by Connie Mason
“I don’t remember nothin’ like that,” Bull said sullenly.
“Think hard, Bull. I have a very reliable description of you and your friends. That girl was my wife. She was carrying my child. You and your friends were going to rape her, but she fought you and spooked the horse. She was stomped and gravely hurt. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that you left her lying in the dirt, badly injured and about to lose her child. She died, Bull. Died from her injuries and loss of blood.”
“Think what ya want, Renegade, that don’t change nothin’. Will ya take me up on my challenge?”
“When and where?” Grady’s face was stark, his expression fierce. His lips were drawn so tightly against his teeth, he appeared to be snarling.
“Sundown tomorrow, behind the livery at the edge of town.”
“I’ll be there, of course,” Turner threw in. “Just to see that no one interferes, you understand.”
“Say your prayers, Bull. At sundown you’ll meet your maker,” Grady vowed tersely.
“Didn’t think you’d reformed.” Bull laughed nastily as he turned away. “You don’t look like no farm boy to me. Tomorrow at sundown, Renegade.”
Storm stared at their departing backs with something akin to horror. She couldn’t believe Grady had accepted the challenge so calmly. Did his promise to her mean nothing? She had thought he’d given up his violent ways, yet here he was preparing for a shootout with a desperado. That the man was one of those responsible for Summer Sky’s death made little difference to Storm. A promise was a promise.
“Why, Grady, why did you do it?” Her voice cracked with emotion.
“Weren’t you listening?” Grady asked as he searched her face for some sign of understanding. “Bull is one of the men who accosted Summer Sky the day of her death. I knew their names and had their descriptions, but little else. But I prayed that one day I would meet up with them. Killing Bull will be a pleasure.”
“Killing him will land you in jail,” Storm said bitterly.
Grady withheld comment. Killing Bull could very well land him in jail, but it was a chance he had to take.
“What about your promise, Grady? You said you wouldn’t knowingly court violence again, that you’d given up that kind of life for good. Think about your son. Do you want Tim to remember his father as a killer?”
“Perhaps Bull will kill me,” Grady admitted softly. Storm paled visibly. Not once had she considered that possibility. “It’s better than having Tim remember me as a coward. I’m doing this for his sake as well as for mine. I can’t let his mother’s death go unavenged when one of the men responsible has handed me the opportunity I’ve been praying for.”
“Is that your final word?” Storm asked, giving him every opportunity to recant.
“That’s my final word.”
“Then obviously I mean nothing to you. I thought—Never mind what I thought. It no longer matters. If you insist on this madness, then I won’t be here when you return—if you return.”
A white line around his taut mouth was the only indication that Grady had heard her.
“I’m not returning to the homestead with you, Grady. I’m moving to town. I’ll be at the Guthrie Hotel if you change your mind. I’ve lived through this once; I can’t bear it a second time.”
“Storm, you don’t understand.”
“No, Grady, you don’t understand.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re going home with me and that’s final,” Grady said as he swept Storm off her feet and lifted her onto the seat of the wagon with enough force to jar her teeth.
“Dammit, Grady, I don’t want to be made a widow again.”
“You won’t be.” He swung onto the seat beside her and picked up the reins. Storm’s face was mutinous as they left Guthrie. By the time they reached their homestead she was so angry she could neither speak nor look at him.
Laughing Brook knew something was amiss the moment Storm jumped from the wagon and stomped into the cabin. She lingered outside while Grady unhitched the horses. The muscles of his face twitched and his motions were short and jerky as he struggled to keep his rage under tight rein.
“What happened in town, Thunder?” Grady sent her an oblique look, then turned back to his task.
“Why is Storm so angry?”
“Dammit, Laughing Brook, it’s between me and Storm.”
“I sense it goes beyond that,” Laughing Brook said quietly.
Defeated, Grady turned to face her. “In a way it does concern you.”
“Storm does not want me here.”
