by Connie Mason
Storm turned the ring over and over in her fingers, studying the design, which consisted of strange symbols and signs. “What does it mean?”
“Those engravings are Indian symbols. They hold a special meaning.” She was rendered immoble by the intensity of his incredible blue eyes. “One day I’ll tell you what they mean.”
Storm looked at him squarely. “Aren’t you going to tell me now?”
“No. Someday, maybe, when the time is right. Here, let me slip it on you.” He grasped her hand, sliding Buddy’s ring off her finger and replacing it with his. He hadn’t said anything before about her wearing the wedding band given to her by a dead man, but now that he’d given her a replacement, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him.
“It—it’s lovely,” Storm said, admiring the golden circlet that banded her finger. For the first time since their marriage she felt truly and irrevocably wed to Grady Stryker. Before he had placed his ring on her finger she had felt like an actress merely playing out a role. “Thank you.”
“Is that the best you can do?” Grady asked in such a solemn tone, Storm thought she had offended him.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Grady said cryptically.
When he dragged her into his arms Storm finally understood what he wanted from her, and was angered by it. Was he trying to bribe her?
“I want you, Storm. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t long to make love to you like a real husband.”
His arms tightened and his mouth swooped down to claim hers. His lips were hard and searching, leaving her mouth burning with fire. The unspoken demand of his kiss left little doubt what he wanted, what he was determined to take. But guilt over her wanton response to Grady made her unwilling to surrender again to his seduction.
“I—can’t.”
“You want me.”
“I don’t deny it. I’m a brazen hussy to feel the way I do. I’m afraid of the powerful emotions you rouse in me, and it hurts to know that I never felt this way with Buddy.”
“Let me love you.”
“No. You promised.”
“Storm, look at me.”
Her head came up slowly, her honey brown eyes hazy with the heat of passion. When she met the electrifying cobalt of his gaze, a shudder passed through her body.
“Why should we both suffer because of your stubbornness?” Grady asked. His control hung by a fragile thread. “This marriage doesn’t have to be a sterile one. Two people who want each other like we do shouldn’t deny themselves. We are husband and wife.”
He kissed her again, his lips hard and demanding. Her emotions whirled and skidded, her thoughts spun. He forced her lips open with his thrusting tongue, demanding a response. Her stubborn refusal angered him, and the more she protested, the more forceful and hungry his kisses became. Why was she resisting something as fundamental and basic as making love? Grady wondered as his hands joined his lips in convincing Storm that their loving was as natural as eating and breathing. Why should it distress her if he made her feel the kind of pleasure and emotion she had never experienced with her dead husband? What Grady desired above all else was to love Storm so thoroughly she couldn’t recall her dead husband’s name.
Buddy. The name filled him with rage. Why should a dead man hold Storm’s affection when he, Grady, was alive and capable of giving her pleasure in a way Buddy never could? All Storm’s resolve was swept away as Grady swept her into his arms and carried her to their bed. Her lips were parted and he could feel her breath fan his cheek. It came in short staccato bursts of air that conveyed her passion—and her fear.
“You promised.”
“Damn you!” He dropped her onto the mattress and turned away. His fists were clenched, and the stark planes of his proud features wore a look of anguish. “Go to sleep. I won’t touch you.” Then he grabbed his heavy jacket from the hook beside the door and stormed out into the bitter cold.
When he returned hours later, chilled to the bone, Storm had donned her nightgown and was sound asleep, wrapped in a coccoon of furs and blankets. Giving her a look of utter disgust, Grady tossed off his clothes and joined her, careful not to touch her until his body had warmed. It didn’t take long. Lying beside Storm turned his body into a blazing inferno.
The longer Grady lay there, the more aroused he became. He didn’t even need to touch Storm to maintain an erection. Just thinking about her and how loving her made his body burst into flame made him painfully aware that his legal wife was just a touch away.
Just when Grady began to feel the fuzzy edges of sleep overtake him, Storm turned in her sleep, molding her softness against his back and buttocks. His body reacted instantly, his member becoming fully distended and throbbing. It was more than a human could bear. Even a Lakota warrior had his breaking point, and Grady had reached his.
Storm sighed in her sleep, instinctively seeking the warmth of Grady’s body. Curling herself around him and squirming into a comfortable position, she began dreaming. As it so often happened these past weeks of enforced abstinence, her dreams became erotic in nature. The logic behind her dreams escaped her the next day when she recalled them, but she supposed it had something to do with the dormant passion Grady had discovered and unleashed in her. A passion that filled her with shame. But since her dreams had no bearing on reality, Storm usually succumbed fully to her dream lover.
Grady turned to face Storm, bringing her fully against him. When she made no protest his hands slowly hiked up her nightgown, raising it above her hips. When his member prodded her boldly, she arched her back and opened her thighs so that his hardness could slip between her legs. He lay still for a breathless moment, savoring the warmth, hardly daring to breathe as he waited for Storm to awaken and voice her usual protests. Nothing left her lips but a soft burst of air and a sound that could only be described as mewling.
