A Promise of Thunder

by Connie Mason

  Too late. Oh God, too late.

  People began running in the direction of the shots, leaving her behind, unable to walk, unable to talk, her breath struggling to emerge from her throat. Finally one word came spewing out on a scream of terror.

  “Grady!”

  Her legs pumping furiously, Storm picked up her skirts again and took off at a run. Following the crowd to the open field behind the livery, Storm came upon the scene abruptly. Two men lay sprawled on the ground. Neither moved; both looked dead. A circle of people began forming around them. Someone bent down to feel for a pulse. It was at this point that Storm found the courage to move forward. She gave Bull a cursory glance before concentrating on the other man. She could see the slow spread of blood beneath Grady and feared she was too late.

  She pushed her way through the crowd and people cleared a path for her, some shaking their heads, others clucking their tongues in obvious disapproval of the gunfight. Storm had just dropped to her knees beside Grady when the doctor approached, huffing and puffing from having been hastily summoned from his office. Reluctantly, Storm gave way to his expertise, watching anxiously as he used his stethoscope to find a heartbeat.

  “Is he—is he—”

  “Are you his wife?” the doctor asked brusquely.

  “Yes, I’m Storm Stryker.”

  “Your husband’s alive, Mrs. Stryker, barely. If I can get this bleeding stopped, he should make it. He’s a strong specimen and, unless I miss my guess, in excellent shape.”

  “Take your time, Doc,” a bystander said, “the other man’s dead. You can’t do him any good now.”

  “Where was Grady shot?” Storm wanted to know.

  “Left side, just below the heart. Another inch and he’d be a goner. Soon as I stop the bleeding, I’ll have him carried to my surgery, where I will remove the bullet.”

  “Are you sure he’ll be all right?” Storm asked anxiously.

  “He’ll be fine if you let me do my work and stop asking questions.”

  Storm bit her tongue while the doctor worked over Grady. From the corner of her eye she saw that the sheriff had arrived and was talking to several bystanders, then to Nat Turner, who she had just noticed for the first time. When she saw Bull being carried away she turned her attention back to Grady and what the doctor was doing.

  “Mrs. Stryker.” Storm looked up to see the sheriff looming above her. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Please, Sheriff, not now. Can’t you see my husband is hurt?”

  “This will only take a moment.”

  Reluctantly, Storm rose to her feet, keeping her eyes on Grady’s still form while trying to concentrate on what the sheriff was saying.

  “What do you know about this, Mrs. Stryker? This sort of thing is illegal in Guthrie. I warned your husband once about making trouble.”

  “This isn’t Grady’s fault, Sheriff,” Storm said indignantly. “I was with my husband when Mr. Turner and Bull—the dead man—came up and challenged him.”

  “Why did your husband feel it necessary to accept? This whole unsavory mess could have been avoided if he had refused. Stryker was involved in one killing already, as you well know. He should have walked away from this one.”

  “Are you going to arrest him?” Storm asked, aghast.

  “Mr. Turner seems to think it was your husband’s fault.”

  “He’s a liar! I was there when Bull challenged Grady.”

  “Rumor has it your husband once rode with a band of renegades. Some say he’s a gunslinger called Renegade. Frankly, I’m confused. Who is he?”

  Storm hesitated, unwilling to divulge anything that might hurt Grady. “Gossip is unreliable. Don’t believe everything you hear. My husband is a family man.”

  “Turner insists the rumor is true, but Captain Starke says Stryker came from good stock, that his father was a hero. I decided to give your husband the benefit of the doubt as long as he caused no trouble.”

  “What happened today isn’t Grady’s fault, Sheriff, I swear it. Turner wants our land and will go to any lengths to get it. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Frankly, I don’t know who to believe. Personally, I like your husband. That’s why I haven’t pursued the rumors. But I don’t relish having drifters come looking for trouble in Guthrie. This town doesn’t need men who live by the gun.

  “Guthrie is still a raw, new town. The law is just being established here, and I don’t want Guthrie to be known as a lawless place. Captain Starke is a powerful man in the territory, and if he says your husband is a law-abiding citizen, then I’ll take his word for it, until he’s proven otherwise.”

  Just then two men arrived with a litter, and the doctor directed them as they lifted Grady onto the stretched canvas.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Storm said distractedly, “but I must go now. They’re taking Grady away.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried after Grady and the men carrying him away.

  Grady’s face was white as a sheet, and he was so still, Storm could barely detect the slow rise and fall of his chest. The stench of her own fear filled her nostrils. She couldn’t lose Grady, not now, not after she had learned to love him in a way she had never loved even Buddy.

  The operation went well. When Dr. Finney came out of his surgery two hours after the operation began, he was grinning from ear to ear. “I told you your husband was a strong man, Mrs. Stryker. He’s going to be just fine. It was a little tricky removing the bullet, but he came through it with amazing fortitude.”

  Storm had spent the two hours it took to remove the bullet pacing the waiting room, her mind in turmoil. Hearing the doctor’s words now brought such a rush of gratitude, it was all she could do to keep from falling on the doctor’s neck. “Can I see him now?”

