A small shudder went through Shannon.

Only Whip noticed, for only he was looking for a reaction from the silent girl.

Beau gets it first. Definitely. That boy’s manners need some real polishing.

Whip took a step forward.

«No,» Shannon said quietly, turning her head, looking right at Whip. «Ignore them. Their words mean no more than a dog breaking wind.»

The Culpeppers didn’t hear Shannon. They were too busy arguing among themselves about what else Clementine rouged.

Whip gave the Culpeppers a narrow, icy look and wondered how often Shannon had been forced to endure their lewd talk. Probably every time she came into town for supplies.

Damn her husband for letting it happen, Whip raged silently. If he’s half as mean as his reputation, he should cut out their filthy tongues and use them for cleaning the barrel of his buffalo gun.

But he hasn’t, and now it’s left for me to do.

A movement at the back of the store caught Whip’s attention. Murphy was slowly lifting the lid off a barrel of flour. He handled the wooden lid as though it weighed more than a side of beef. His head was turned toward Shannon rather than toward the contents of the barrel.

«What do you think, Floyd?» asked Beau over the sound of the other Culpeppers’ arguments. «Is that little girl’s teats big enough to squeeze until they turn red and white and blue like a Yankee flag?»

Whip tried to control the anger tightening his gut. It was a losing battle. He couldn’t stop thinking how he would feel if it were his woman shopping alone while men talked loudly about how she would look naked and what size her breasts were.

If Shannon were my wife, when I came back from yondering I would hunt the Culpeppers down like the coyotes they are.

The thought didn’t satisfy Whip. Sometimes a yondering man didn’t come back. And even when he did, nothing could erase the sickening memory of humiliation in his woman’s eyes.