His hands slid down her back to her buttocks, gently squeezing the soft mounds as he brought one of her legs over his hips. But still he didn’t enter her, waiting—hoping for the words of acceptance that would end his misery. One hand slid down her taut stomach to the moist crevice between her legs. He found her wet and ready for him. Still he hesitated, recalling his vow not to make love to her until she invited him. When his fingers grew bold, exploring the tender petals of her womanhood, Storm began whimpering words that made little sense. Assuming she was awake and that her whimpers were her way of granting permission, Grady flexed his hips and thrust into her.
Storm’s body burned with desire and she whimpered in her sleep. Her dream lover was making love to her and she welcomed it, aware that she would awaken in the morning and find it all a fantasy. But, God, it felt so wonderful, so right—so good! She hoped she wouldn’t awaken this time until it was all over. Usually her dreams only went so far, then stopped before that final burst of ecstasy she knew herself capable of. She felt him prodding between her legs, felt his hands kneading her buttocks and stroking her nipples. Felt him thrust into her.
“Oh, God!” She jerked violently awake. It wasn’t a dream after all. They were lying on their sides facing one another, and she felt herself stretch and fill as he thrust into her. “What are you doing? You promised.”
Grady went still, forcing his body into a calmness that nearly killed him. “What are you talking about? It’s too late now. You should have stopped me before.”
“I was sleeping. I thought it was all a dream. I didn’t want this to happen.”
“Oh, lady, it’s happening,” Grady groaned, probing ruthlessly as he held her hips in place. “It’s too late to stop now.”
“What about your honor? Does it mean nothing to you?”
“My honor means everything to me and I know I’ll regret this in the morning, but as God is my witness, I can’t stop now.”
Then he was thrusting wildly, making Storm forgot her reason for denying him in the first place, driving everything from her mind but the urgent need he was creating inside her. Waves of ecstas
y throbbed through her, and she cried out for release. It exploded upon her in a downpour of fiery sensations.
“Grady!”
“Oh, lady, that’s what I want to hear. I want you to know who’s making love to you. It’s my name I want to hear on your lips when you cry out in ecstasy. I want to hear it again, sweet, do you think it’s possible?”
It wasn’t only possible. By the time Grady had finally allowed his own climax, he had taken Storm a second time to that lofty place where only lovers dwell.
When Grady floated back to reality Storm had deliberately turned her back on him. Her shoulders were rigid, her spine stiff, and Grady felt the heavy weight of her rejection. He also felt the suffocating disappointment of having broken his promise. How in the hell did he know Storm was sleeping and wasn’t aware that he was making love to her? To make matters worse, he knew he would break his word again and again, until he could no longer bear Storm’s hatred. Remaining in the same house with her was impossible.
“Storm, I thought it was what you wanted.” His words, meant to be an apology, sounded cold and unfeeling to her. Once again he had succeeded in dominating her with his strength and sensuality. “I had no idea you were sleeping.” He touched her shoulder and she jerked violently.
“You’re a damn liar, Grady Stryker.”
Since Grady had no answer to her bitter accusation, he remained mute. He had many things to think about, many decisions to make. Storm had fallen asleep before he reached a compromise that he thought would make Storm happy and keep him from breaking his word again. He arose from bed and dressed in his warmest clothes, packed his saddlebags and bedroll, took his guns and bullets, and quietly left the house.
He returned just before dawn, found a pencil and paper, and scribbled a hasty note, leaving it on his pillow, where Storm was sure to find it. He paused at the door before stepping outside, gazing at Storm’s sleeping form with such longing it plumbed the very depths of his heart. His eyes were as bleak as the Oklahoma winter. The last thing he did before closing the door behind him was to pick up the snowshoes he had purchased in town and tuck them under his arm.
Storm awoke late the next morning. The fire had gone out during the night and the cabin was freezing. It was the first time since marrying Grady that she could recall waking up to a cold room. He was always so good about doing all those little chores that added comfort to her life. Then she remembered last night and how he had made love to her against her will and all the anger and resentment returned.
Grady was making it extremely difficult for her to remain true to Buddy’s memory, and she didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this. She had asked for time to bring herself to accept marriage to another man and Grady’s answer was to seduce her time after time. The man was a savage who trampled her feelings beneath his masculinity. If he loved her—Dear Lord, what was she thinking? Storm wondered, surprised that she’d even want the love of a man like Grady Stryker.
The cabin appeared deserted; usually she could sense Grady’s presence, but this morning there was nothing to indicate that he was nearby. Peering cautiously over the edge of the blanket, Storm realized that she was indeed alone. Where had Grady gone, she wondered. There was enough wood piled against the house to last the winter and it was too cold outside to do much else. Unless he had gone hunting. Finding no excuse to lie abed, she dressed hurriedly and built a fire in the hearth. She didn’t find the note until she returned to make the bed.
Grady was gone. He had left her to go to the reservation for his son. He would return in time for spring planting. The cold, carefully worded note went on to say that he had put the runners on the wagon so she could travel to town for supplies and that she could draw money from his bank account, for he had put her name on the account the day they were married. There were no words of affection, no apology or good-bye, no explanation for his sudden departure in the middle of winter. Did he miss his son so much or did he merely want to escape from a marriage he found distasteful?
