Other men had stared at Shannon, followed her, wanted her…but none of them had looked at her like Whip. In his eyes there had been a combination of elemental male hunger and profound human yearning, as though he had spent a lifetime in darkness and she was sunrise shimmering just beyond his reach.

Shannon’s heartbeat hammered wildly inside her chest while Whip rode slowly closer. The double-barreled shotgun lay cold and heavy in her hands. The gun was loaded, the hammers were back, and her finger rested across both triggers.

Beside Shannon a huge brindle dog snarled softly, sensing his mistress’s unease. Bigger than a mastiff, leggy as a timber wolf, as thick through the chest as a pony, the dog clearly outweighed Shannon. Just as clearly, the dog was protective of her. Fangs as long as Shannon’s thumb gleamed whitely below the beast’s curled upper lip.

«Easy, Prettyface,» Shannon said softly to the dog.

Prettyface subsided, but the ruff still stood out on his powerful neck. His ears remained flat against his massive skull in blunt warning of his temperament.

Whip kept riding closer, until Shannon could see the clear silver of his eyes. His hunger was equally clear, a yearning both direct and complex. That yearning had haunted Shannon all the way back to the cabin.

It haunted her still.

«That’s far enough, mister,» Shannon said steadily. «What do you want?»

To her relief, Whip reined in his horse and tipped his hat politely to her.

«Evening, ma’am,» he said. «You left Murphy’s store so quickly that you forgot most of your supplies.»

Shannon’s eyes searched the quicksilver and shadows of Whip’s eyes.

She hadn’t made a mistake. She wasn’t dreaming. The stranger called Whip was here, in her clearing.

And he wanted her.

«Itisyou,» she said huskily. «Whip. That’s what they call you, isn’t it?»

«Out here, yes.»