“This has nothing to do with your presence in our home. It concerns your sister.”
“Summer Sky?” Laughing Brook’s lovely features wore a bewildered look.
“I encountered one of the men responsible for your sister’s death in town.”
Laughing Brook went still. “Are you certain?”
“As certain as I can be.”
“Did you kill him? Is that why Storm is angry?”
“I didn’t kill him—yet. But I will when I meet him tomorrow at sundown behind the livery. Storm begged me not to accept the challenge, but once I realized who he was there was no turning back.”
“Your wife should never have asked such a thing of you,” Laughing Brook said spitefully. “It is your right to avenge Summer Sky’s death.”
“Storm doesn’t see it that way,” Grady replied. “Her first husband’s death occurred as a result of a gunfight and she made me promise to avoid violence.”
“Surely you didn’t promise such a thing!” Summer Sky said, aghast. “You are Thunder, a man admired by the People for your courage. Your enemies fear you because you are cunning and fearless. You were not meant to be a farmer. Farming is women’s work, unfit for a Lakota warrior.”
“Times have changed, Laughing Brook. Indians no long reign supreme in the west. They have been herded like animals to reservations that can’t support half their numbers. I am doing what I deem best for myself and my family.”
“But you didn’t keep your promise, Thunder,” Laughing Brook reminded him. “Tomorrow at sundown Summer Sky’s death will finally be avenged.”
“And I will have lost my wife,” Grady said bleakly.
“Storm isn’t the woman for you. She never was.”
“That’s for me to decide,” Grady said as he stared toward the cabin with a look of utter hopelessness. “Go help Storm with supper. My marriage isn’t up for discussion.”
Supper that night was a grim affair. Storm waited until everyone had eaten before sitting down to her own supper. Then she closed herself in the bedroom and for the first time since their marriage, latched the door. When Grady found himself locked out of his own bedroom he seethed with anger and humiliation. He felt Tim’s eyes on him and knew that if he failed to command proper respect from his wife, his son would hold him in contempt. The certain knowledge that Laughing Brook already thought him a fool made him react violently to Storm’s deliberate snub. Raising a booted foot, he broke the flimsy door open with one well-aimed kick.
The door flew inward and Storm whirled, her face a mask of astonishment. And fear. Grady’s fierce expression sent her stumbling backward, one hand clutching her throat. She’d always known he was a violent man, but thus far his anger had never been directed at her. She watched in trepidation as Grady calmly set the door straight, then pulled it shut. When he turned back to glare at her she swallowed her fear, lifted her chin, and glared back at him with all the bravado she could muster.
“Don’t ever try to lock me out of our bedroom,” he gritted out. “I won’t be made a fool of before my son.”
“You should have thought of that before you accepted a challenge from that gunman.”
“I had no choice,” he bit out harshly.
“You had two choices. You could have walked away.”
“You know why I agreed to meet Bull.”
“I know, but it makes no difference. You broke your pr
omise.”
“I never thought I’d find one of the men responsible for Summer Sky’s death. It’s been several years.”
“Think, Grady, think what this will do to your son,” Storm pleaded. “If you don’t care about my feelings think about Tim.”
“It’s too late for logic, Storm. I’m meeting Bull tomorrow at sundown and nothing you can say will dissuade me. Go to bed, lady.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“I said go to bed. I won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re concerned about. You’ll feel differently about this tomorrow after you’ve had time to think about it.”
“Never!”
Sleep did not come easily for Storm. She was more frightened than at any time in her life. The thought of losing Grady was terrifying. How many times must she mourn someone she loved? She had told him she’d leave if he went through with this insanity and she wouldn’t back down now. She could be just as stubborn as Grady. If he insisted on facing Bull in a shootout, she wouldn’t be here when he returned. She’d been stupid to think Grady was ready to give up violence. If he broke his promise once, doing so the next time—and the next—would come easier, until Storm would be afraid to go into town for fear some drifter looking to make a name for himself would challenge Grady.
