Only Love Read Online Free PDF

in accepting a hand now and again,” Whip said, forcing himself to speak gently.
    “Cherokee, the shaman, told me that men tame mustangs by offering them food when they’re hungry and water when they’re thirsty. Of course, the men run the mustangs nearly to death first, so they get plenty hungry and thirsty. Then the men offer the mustangs a hand—with a rope in it.”
    Humor briefly softened the planes of Whip’s face.
    “That’s one way to do it,” he agreed.
    But Wolfe Lonetree taught me a better way, Whip remembered. You stay on the edges of the mustang’s senses, not crowding, not rushing, until the wild thing gets used to having you around. Then you get closer and the mustang gets nervous and you stop until you teach it to accept you at that distance.
    And then you go closer and wait and go closer and wait and go closer until finally the sweet little beauty is eating right out of your hand.
    Of course, damned few mustangs are worth that much trouble.
    The wind swept down, billowing Shannon’s loose clothes one moment and molding them to her body the next.
    Whip’s breath stopped. Shannon might have looked skinny, but underneath that frayed cloth were the kind of curves that would keep a man awake at night, thinking of new ways to get close to her.
    Really close.
    Damnation. If she were mine, I sure as hell wouldn’t be off chasing gold or hunting men. I’d be right next to her, seeing how many ways we could pleasure each other.
    And I’d keep at it until we both were too tired to lick our lips.
    “Shannon…”
    As Whip spoke, lightning arced in white violence across half the sky. Thunder battered the mountains until the ground trembled. In the calm that followed, a rushing sound swept across the clearing toward the cabin, rain streaming down in wild silver veils.
    Whip was fascinated by the beauty of the storm racing down toward him, but he wasn’t deceived. He knew all about the seductive, deadly beauty of the Rocky Mountain high country. Though it was early summer, at this altitude sunset brought a sharp chill to the air. By moonrise it would be freezing. By morning there might be snow chest-high on a Montana horse. The snow could be gone by the next day.
    Or it could stay for a month, as it had late this spring.
    The little bit of supplies Shannon had would barely keep her alive for two weeks.
    “Where the hell is your husband?” Whip asked in exasperation. “You need him!”
    Shannon hoped it was too dark for Whip to see the alarm in her eyes. Cherokee was right. Whatever had happened to make Silent John disappear, men had to believe that Silent John was still alive, still likely to appear without warning, still able to bring down a buck or a man at three thousand yards.
    “Silent John is wherever he is,” Shannon said flatly.
    “Word in Holler Creek is that you’re a widow,” Whip retorted. “Word is that Silent John is deadand you’re starving all alone in this miserable, godforsaken clearing!”
    Prettyface snarled.
    Whip felt like snarling right back.
    Shannon said not one word. She simply stood with her feet braced and the shotgun steady in her aching arms.
    Sudden, heavy rain drenched the clearing, dousing all the colors of sunset. Within moments cold water was dripping from Whip’s dark Stetson and beading up on the heavy wool of his jacket.
    Shannon had the shelter of the cabin’s eaves, but it wasn’t enough to turn the cutting wind. She shivered as the first raw blast of rain pelted her.
    “Be sensible,” Whip said, forcing his voice to be even.
    “I am. You’re the one who’s been puffing on the dream-pipe.”
    “Murphy has been cheating you for years,” Whip said, ignoring Shannon’s retort. “When I pointed that out, he decided he could fatten up your supplies some. That’s all there was to it. No obligation on your part at all.”
    Shannon opened her mouth.
    Whip just kept talking. “You don’t need to worry about being obligated to me for bringing the