“I hate you, Grady Stryker,” Storm shouted into the emptiness of the cabin. “I hate you …” Suddenly seized by panic, she realized she was alone, living in as near a wilderness as she had ever seen in her life. Yet not too many weeks ago, after Buddy’s tragic death, she had been perfectly content to homestead alone. Had marriage to Grady changed her so much? she wondered bleakly. The next words that came rushing out of her mouth left her stunned. “My God, Grady, what am I going to do without you?”
Chapter Eleven
The winter of 1894 in Oklahoma Territory was a mild one compared to previous years. After the bitter cold of December 1893, the rest of the winter lost its bite. The river continued to flow, and Storm was able to draw water with little difficulty. The wood Grady had cut before he left was more than adequate for her needs during January and February. By March green tufts of grass began pushing through the melting snow and rain nourished the earth with its life-giving abundance. It was the beginning of a new cycle, but to Storm, January and February were the longest two months of her life.
She never realized how much she had come to depend on Grady until he left and she was faced with empty days and desolate nights. He had always appeared to her as bigger than life, a man who feared nothing, except perhaps his own private demons, and faced the challenges of life with fierce purpose. As the first week of March slid by, Storm began to fear that Grady never intended to return, that her impossible demands had forced him to flee. Being made a widow had been a painful shock, but being abandoned brought another kind of pain—that of rejection.
If he came back to her, she’d lie with him willingly, she silently vowed, gladly, sharing her life with him and caring for his child as if he were her own.
She’d make Grady love her.
They would forge a living out of this raw land and learn to live together and love one another. One day Buddy and Summer Sky would become pleasant memories from their pasts.
Foolish dreamer, her mind taunted. Grady is gone and you’ll never see him again. You have the land; be satisfied with that.
The land offered little comfort on cold nights when she yearned to feel Grady beside her, willing and eager to share his warmth with her. Why couldn’t she be satisfied with the small part of him he gave her instead of wanting all those things he didn’t offer?
On one of her trips into Guthrie, Storm learned that Nat Turner had mysteriously left town in December, and she wondered if Grady had had anything to do with his going. Knowing him, she supposed he had. She was grateful she no longer had to deal with the scoundrel. She would thank Grady, if she ever saw him again.
Grady returned unexpectantly one exceptionally warm day in early March. Storm was turning over clods of dirt with a shovel in preparation for planting a backyard vegetable garden when she looked up and saw him standing so close she could reach out and touch him. Never would she become accustomed to the silent way in which he moved. His massive frame was clad in buckskins and moccasins; his ebony hair was longer than ever and his face more gaunt. His high cheekbones had hollows beneath them she hadn’t noticed before, and the dark circles beneath his eyes made them appear more vivid a blue than she remembered. His intense gaze searched her face, then roamed over her figure. What he saw must have disappointed him for he scowled.
“You came back,” she murmured.
For a moment he looked bewildered. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I—didn’t know.”
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Storm caught a movement. A small body came hurtling toward them, running as fast as his small legs could carry him. “Papa, Papa, is this my new home?”
Grady’s expression softened as he gazed down at his exuberant son. Little Buffalo was the picture of his father, but without the blue eyes. His skin was golden brown, his eyes dark, his hair blacker even than Grady’s. There was a nobleness about the child that proclaimed his proud Indian heritage. One day he would be every bit as handsome and imposing as his father. Storm loo
ked for signs of Summer Sky in the boy and found it in the softness around his chin, the midnight darkness of his eyes.
“This is our homestead, Little Buffalo, and this is your new mother. From now on you will speak only English so that she can understand you. Greet Storm properly, son. She will be caring for you in future.”
Little Buffalo’s face grew hostile as he regarded Storm in an insulting manner. “I don’t want a new mother, Papa. I am perfectly happy with Laughing Brook. Why can’t she be my mother?”
“Because Laughing Brook belongs on the reservation with her family,” Grady explained patiently, “and Storm is my wife. Therefore, she will be your mother.”
Little Buffalo kicked viciously at a clod of dirt with his moccasined toe, then peered up at Storm resentfully. “Why did you marry her? Laughing Brook is much prettier.”
“Little Buffalo!”
“It’s all right, Grady,” Storm said, realizing that winning over Grady’s son wasn’t going to be easy. She dropped to her knees, until she was on the same level with the child. “I don’t want to take your real mother’s place, Little Buffalo, or take away any of the love you feel for Laughing Brook, but I hope we can become good friends.”
“I don’t remember my real mama,” Little Buffalo retorted sullenly. “I only remember Laughing Brook. I don’t need a mother as long as I have her.”
“But Laughing Brook isn’t here,” Storm explained gently.
“Yes, she is,” the boy said with an enthusiastic nod. “Papa brought her along.”
A probing query came into her eyes as her gaze flew up to search Grady’s face. His eyes were shuttered, his expression dark and unreadable. At the moment only one thought raced through Storm’s mind. Grady had told her that if she wasn’t willing to fill his needs, he’d find someone who would. Had he brought his dead wife’s sister here to be his mistress? Storm’s first glimpse of the lovely Indian maiden rounding the corner of the cabin sent her heart plummeting. The young woman was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her.