Grady was up at dawn and gone from the house shortly afterward. When Storm heard the distinct sound of gunfire she knew Grady was practicing for tonight. Bull had been correct in assuming that Grady had lost some of his skill during the months he’d been inactive, Storm reflected, else he wouldn’t be out there right now practicing. The thought was not comforting.
Grady didn’t return at noon, and Laughing Brook carried lunch to him. When she returned she marched up to Storm and asked, “Why are you doing this to him?” Her voice was ripe with condemnation.
“I’m doing nothing that I’m aware of.”
“You don’t deserve a man like Thunder. If you loved him you’d stand by him and support him. It’s what Summer Sky would have done. Thunder could do no wrong in my sister’s eyes.”
“I am not Summer Sky, nor will I ever be. Grady knew that when we married. Had he wanted a replica of Summer Sky he would have married you.”
Laughing Brook bristled with silent indignation. “Today may be the last day he walks the earth.”
A terrible pain knifed through Storm. “I’m aware of that. I begged him not to do this, but he refused to listen to me.”
“As well he should,” Laughing Brook said huffily. “My sister’s spirit will not rest until her death is avenged.”
“You’re as bloodthirsty as Grady,” Storm said with disgust. “I can’t live with violence, not the kind Grady seems to enjoy, so I’ve decided to leave if he goes through with this madness.”
Laughing Brook’s pleased smile told Storm exactly how the Indian maiden felt about that. “It will be for the best.”
It was mid-afternoon before Grady returned to the house. His mouth was grim, his eyes bleak but determined. The tensing of his jaw betrayed his deeply troubled thoughts. He didn’t want to lose Storm, but he’d despise himself the rest of his life if he refused Bull’s challenge. His son would think him gutless and his own conscience would plague him until the day he died. Stripped of his pride, a man is no good to himself or to his family. Why couldn’t Storm realize that?
Grady went directly to the bedroom, where he changed into his buckskins and strapped on his gunbelt. He adjusted the height carefully, then tied it down at his thigh. The last thing he did before he left the bedroom was write a will leaving everything to Storm with the condition that she would care for his son until he reached his majority. After her death the homestead would be Tim’s. He placed it on the nightstand where Storm would be most apt to find it and went in search of Tim. After patiently explaining to the lad what was happening and why, Grady looked for Storm. He found her in the garden, pulling weeds with such fierceness that clods of dirt were flying in every direction.
“It’s time,” he said simply.
Silence. A clod of dirt came hurtling his way and he sidestepped it neatly.
“Will you be waiting for me?”
She glared up at him. “Is there nothing I can say that will change your mind?”
“You’ve already said it.”
“Then I won’t be here when you return.”
Grady frowned. “This is your home.”
“I can’t live like this. If Bull doesn’t kill you, other men will come looking for you sooner or later.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Storm. After Bull there will be no others. I promise.”
“Just like you promised before? Good-bye, Grady. I—I wish you luck.”
“I’ll be back.” He stared at her, memorizing her features. His eyes lingered on her lips. Lord, he loved her lips! Their lush sweetness drove him wild. He could kiss them forever and never tire. Right now he wanted to taste them so desperately he could feel the pressure building inside him.
Storm raised her head and met Grady’s eyes, the tension so thick it could be sliced with a knife. When her eyes slid over him his skin felt too tight for him, and he deliberately looked away. One more look like that, he thought with a jolt of awareness, and he’d scoop her up in his arms, take her in the house, and make love to her. And that was something he couldn’t let happen right now. He had an appointment at sundown and nothing short of his own death would stop him from appearing at the appointed time.
Without another word, Grady turned abruptly and left. Storm collapsed in a heap on the ground, shivering with cold despite the warm April day. She wanted to run after Grady, to throw herself at him, beg him one last time not to meet Bull, but she did none of those things. When she heard the thunder of hoofbeats pounding against the ground she knew it was too late. Hardening her resolve, she wiped her eyes and walked into the cabin and into the bedroom.
