A Promise of Thunder

by Connie Mason

  They found a preacher easily, and though the good man was somewhat startled by their request—the same preacher had officiated at Buddy’s burial—he married them willingly enough. They were married in the preacher’s home with his wife as witness. When they left he shook his head in consternation, certain the young widow had lost her sanity. What woman in her right mind would marry a man whose skill with a gun had marked him for a violent end? And besides, the man was obviously a savage who knew little of white ways.

  “That marriage is doomed to failure, Martha,” he remarked to his wife as they watched the newlyweds drive away in the wagon.

  The twinkle in Martha’s eyes was unmistakable as she replied, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, dear.”

  “Harumph. Then you saw something I didn’t.”

  Martha merely smiled in the secretive way of women and left her husband to wonder at the complexity of the female mind.

  Storm was still too numb from the swiftness of events during the past two days to feel anything. She was married, married for the rest of her life to a man who thought and acted like an Indian. She was still pondering the rationality of her decision when Grady stopped the wagon in front of the general store.

  “You’ll need clothes for yourself and things to make the cabin more homey. I know women appreciate such things. Summer Sky took great pride in her home during the short time we had together. Charge anything you need to my account.”

  Storm swiveled her head to look at him. She hoped she wasn’t always going to be compared to Summer Sky, the love of Grady’s life. “Do you have money?”

  “Enough that you can robe yourself decently and fix up the cabin to suit your tastes. I know my cabin isn’t as nice as yours was, but I wasn’t planning on marrying again.”

  Storm let that pass. It sounded as if he was sorry they were wed.

  “There are things I need to do before we head back home. Take your time. When I return we’ll go to the land office. You’ll need to change your name on the deed. You’re Storm Stryker now, not the Widow Kennedy.”

  As if he needed to remind her, Storm thought glumly as Grady assisted her from the wagon. How could she forget being married to a man who was too thoroughly male, too physically disturbing, and much too tempting to ignore?

  Grady watched her enter the store, then turned resolutely away. He had business, all right, and he didn’t want Storm in the way when he conducted it. His first stop was the sheriff’s office, where he reported the acts of arson and presented the evidence to corroborate his claim.

  “Have you any idea who did this, Mr. Stryker?” the sheriff asked.

  “Obviously someone who wanted Mrs. Kennedy’s homestead,” Grady said, “and hoped to scare her into selling. Since I have no proof I’m not naming anyone, but we both know who’s been trying to buy up homesteads in the Cherokee Strip, don’t we?”

  Sheriff Danville stroked his chin, staring pensively at Grady. “I’ll ask around and keep my eyes and ears open. But if we’re both thinking of the same man, I doubt we’ll find anything to connect him to the fires. The man is slick, I can say that for him. Did you know he opened an office in town?”

  “What kind of office?” Grady couldn’t imagine Turner engaged in anything legal.

  “Don’t rightly know, but he calls himself an investments broker.”

  “Maybe I should pay our friend a little visit.”

  “I won’t stand for no trouble, Stryker,” Danville warned. “Let the law take care of it. The town hasn’t forgotten that last bit of commotion you caused a while back. I’ll bet Widow Kennedy hasn’t forgotten it, either. Does trouble always come looking for you?”

  “I’d like to forget the past and look to the future, Sheriff. I’m a genuine homesteader now. And a married man. I’ll be bringing my son to live with me come spring.”

  “Married? When did all this happen.”

  “This morning.”

  “Where is the little woman? Is she one of the squaws from the reservation?” His voice held a hint of mockery, making Grady want to knock the smirk off the man’s face.

  “For your information, I married Storm Kennedy.” He waited for the sheriff’s gasp of shock and wasn’t disappointed. “You could spread the word that anyone who messes with Storm now has me to contend with, and I’ll show no mercy for the bastard who harms what belongs to me.” He nodded, then turned and walked briskly toward the door. Suddenly he stopped and spun around. “On second thought, sheriff, I’ll tell the bastard myself.”