  “You can peek in on him, but he won’t know you’re there. He’s heavily sedated. I suggest you go home and rest. By tomorrow he’ll be able to speak to you, though he won’t be up to carrying on a long conversation.”

  “Go home?” Storm asked, dismay coloring her words. “I want to stay with Grady.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Please, Doctor, I must. What if he wakes up in the night and wants something?”

  The doctor sighed wearily. “Very well, young lady. You certainly are persistent. I’ll see that a comfortable chair is available so you can rest.”

  “When can I take Grady home?”

  “Not for several days. It’s best he remain here in case infection develops.”

  Grady awoke several times during the night, asking for water. He didn’t appear to know her or recognize his surroundings or recall the circumstances that brought him to such a pass. Toward dawn Storm managed to snatch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. She didn’t awaken until the doctor came in to see his patient the next morning, before he opened his office.

  “How long before Grady regains consciousness?” Storm asked as the doctor inspected Grady’s wound and changed his bandage.

  “He should awaken soon,” the doctor predicted. “See that he stays calm and does nothing to dislodge the bandage or reopen the wound. I’ll be in my office seeing patients. Call me if you need me.” He started out the door, then turned back to Storm. “I’ll have my wife carry you up some breakfast.”

  It was nearly noon when Grady began showing signs of coming out of his stupor. When he began thrashing around in the bed Storm had to literally hold him down. He opened his eyes, looked at her without comprehension, then drifted off again. He was still in a state of semi-awareness when the door to the room burst open and Laughing Brook stepped inside.

  Storm whirled, shocked by the wild look in the Indian girl’s black eyes. “Is he dead?” Laughing Brook asked. She was in a state of near panic. “It is your fault! If Thunder wasn’t thinking about you and your decision to leave him, this wouldn’t have happened to him. He’s faster with a gun and more cunning than any man alive.”

  “Laughing Brook! What are you doing here? How did you
know?”

  “When Thunder didn’t return home last night I knew something terrible had happened. I went to the sheriff’s office and he told me what happened and where to find Thunder. Is he dead?”

  “No, don’t even think it. The doctor operated and he’s going to be just fine. He should be coming around any moment now. Where is Tim? You didn’t leave him alone, did you?”

  “No, Little Buffalo is outside.” She walked to the bed, her eyes filled with tears as she searched Grady’s face. “Why is he so white?”

  “He’s lost a great deal of blood.”

  Just then Grady opened his eyes, searching the room restlessly until his gaze settled on Storm, standing at the foot of the bed. His first attempt to speak failed, but he was finally able to ask, “Where—am I?”

  “In Dr. Finney’s surgery,” Storm said, moving closer. “You were shot yesterday. Do you remember?

  For a moment Grady looked confused. “I—”

  “Don’t try to speak. Rest now; you’re going to be all right. Would you like some water?”

  He nodded, and Storm offered him a sip from the glass sitting on the stand beside the bed. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked at her strangely. His penetrating gaze sent a prickle of apprehension down her spine. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “Grady, what is it?”

  “Storm—don’t want you—go away.”

  “What!” Storm’s heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out everything but his startling words. Was Grady trying to tell her he didn’t want her anywhere near him? Was he still angry at her decision to leave him?

  His eyes glittering like two brittle diamonds, Grady struggled to speak again. “Don’t want you—go away.”

  “Oh.” Storm’s hands flew to her face. Grady’s rejection was like a knife thrust to her heart. Abruptly, she whirled and fled from the room, unable to bear Laughing Brook’s gloating look.

  Had she remained one moment longer she would have heard Grady say, “Storm, I—don’t want you—to go away.” Only Laughing Brook heard Grady’s plea, and nothing short of death would drag it from her. When she saw that Grady had fallen back to sleep she quietly left the room. She found Storm standing just outside the door, weeping into her hands. Laughing Brook taunted her cruelly. “You abandoned him when he needed you. You have no reason to stay with him now; you heard what he said.”

  “He didn’t know what he was saying,” Storm said defensively. “Who will raise his son?”

  “I will continue to do what I have done since Summer Sky’s death. Little Buffalo is like my own child, and Thunder belongs to me. It is the way of the People. What further proof do you need?”

  What proof indeed? Storm thought bleakly. Grady had spoken his mind and obviously couldn’t bear the sight of her. She had hurt and angered him by leaving when he needed her and now he truly wished her gone. In her absence Laughing Brook would gladly care for his son and warm his bed.

  Laughing Brook searched Storm’s expressive face, gleefully anticipating her reaction. It was everything she could have hoped for. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” Storm said. “I will honor Grady wishes.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll think of something. I have a room at the hotel. You and Tim are welcome to it. It’s paid for until the end of the week. By then Grady should be ready to go home. Tell him—tell him—” Her words fell off. What could she say to a man who didn’t want her? That she loved him? That she had never really wanted to leave him? That she had only wanted him to understand how much she deplored violence?

