«I…I…»

«Don’t know?»

«I can’t think when you touch me,» she said, her voice husky. «And when you aren’t touching me, all I can think about is the next time you’ll touch me.»

Whip shuddered and gripped Shannon’s hand a little fiercely. He slid his tongue between two of her fingers in a hot, tender rhythm.

«Your honesty makes me burn,» Whip said against Shannon’s skin. «When you burn in the same way, come to me. I’ll wait as long as I can.»

«Then you’ll leave?» she whispered unhappily.

«No, honey girl. Then I’ll come to you.»

«I still think we should split any gold we find fifty-fifty,» Shannon said stubbornly over her shoulder.

Beneath Shannon, Razorback plodded at a surprisingly good pace up the steep game trail that led to the headwaters of the east fork of Avalanche Creek. On the trail behind Shannon, Whip sat easily astride his big gray gelding, following her to Silent John’s solitary claims.

«Whip?»

Ignoring Shannon, Whip looked over his shoulder. The packhorse was following more slowly with each foot of elevation gained. And there had been a lot of elevation. Avalanche Creek’s east fork went up the side of the mountain like lightning, zigzagging from ravine to cascade to ravine.

«Cat got your tongue?» Shannon asked acidly.

«I’ll take wages, just like any other coolie,» Whip said.

«Someone should bridle you, shoe you, and use you as a mule,» she said under her breath, believing Whip couldn’t hear.

«Anytime you want to ride me, just ask,» Whip said in a deep voice.

«You have a mule’s long ears, too,» she retorted.

Whip saw the flush on Shannon’s pale cheeks and laughed aloud.

«You’re so sweet to tease,» he said. «I swear, I could get drunk on you.»

«It’s the altitude.»

«No, honey girl. It’s you.»

Shannon shook her head vigorously, but her eyes were sparkling. Whip’s tender, sensual teasing was a constant surprise to her.

«I never know when to take you seriously,» she said, sighing. «You’re the first man I’ve ever known who wasn’t hell-bent on gold or fighting or…»

Too late, Shannon realized where her words were leading her.

«Sex?» Whip asked dryly.

She nodded.

«Oh, I’m hell-bent on that,» he assured her.

«You have an odd way of showing it,» Shannon muttered.

His smile flashed against his tan face.

«You noticed,» he said.

«What?»

«That I haven’t touched you since breakfast two days ago.»

«Now why would I notice a thing like that?» she retorted coolly.

Whip’s laugh was as darkly masculine as his smile.

«Are you burning yet, honey girl?»

«I don’t know what you’re talking about.»

«I know. That’s why I haven’t touched you.»

Shannon bit her lip. «How will I get less naive if you don’t touch me?»

«Good question. When you think of the answer, let me know. I’ll do the same for you.»

She made an exasperated sound and turned back to the trail, ignoring Whip’s gentle smile.

Prettyface was waiting up ahead where the trail forked. One vague path led to the Chute, which was still buried under summer avalanches. The other path led to the Rifle Sight claim, by way of a place Silent John called Grizzly Meadow.

«Go right, Prettyface,» Shannon called, waving her arm to the right.

The big dog promptly trotted off to the right.

Shannon glanced behind to see if Whip was suitably impressed by the dog’s obedience. But Whip wasn’t watching her. He was looking through a gap in the trees back down the trail. His narroweyed intensity was nearly tangible.

«Whip?»

He held up his hand in a sharp signal for silence.

Uneasily Shannon waited, eyes scanning the back trail for anything out of the ordinary. She saw only trees bending slightly beneath the breeze, and cloud shadows dappling the green-and-gray flank of the mountain.

After another minute Whip finally turned in the saddle to face Shannon.

«Nothing,» he said. «Just a bird startled by a deer, I guess. Indians have no reason to climb this high and outlaws are too darned lazy.»

«Grizzly?»

«Wouldn’t surprise me. We’re following a game trail. Bears follow it, too. They don’t break any trails they don’t have to, unless it’s berry season. Then they’ll plow through hell itself to get to a ripe thicket.»

Shannon looked around at the mountainside. Spruce, fir, and aspens grew thickly, shutting out much of the view. Ahead, there was a thinning of the forest that signaled the approach to Grizzly Meadow. The meadow with its rim of bushes and willows was the last good browsing for deer. After the meadow, plants grew more and more scarce until there was nothing left but rocky heights rising naked to the windswept sky.

«Have you seen any sign of grizzlies?» Shannon asked uneasily.

«Look on that tree to your right.»

Shannon looked. All she saw was a place well above her head where the evergreen’s thick bark had been scraped off, revealing the lighter wood beneath.

«Do you mean this scar?» she asked.

Whip nodded.

«But it’s at least eight feet off the ground,» she objected.

«Closer to ten.»

«What does that have to do with grizzlies?»

«Silent John didn’t teach you much, did he?»

«No. My learning comes from books he brought — bringsme from time to time so I won’t bother him with my chatter.»

«When a male bear marks out his territory,» Whip said, «he rears back on his hind legs and slashes as high up on a tree as he can.»

«Why?»

«An old trapper told me it was to warn off other males. If a wandering male couldn’t measure up to the resident claw marks, he just put on his best behavior and drifted to new territory.»

Shannon looked at the claw marks and tried not to think about the size and power of the grizzly bear that had left its sign so high in the tree.

«From the looks of those marks,» Whip added, «there’s a fair-sized grizzly that stakes his claim here in the summer.»

Instinctively Shannon’s fingers went to the saddle scabbard. The shotgun’s cool stock reassured her. The weapon was loaded, needing only to be cocked before it was ready to fire.

«Don’t worry,» Whip said without looking at Shannon. «It’s early for bears at this altitude.»

«Maybe. After the mule was killed, Silent John told me bears are notional creatures. Like Indians. They do or don’t do according to their own whims. And a female with cubs is pure poison. You see one and you go the other direction. Quick.»

Shannon looked away from the forest and smiled oddly at Whip.

«I think that was the most words Silent John ever spoke to me all at once,» she said. «It was his way of telling me how important the information was.»

The thought that Shannon had been so essentially alone for the past seven years troubled Whip. It made him feel like he was scheming to steal candy from a baby instead of planning to share mutual pleasure with a widow who understood what passed between men and women.

«Don’t worry,» Whip said tightly. «Those claw marks aren’t fresh. Anyway, most of the time bears want nothing to do with men, except to steal food if you’re fool enough to leave some lying around where you’re sleeping.»

Despite his reassuring words, Whip kept checking the back trail, as well as both sides of the vague track that led to the high claim.

As Silent John had warned, bears were notional creatures.

Whip saw nothing for his efforts but the untamed beauty of the country itself. It was a place of jagged stone crowns thrust up to the clean wind, of high green divides, and of quaking aspens whispering among themselves while thunderstorms stalked the skyline on stilts made of lightning.

«Can’t you get more speed out of the mule?» Whip asked after a long time of silence.