  “Stryker, don’t go breaking the law,” Danville called after him. Grady gave no indication that he had heard Danville’s parting shot.

  Nat Turner’s office wasn’t difficult to find. It was located in a prominent place on the main street between the hardware store and the bank. The outer office was deserted when Grady entered a few minutes later, but the buzz of voices coming from behind a closed door brought a slow smile to his lips. His fingers flexed convulsively above his holster as he kicked open the door. Splintered wood flew in every direction as the three occupants of the room, their faces frozen in shock, turned to face the unwelcome intruder.

  “Are these the scum you hired to do your dirty work?” Grady growled in a voice cold enough to freeze the ears off a brass monkey. “Say your prayers, Turner.”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s the renegade!” Fork gasped, reaching for his gun.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Grady warned ominously. “Your friend knows how foolish it is to try to outdraw me.”

  “What do you want?” Turner asked, finally finding his voice.

  “I want all three of you out of town by midnight,” Grady said. “You succeeded in burning down Storm’s cabin, but you’ll not get another chance to terrorize her. If any of you make one move to harm her I’ll strip the skin from you piece by piece. When I finish you’ll beg me to kill you.”

  “Sweet Jesus!” Fork turned pale, and cold sweat popped out on his forehead as he envisioned his bloody corpse after Grady finished with him. “He means it, too.”

  “Don’t believe him,” Turner sneered. “The law knows how to deal with men like him.”

  Quick as a flash, Grady whipped the knife from his waistband with his left hand. It was a wicked-looking weapon, honed to razor sharpness. The stench of raw fear enveloped Grady as Turner backed away.

  “Wait, Stryker. What am I being accused of?”

  “I should have known you three would find each other and form an unholy alliance. You and your henchmen burned down Storm Kennedy’s cabin and tried to do the same to mine.”

  “Ya mean yours didn’t burn down?” Purdy blurted out. Turner spat out a curse and Fork groaned and rolled his eyes after hearing his partner’s revealing statement.

  “Fortunately, no. But it doesn’t take a genius to know who’s behind the fires.”

  “You misjudge me, Stryker. I wouldn’t harm Mrs. Kennedy,” Turner said with exaggerated innocence. “What will the dear lady do now? Perhaps I can help her. My offer to buy her land still stands.”

  “The lady is now my wife. We were married this morning and she has no desire to sell her land. I’m perfectly capable of handling both homesteads. I’m giving you fair warning, Turner. If you or your henchmen are still in town tomorrow, you’ll find the air dangerous to your health.”

  Having flung down his challenge, he carefully backed out the door, leaving the three men shaking in their boots.

  “What do ya think?” Purdy asked. He made no attempt to conceal the tremor in his voice.

  “I think I’m gonna light outta town this afternoon,” Fork said. “Guthrie is gettin’ a mite crowded fer my liking. I heard stories about the renegade that would curl your hair. No siree, I’m outta here.”

  “Cowards!” Turner spat.

  “Damn right,” Purdy agreed. “If yer lookin’ fer company, Fork, I’ll join ya. The half-breed scares the shit outta me.”

  “Glad to have ya, Purdy, but ya gotta hurry
. I aim to shake the dust of Guthrie from my boots long before midnight.”

  They both turned toward Turner, waiting to hear what he intended to do. He had called them cowards, but they knew him to be even more cowardly than themselves. Turner seemed deep in thought. The odds most definitely weren’t in his favor, and Turner wasn’t one to buck the odds.

  “Well, boys, the way I see it, this town hasn’t much to offer an enterprising man like myself. I hear Texas is the place to be right now. They’re prospecting for oil, and when that first gusher comes in it will open up a whole world of opportunities. I want to be in on it when that happens.”

  “I didn’t think you’d stick around to test the renegade’s mettle,” Fork chuckled knowingly. “See ya around, Turner.” Then he was gone, Purdy following in his wake. No one noticed or cared when the two desperadoes rode out of town a few hours later. Nor was Nat Turner’s absence noted when he boarded the first train to Fort Worth that same evening.