  “I think it best that you do not see Thunder again,” Laughing Brook said. “It will only upset him. I will care for him quite diligently.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Storm said dryly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The heavy weight of rejection rested heavily on Storm’s shoulders as she walked away from Grady. During those few moments before sundown when she had rushed out of the hotel, she began to realize just how much Grady meant to her. Hearing him tell her to go away had been a shattering experience. She’d expected him to be angry at her for leaving, but she had hoped he’d realize she was forced to act as she had because she had as much pride as he. How foolish she had been to think she could persuade Grady to mend his ways or be reasonable about her request. But Grady Stryker was a man with little patience or forgiveness in his barren heart.

  Rushing out the door of the doctor’s surgery, Storm nearly stumbled over Tim’s small form crouched on the porch steps. When the boy saw her he jumped to his feet and hugged her fiercely, his little arms barely reaching around her legs.

  “Is Papa all right, Storm?” he asked anxiously. “May I please see him? Laughing Brook told me to stay outside until she sent for me.”

  Smiling through her tears, Storm knelt and gathered the child in her arms. “Your papa is going to be fine, Tim. He is beginning to wake up. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

  Tim’s face was radiant. “I was so afraid,” he choked out as he tried so hard to be brave. “Where are you going? You’re not going to leave Papa while he’s sick, are you?”

  Bitter anguish clouded Storm’s face. “It’s what your father wants, Tim. But perhaps I won’t go far and we can still see one another occasionally.”

  “It’s not what Papa wants!” Tim denied fiercely. “He told me he married you because he wanted to, and Papa doesn’t lie.”

  The child’s words added fuel to Storm’s distress. Grady was ordinarily a very truthful man. She knew he wasn’t lying when he told her he wanted her to leave.

  “I know how anxious you are. Why don’t you go inside and see your father now. Tell Laughing Brook—tell her I’ll trade the wagon for the horse she rode to town. She’ll find it at the livery. She’ll need it to carry your father back home.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned abruptly, mounted the horse hitched to the railing, and rode away. It was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

  Storm stopped at the hotel first, where she informed the clerk that Laughing Brook and Tim would be occupying her room. Then she quickly packed her clothes and left the room. Once in the street she attached the valise to the saddle and stood beside the horse, deep in thought. She hadn’t the slightest notion where she was going or what she should do. It came to her suddenly that the cattle feeding on the lush grass growing on their land belonged to her. She had purchased them with the remainder of Buddy’s money, and Grady had insisted that they be treated as her property alone.

  If she sold half the herd, she might have enough money to rebuild her cabin on the land she had homesteaded. The deed had been changed to show that her name was now Storm Stryker, but legally the land was still hers. Something else Grady had insisted upon. As long as they were married, it wasn’t necessary to divide the land into what belonged to her and what was Grady’s, but since Grady no longer wanted her as his wife she felt justified in taking what was hers. Her mind settled, Storm mounted and reined the horse toward the homestead. Since no one would be occupying the cabin while Grady mended in town, she felt safe in staying there.

  Storm’s mind went in many directions during the ride to the cabin, but her decision never wavered concerning her reluctance to return to Missouri. She had nothing to look forward to in Missouri but a bleak existence. Buddy’s parents would certainly blame her for his untimely death, and her own parents, though they loved her dearly, didn’t need another child to shelter or feed. She had much to think about, Storm decided as the cabin came into view. She and Grady were as separate as two humans could be, and her future depended on her ability to survive through adversity.

  Briefly, she considered selling her quarter section of land to Nat Turner and settling farther west, in Wyoming or Montana. But the thought of Turner making a profit off the land she had won was abhorrent to her. And Grady would be livid.

  It was dusk when Storm dismounted and unfastened her valise from the saddle. She spent a few minutes unsaddli
ng the horse and rubbing him down before carrying her valise into the house. Lengthening shadows created dancing specters in the corners of the dark room as she opened the door and stepped inside. Dropping the valise beside the door, she went directly to the table to light the lamp. Suddenly she froze, feeling the hackles rise on the back of her neck. Her senses told her she wasn’t alone, and every nerve recoiled at the thought.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, whirling to face the unseen foe.

  “I will not hurt you, wife of Thunder.”

  Storm sucked in a shaky breath. “Who are you?”

  A man stepped out of the shadows. Dressed in buckskins, his tall, muscular form was painfully thin, creating an illusion of fragile strength. His moccasined feet were noiseless on the wooden floor as he moved to where Storm could see him clearly. His braided hair was no longer black but generously streaked with gray. His dark face was creased, his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes sharp and assessing. Storm recognized a commanding strength in his aging body; the same unyielding strength she found in Grady. At first she thought the man was Grady’s father, but she had assumed that Blade Stryker no longer dressed like an Indian or followed their customs.

  “I am Jumping Buffalo, father of Laughing Brook. I have come for my daughter. Her mother has great need of her.”

  Storm allowed herself to relax, realizing this man would not hurt her. “Laughing Brook is not here. She and Tim are in Guthrie with Grady. Grady has been shot.”

  Jumping Buffalo turned his dark gaze on her. “Why are you not with your husband? Are my daughter and grandson all right?”

  “They’re fine, Jumping Buffalo. Laughing Brook stayed in town to care for Grady until he can be brought home. He was shot defending himself against one of the men who—who—caused Summer Sky’s death.”