Shannon and Whip spent winter in the small cabin, laughing and loving while wild storms blew over the land. When the passes opened once more, they went to Canyon City and brought a preacher back with them over the mountains.
They were married at Willow and Caleb’s house, with Reno as best man, Eve’s pure alto singing of love everlasting, Ethan scampering through the maze of adult legs, and baby Rebecca Black watching from Willow’s arms with unblinking hazel eyes. Jessi and Wolfe brought the bride a shawl made of fine Irish lace and a mustang whose coat was the exact autumn shade of Shannon’s hair.
Whip and Shannon settled in a hidden valley that was a half day’s ride from the Black ranch, and not much farther from Reno and Eve’s home. The men worked together to build a house, and the women worked to give the touches that made a house into a home.
At the end of summer, Whip and Shannon went to Avalanche Creek and coaxed Cherokee to come back down the mountain with them, bringing with her a rich knowledge of herbs and healing and life.
Every year the families gathered for roundups and holidays, sharing work and play equally. Each gathering was bigger and more lively, with babies being born and children growing at a reckless pace, and adults laughing as they remembered how it had all begun, and how unexpected life could be in its gifts.
Baby Rebecca soon had a playmate named Catherine Wolfe. Within a year, John Rafael Moran was born. Whip’s son took his strength and yondering urge from his father, but it was his mother’s sapphire eyes that looked out on the world with wary curiosity. The sisters and brothers who followed had different eyes, different faces, different dreams.
In the midst of all the changes brought by the years that passed over the land like cloud shadows, one thing remained unchanged and certain. Whether Whip was gone for an hour or a week, Shannon was waiting for him, reaching for him even as he gathered her into his arms, and there was a light in their eyes that only love could bring.