  Storm was waiting when Grady returned to the general store to pick her up. He appeared grim and somewhat distracted when he loaded her bundles into the wagon, convincing Storm that not all of his business had been pleasant. She was surprised, though, to find the wagon already loaded with a bedstead, a feather mattress, and several other functional pieces of furniture.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  For a moment Grady looked startled, then a slow smile spread over his features. “You have no idea. Are you ready to go to the land office and then have something to eat?”

  “I—there is one stop I’d like to make before we leave town.” Grady looked at her expectantly. “I’d like to visit the cemetery. I haven’t bid Buddy a proper good-bye.”

  The thought that Storm felt more for her dead husband than she did her living one gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But what did he expect? There was no great love between them, only a mutual need that made marriage appear attractive and the right thing to do at this particular time. My God, they weren’t even going to share the same bed, so why should he be upset by Storm’s need to remain true to her dead husband’s memory?

  “I’ll drop you off and wait in the wagon,” Grady said tightly.

  It was snowing quite heavily by the time they left the land office, had a rather subdued lunch, and drove to the cemetery. Grim-faced, Grady watched as Storm made her way slowly to Buddy’s grave. It was still unmarked, but Storm had ordered a modest gravestone to mark his final resting place. Grady frowned when she knelt in the mushy snow and bowed her head. He could see her mouth moving and realized she was either speaking or praying, but he was too far away to hear her words.

  The silence was deafening as Storm knelt beside Buddy’s grave. The world seemed wrapped in a chilling blanket of snow that muffled all sound, including her soft sobs. She knew it was time to let Buddy go, that he would want it that way, but it was hard to part with him. Time stood still while she spoke to him, telling him her hopes and dreams for the future, explaining about Grady and her reason for marrying him. She remained on her knees for so long a time, the cold and her grief had numbed her to everything but the fact that she’d never see Buddy’s smiling face again.

  When snow began piling up around Storm and she seemed to be unconcerned that she was in danger of freezing to death if she didn’t move, Grady took matters into his own hands. Leaping from the driver’s box, he rummaged in the wagon bed until he found one of the new blankets he had purchased and walked resolutely to where Storm still knelt in the snow. She looked so small and vulnerable that Grady’s heart went out to her. She must have loved her husband a great deal to mourn him so deeply, he thought, feeling a pang of regret for the way he had insisted upon a quick wedding without allowing her sufficient time to mourn. He could sympathize with her, for he had mourned Summer Sky just as deeply.

  Storm started violently when she felt Grady wrap the blanket around her shoulders. When he swept her into his arms, she cried out in dismay. “What are you doing?” He looked into her face, not too surprised to see icy tears frosting her pale cheeks.

  “Taking you home, lady. Nursing you through pneumonia is hardly my idea of a honeymoon.”

  “But Buddy …”

  “You’ve said your good-byes. Buddy wouldn’t want you freezing to death at the foot of his grave.” He lifted her onto the seat, tucking the blanket around her. “I just hope we reach home before the snow gets too deep. I bought a set of runners for the wagon, but I don’t exactly relish the idea of attaching them in the middle of a snowstorm.”

  The ride home was slow and bitterly cold. By the time they reached the cabin Storm felt like a solid chunk of ice. The fire had gone out, and Grady saw to it immediately. While Storm huddled before the kindling blaze trying to thaw out, Grady carried their purchases inside.

  “When you’re sufficiently warm perhaps you can start supper while I set up the bed,” Grady said, sliding her a sidelong glance. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would insist on enforcing her silly rule that they not share a bed. Her forlorn figure bending over her dead husband’s grave had touched him deeply. He wanted to comfort her, to help her forget the past and look toward the future. Making love to Storm would be a healing rite, and pleasurable for both of them. If she would allow it, mutual gratification had much to commend it.