Storm decided not to pack everything she owned, hoping against hope that Grady would change his mind before sundown. After stuffing several items of clothing inside an old carpetbag she spent a few extra minutes gathering her keepsakes, which she packed in the carpetbag with her clothes. She experienced one terrible moment when she found Grady’s will, but it served only to strengthen her resolve to leave. Then she stood in the center of the room, staring at the bed and remembering how wonderful it was between her and Grady. But it was too late now—too late. Obviously Grady didn’t care enough for her to give up the violence she abhorred.
“So you are really leaving,” Laughing Brook said when Storm came out of the bedroom carrying the valise. Tim was standing nearby, listening to every word. When he heard that Storm was leaving his face screwed up into a frown.
“Are you going away, Storm? Are you going to watch Papa kill that bad man?”
“I can no longer live here, Tim.” Storm decided not to lie to the boy. He was too astute not to realize the truth.
“But I thought you were Papa’s wife.”
“I am, but your father seems to have forgotten it. He is more concerned with revenge than he is with his family. But this is my choice, Tim, you mustn’t blame your father.”
“Don’t you like me?” Tim asked soulfully.
“Oh, Tim, don’t ever think that. I’ve come to love you a great deal.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
“It’s something I must do for my own peace of mind. You have Laughing Brook and your father. You don’t need me.”
“But I do, Storm, I do need you. Laughing Brook is leaving soon, Papa has said so.”
“I will stay as long as you need me, Little Buffalo,” Laughing Brook assured him. “Let her go; we don’t need her. You are more Indian than white. Once she leaves, your father will realize his place is with the People.”
Storm turned away, unable to respond to Laughing Brook’s logic. Leaving Grady would be difficult, but she couldn’t live with the knowledge that other nameless men from his past could show up in Guthrie one day and challenge him. It
would be like living with a bomb ready to explode. She had lost one husband because of a senseless gunfight and couldn’t survive losing another loved one in the same way. She should have known better than to think Grady could give up his violent ways.
“Good-bye, Tim,” Storm said as she walked out of the cabin. Determination alone kept her chin high and her eyes dry. After renting a hotel room in town Storm had no idea what she would do. Divorce was a possibility and would bear some thinking about. If she and Grady eventually did divorce, she wanted her homestead back.
Since she considered the wagon hers, Storm hitched the horse and drove to Guthrie. She arrived an hour before sundown, the time set for the shootout between Grady and Bull. She checked into the hotel immediately, trying to keep her eyes from straying in the direction of the livery where Grady was to meet Bull. She was given a room on the second floor and deliberately avoided looking out the window of the small room, but she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she placed her meager belongings in the drawers and hung her dresses in the wardrobe provided. Only when her small chore was done did she walk to the window and note the position of the sinking sun in the sky.
Sundown.
Suddenly she was propelled by a nameless terror she had never known before. She found herself rushing out the door and down the hallway. Racing down the stairs and through the lobby, skirts held high so she wouldn’t trip. Into the street, where her legs churned vigorously; gasping for breath, her face flushed, Grady’s name became a litany on her tongue. People turned to stare at her, at her flashing ankles, at her blonde hair streaming in disarray down her back, but their curiosity went unheeded. Storm was beyond caring. All that mattered was that she reach Grady before the shooting began. If he was wounded, or God forbid, killed, he’d go to his death thinking she didn’t care about him.
The livery was just yards away, and she reached it not a minute too soon. Storm’s face was red, her lungs burned from lack of air, and she was on the verge of collapse. Abruptly the ominous sound of gunfire reverberated across the distance. One shot, then another, then nothing but sinister silence. Storm’s legs turned to rubber as she skidded to an abrupt halt. The searing agony of breathing stopped completely as she went still.