I cancounton from you is that someday I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. Maybe you’ll outstubborn me before then, but I doubt it.»

Without another word Shannon stepped around Whip and began serving breakfast. He watched her movements with eyes as gray and hard as gunmetal.

Not until both of them had eaten some food and drunk a cup of coffee did Shannon feel civil enough to break the silence.

«What kind of jobs have you worked at since you became a yondering man?» she asked.

Whip’s mouth thinned at the words «yondering man.» He didn’t know why Shannon’s use of the term rankled him so much.

But it did.

«Teamster, sailor, surveyor, jackaroo, teacher, shotgun rider,» Whip said in a clipped voice. «You name it and I’ve probably done it, one time or another.»

«What’s a jackaroo?»

«An Australian cowpuncher.»

«Oh.» Shannon frowned and asked, «Did you ever prospect for gold?»

«Here and there.»

«Find any?»

Whip shrugged. «Here and there.»

«But not enough to stake a claim?»

«Claims are like wives. They tie you down.»

«You mean you’ve walked away from gold just because it would tie you down?»

«Yes,» he said succinctly.

She swallowed. «I see.»

«Do you?» Whip asked, echoing her earlier words.

«Indeed I do. You’ll walk away from home, family, friends, gold, land, any or all of them. And for what, yondering man? What’s worth more than all that put together?»

«The sunrise I’ve never seen,» Whip said flatly. «For me, there’s nothing more beautiful or compelling than that.»

Shannon wanted to shake Whip, but knew it would do no good. He believed what he believed.

And she had just realized a truth that would break her heart.

«Love is more compelling,» she whispered. «Love is like the sun, burning through darkness…always burning, always beautiful.»

Whip started to argue, but Shannon’s smile stopped him. Her smile was one of the saddest things he had ever seen, as haunting as the sorrow in her eyes, her voice, her very breath.

«And like the sun,» Shannon said softly, «love is always beyond reach. It can no more be caught and held than sunlight itself. Love touches you. You don’t touch it.»

Whip shifted uncomfortably and reached for the biscuits again.

«For you, maybe,» he said in a clipped voice, rankled again. And again not knowing why. «For me, love is a cage.»

«No one can build a cage of light.»

Whip bit back a savage word and drank scalding coffee.

«What about you?» he asked after a moment. «What do you want? Love?»

«I don’t know.»

«You mean you don’t have any dreams?» he asked curtly.

«Dreams?»

Shannon’s soft laughter taught Whip what sorrow really was. He fought against the sensation of living in her skin, breathing her breath, feeling her pain as though it was his own.

«Once I dreamed of a home,» Shannon said, «a garden, children, and most of all a man who loved me like the sun burning…»

Shannon’s voice died.

Whip paused in the act of reaching for a biscuit. He didn’t want to pursue the subject, but found it impossible not to do just that.

«Once you dreamed of those things, but not now?» he asked.

«No, not now.»

«Why not? You can still have your dreams, Shannon. Plenty of fine, upstanding men would be glad to marry a pretty young widow like you.»

«Marry me?»

Shannon laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Nor was there any sadness. There was simply a bleak acceptance of what was and what was not.

«All thosefine, upstanding men,» Shannon said sardonically, «want the same thing from me a certain yondering man does, and —»

«Just because I won’t be tied to —»

«— a home, a garden, and love don’t have a damn thing to do with what those men want,» Shannon continued, talking over Whip. «As for children, the men don’t want them either, but they sure as sin don’t mind leaving their seed behind for the pretty widow lady to raise.»

Whip’s cheekbones became ruddy against the tan of his face.

«I told you, I never left any kids behind,» he said flatly.

«What does that have to do with anything?» Shannon asked, arching her dark eyebrows. «We’re talking aboutfine, upstanding menwho would be glad to marry a pretty young widow like me. We already know you’re not one of them, yondering man.»

«I would make a piss-poor husband!»

«Am I arguing with you?» she asked gently.

Whip opened his mouth, then closed it with a distinct clicking of his teeth.

«No,» he said curtly.

«Then why are you yelling at me?»

«I’m not yelling.»

«I’m so relieved. I fall apart when I’m yelled at.»

Whip shot Shannon a searing gray glance, but she seemed to be too busy eating bacon to notice.

«Now,» she said, chewing thoughtfully, «where were we? Ah, yes. We’re not yelling about the fact that neither one of us is in a rush to get married.»

«It’s fine for me to be on my own,» Whip said grimly. «It’s different for you.»

«Really? Why?»

«Because you can’t take care of yourself and you damn well know it!»

«Oh, good. Another subject not to yell about. Pass the jam, please, and isn’t the weather lovely?»

Whip said something blasphemous under his breath.