  If she would allow it …

  The supper dishes were done and Grady was outside seeing to the animals. Storm used his absence to wash herself and slip into her nightgown. When he returned, stomping snow from his feet and blowing on his hands to warm them, Storm was already curled up in the new bedstead he had set up in the far corner of the room. He spent agonizing minutes shedding his jacket and shirt and washing up at the washstand before moving toward the bed. The mattress sagged beneath his weight when he sat down. Instantly wary, Storm jerked upright.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going to bed.”

  “You promised …”

  “Dammit, Storm, do you still insist that I honor that silly condition you set? This will be a damn cold marriage unless you give a little.”

  “It’s the way it has to be,” Storm said stubbornly. “I’m not ready yet to surrender myself completely to a man like you.”

  “A man like me?” Grady repeated angrily. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I—nothing. Just go to sleep. We’re both tired, and there’s still much to be done tomorrow before we’re snowed in.” What Storm didn’t say was that Grady was the kind of man who would demand total surrender yet give nothing of himself in return.

  “One day you’ll beg me to love you, lady,” Grady predicted. “I hope for your sake I’m around when that day arrives.” His words left Storm with an ominous feeling of impending disaster.

  The next days passed quickly enough. Storm was constantly busy as she sewed curtains and fixed up the cabin to suit her tastes. It was quite homey by the time she finished, and even Grady remarked on the changes she had wrought. Each night Grady insisted on sleeping beside her, torturing her with the seductive warmth of his body. The nights were bitter cold and many a morning she awoke nestled against him, seeking the comfort of his big body. But to his credit, Grady did not attempt to make love to her.

  Though Grady suffered the agonies of Hell, he made no move to seek other sleeping arrangements. He wanted Storm to become accustomed to having him sleep beside her. Often during the night he would awaken to find her cuddling into the curve of his body, seeking his warmth. Then his arms would automatically close around her, bringing her even closer against him. If his hand accidentally found a tempting breast or brushed a rounded hip, he merely groaned and persevered. His honor as a Lakota warrior was a vital part of his character. He would not make love to Storm unless she asked him.

  Was there no end to the suffering he must endure on Storm’s account?

  The sizzling tension between Storm and Grady was nearly unbearable. Each time Grady began the nightly ritual of undressing, Storm quickly looked away
or was occupied elsewhere with some pressing duty. Just looking at Grady made her legs weak and her head spin. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. She had loved Buddy but had never felt the overwhelming need or suffocating desire she experienced in Grady’s presence. The guilt over her response to a man the complete opposite of Buddy made her more determined than ever to resist his devil’s lure.

  Christmas approached, and one fine morning Grady drove into town, returning late in the day. He stunned Storm by producing a Christmas tree he had cut on his way home. It wasn’t nearly so fine as those Storm knew as a child in Missouri, but the gesture was heartwarming as well as surprising. She didn’t think Grady had a sentimental bone in his body.

  During the times Grady was away from the house Storm worked on his Christmas gift. She was sewing him a white shirt made of the finest linen. She was proud of her small neat stitches and hoped Grady would like it. She had to admit that he was being exceptionally understanding of her demand that they not make love and she wanted to show her appreciation with a gift worthy of the sacrifice.

  On Christmas day, besides cooking a fat turkey Grady had shot, Storm presented Grady with her gift. The gesture left him speechless. He’d had no idea she was making him a gift and exclaimed over the fine workmanship. Then he rummaged in his pocket and with a flourish presented Storm with a small, elegantly wrapped box. She stared at it for several minutes before daring to open it.

  “For me?”

  “Yes. Go ahead and open it.”

  Storm’s hands shook as she ripped off the paper and snapped open the lid. Her lungs emptied of air when she saw the delicately wrought gold wedding band nestled on a bed of velvet.

  “Oh.”

  “There wasn’t time to buy a ring when we were married. Besides, I ordered this one specially made and the jeweler needed time to complete it.”