«I’ll try.»

«There will be sleet before long.»

«Hail, more than likely,» Shannon said. «Those are mean-looking clouds the wind is pushing toward us.»

She urged Razorback to a quicker pace. The mule didn’t object much. It, too, had smelled the raw edge of ice on the wind.

Once in the meadow, Whip and Shannon went about making camp as quickly as possible. While she picketed her old mule and Whip’s horse, he took the packhorse he had named Crowbait to the south edge of the meadow. There among the trees was a burned ring where Silent John had camped from time to time.

But not recently.

«How did you know this was the most sheltered campsite?» Shannon asked, coming up behind Whip.

«I’ve been here before.»

«When?»

«When I was looking for signs that Silent John was still in the area.»

«And?» she asked tightly, afraid that Whip might have discovered proof of Silent John’s death.

«No new sign. Not then. Not now. Near as I could tell, no one has been here but me, and I left damn few tracks.»

«Did you get up to Rifle Sight?»

«Yes.»

Shannon’s eyes widened. «Was there any sign of Silent John?»

«Nothing fresh. A broken pickax. A tin can filled with paraffin and sporting a tail of rag for a wick. The rag hadn’t been burned at all. The charcoal had been scattered by wind. There were signs of avalanche and a rock slide old enough to have wildflowers growing in the cracks.»

Shannon swallowed and tried very hard not to think of Silent John buried beneath the rubble.

«What about the Chute?» Shannon asked.

«If it’s over that ridge and off a bit to the north —» Whip began, pointing.

«It is.»

«— then it’s still buried in snow. Anyone there is buried, too. There are a few other places someone has been digging, but they’re up the north fork and don’t show any signs of recent —»

«Why didn’t you tell me?» Shannon interrupted.

«That I was looking for Silent John?»

Shannon nodded curtly.

«You weren’t talking to me then,» Whip said, his voice dry.

«Then why were you looking?»

«Because I don’t hold with adultery.»

The blunt words weren’t what Shannon had expected. She didn’t think of herself and Silent John in those terms, because it hadn’t been a real marriage.

Whip turned and faced Shannon fully. He looked very large to her with his broad shoulders and heavy wool coat and his collar lifted to turn the wind. But it was his eyes that held her. His eyes were as untamed as the sky.

«More than once in those first few days,» Whip said, «I tried to ride off and keep on riding. But I wanted you too much to keep my hands in my pockets.»

«You’ve done a fine job of overcoming that,» Shannon said ironically. «I’m proud of you.»

«You’re proud, period.» Whip smiled a slow, off-center smile. «I like that, Shannon. Gives you sass and vinegar to go with all the honey and cream.»

Abruptly Shannon turned her back and found something to do. She was no longer able to meet the sensual knowledge in Whip’s eyes without putting her arms around his neck and begging for a kiss that would never end.

Not until camp was secure and a cold supper had been eaten did Shannon say anything to Whip again. She hadn’t meant to speak at all, but lightning struck and thunder pounded and then hail started hammering down.

Quickly Whip pulled Shannon beneath the tarpaulin he had drawn over himself when he realized how fast and furious the storm would be. With a few deft, powerful motions, he seated Shannon between his drawn-up knees with her back to his chest.

«Pull your knees up or else your feet will get hammered,» Whip said.

Shannon was drawing up her knees even before Whip spoke. Beneath the canvas it was like a sheltered golden dusk, except for the times when the wind tugged some of the tarpaulin out of Whip’s fingers or lightning burned so brightly that it turned the world white for a few instants.

«Hang on to this,» Whip said.

With her right hand, Shannon grabbed the corner of cold, stiff canvas he was holding out to her.

«And this,» he said.

The fingers of her left hand closed around the second bunch of tarpaulin Whip gave her.

«Got them?» he asked.

«Yes.»

«Good. Whatever you do, don’t let go, or we’ll get the coldest bath you’ve ever taken.»

Shannon nodded.

The motion knocked her hat askew. Instinctively she reached up to right the hat. A blast of ice-tipped air swept beneath the tarpaulin. Quickly she dragged her hand — and the cloth — back into place on the ground.

«Sorry,» she muttered. «My hat.»

«Come back more toward me.»

Shannon scooted backward until she felt the warm vise of Whip’s thighs closing on either side.

«More,» he said.

She edged back an inch or two. «How’s that?»

«Not enough. I still can’t reach your hat without letting in the storm.»

Shannon dug in her heels and rocked her bottom slightly, pushing herself against Whip until she felt the heat of his muscular thighs seeping into her.

«Okay?» she asked.

Whip dragged in a slow, hidden breath. The feel of Shannon’s hips rocking softly between his thighs had hardened him in a wild torrent that all but stopped his heart.

«Closer,» he said thickly.

«I can’t. There’s no room.»

«There’s lots more room. You’d be surprised how close two bodies can get if they put their minds to it.»

Shannon muttered beneath her breath and dug in her heels once more, rocking backward a fraction of an inch at a time. She felt Whip’s breathing break, heard a low sound that could have been a groan, and sensed the vibrant tension in his body.

«Whip?»

He managed a questioning sound.

«Are you all right?» Shannon asked.

«A little cold around the edges,» he said, lying through his teeth. «How about you?»

«A lot more comfortable than I was. You’re better for warming than a campfire.»

She sensed as much as heard Whip’s amusement.

«But my hat is still halfway off,» Shannon added. «It’s tickling my nose.»

«Sit tight. I’ll move around until I can get a hand free without freezing us.»

Before she could answer, Shannon felt Whip’s big body shift against her. The sensual, moving prison of his chest and thighs rubbed over her, sending heat like lightning through the center of her body.

«What are you doing?» she asked in a strained voice.

«Trying to sit on a corner of the damned tarpaulin so I can get a hand free to fix your hat. Why?»

«Nothing.»

Shannon’s nose twitched as a lock of hair slid free and slithered over her face. Hail drummed down on the tarpaulin, gathering coldly in the creases. Thunder chased lightning through the storm. Whip’s movements continued to send a different kind of lightning spearing through Shannon.

«There,» Whip said. «That should do it.»

Shannon let out a sigh of relief and tried to relax. She didn’t know her own body when Whip was this close to her, moving against her, sharing the very air she breathed.

«Lean back against me,» he said.

«Why?»

«Do you want that hat fixed or not?»

Grumbling, Shannon leaned back until she felt the hard coils of the bullwhip on Whip’s shoulder. Her hat loosened, shifted, and was tugged firmly back into place on top of her head by Whip’s hand.

«How’s that?» he asked.

«Better. But now my hair is in my face.»

«You’re more trouble than a sack full of puppies.»

Despite his complaint, Whip was smiling as he reached around Shannon, caught the lock of hair, and tucked it behind her ear.

«All set?» Whip asked.

«Yes. Thank you.»

«Nothing else bothering you?»

«No.»

«Good. I want you to be able to concentrate on what you’re feeling.»

«Right now I’m feeling — Whip!»

«Hang on to that tarpaulin, honey girl. The hail is damned cold.»