Wild Storm
Sandra E. Sinclair
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
“Love Letters” Excerpt
About the Author
Other books by this author
Copyright
Chapter 1
“Storm, where in tarnation are you? Whatcha doin’, boy? Get your bony behind over here. Or I’m coming over there to drag your worthless lazy hide out of bed, and stomp all over your useless head.”
Storm’s eyes flashed open at her father’s words. Darn, she’d overslept. It felt as though she’d only closed her eyes for a minute. His cursing didn’t worry her; she knew he didn’t mean anything by it. He only cussed when he was overwrought, something must be wrong.
“Coming, Pa,” she yelled back. She’d better see what he wanted, then go meet her sister Emma at their place down by the river. She was already late.
Storm leaped out of bed, then looked down at her attire. She was dressed only in female pantaloons, a present from her sister. She liked to sleep in them, loving the feel of the fabric against her skin, and the fact the split was in the right place.
Her passion was to put on female clothing in the privacy of her bedroom. The small two room building, where she used to live with her mother, was attached to the back of the big house where her father and sister resided.
To feel and act like a real woman was the only thing Storm yearned for. Her dresses and undergarments were all gifts from her sister, and were the only feminine items she possessed. She had to keep them hidden for fear her father would find them. If he knew she wasn’t the son he wanted, she’d be given away or sold off to one of the fur traders like her sisters before her.
She’d better be quick. She couldn’t afford for him to come over while she was still in a state of undress and discover her secret. Storm reached for her breastplate and bandages. She would soon have her chest flattened and secured in place.
In no time, she was out of her female pantaloons and wearing men’s undergarments, buckskin leather pants, and a baggy men’s shirt. Sitting on the bed, she pulled on buckskin boots. Then threw on her tassel sleeved leather jacket, and tied a woven leather belt low on her waist. Just enough to secure the front of the jacket, but not enough to outline her figure.
As she left her room, she paused while braiding her hair, to admire the setting sun. She took in the beauty of the sky that was almost purple, with hints of orange, yellow, and red hues. Storm loved the smell of the outdoors, and the earthiness about it.
She wrapped her long plait loosely around her neck and out of the way. Storm wished she could tell her pa she was really a girl. But she’d promised her mother on her deathbed she’d only reveal her true nature to her father when she found a man she wanted to marry.
She’d always known she was different, but not how much. At first she just thought the difference was skin deep. Realization came when she was about seven, and a group of similar aged boys, who also lived on or near the ranch, decided to go swimming in the river near her home. She was reluctant to remove her clothes when she saw how different the other boys looked without clothes. Storm had run home crying, thinking she was broken.
She’d never seen her mother so afraid and angry when she’d asked what was wrong with her. Her ma told her to never to go down to the river with the boys again.
She wasn’t broken, she was fine.
But she wasn’t a boy. She was actually a girl, like her sister Emma, and her pa was never to find out. If he did, she’d be sent away. Storm wasn’t to tell anyone. No one could ever know their secret.
Things began to make sense to her, like why her mother always accompanied her to the bathroom. She was never bathed outdoors like the other children, but always inside, and in private. Later, when she was older, her mother told her the story of what happened to her sisters. Storm was sufficiently scared into keeping her identity hidden.
Her mother had been mixed-blood too. Before her father became a rancher, he was a fur trader. Her grandfather sold her mother to him, and she’d helped her father make enough money to buy and settle on the ranch.
Although he still traded in furs, he was more focused on cattle because that’s where the money was. Over the years, she bore him three daughters. When the first two came of age, her father had sold them on to other fur traders. Storm had thought her father was an evil man. However, her mother said she’d been lucky to have been given to a man like her him because he was good to her. Other women in her position weren’t so fortunate.
However, the richer and more powerful he became, the more he yearned for a son. After thirty years together, it seemed her mother was only able to produce girls. Her father courted the youngest sister of a friend of his and married her.
His new wife and her mother were pregnant at the same time. Fearing Storm would be the last child she’d ever have, and believing his other wife would give him the son he desired so badly, Storm’s mother said she was a boy. She’d hoped if his Christian wife gave him a boy too, he’d allow her to finally raise a child she could keep.
Two weeks later, Emma was born. Storm’s mother had feared for her life when her father said she’d have to give Storm up for Emma’s mother to raise as her own, then sighed in relief when the other woman refused. His wife believed it would reduce his social status if he were to declare a mixed-blood son as his successor.
Her father was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Now he had the son he always wanted, but couldn’t claim him. So Storm was left in her mother’s care.
Storm let herself in through the back door of the big house. She heard voices coming from her father’s study and made her way there. Opening the door, she stepped inside.
What were US Marshals doing here?
Her father looked aged and tired.
“Hello,” Storm said, as she looked at the faces in the room.
“Storm, this is Cole and Colt Dalton.” Storm nodded to the marshals. “My boy Storm. The marshals are here because Emma’s been taken.”
“Taken?”
“She’s been abducted, boy, keep up.” Her father sighed. “The marshals are going to need your tracking skills to get her back.” He turned to the marshals. “Take Storm with you. He don’t look like much but he’s the best tracker in these parts. If anyone can find Emma, it’ll be her brother.”
Storm looked at her father in disbelief. Her mouth went dry, and an ashy tongue sought to moisten her lips. The blood drained from her face, and the vein in her neck spasmed as an icy sensation washed over her.
This was her fault—had she not fallen asleep and met her sister like she was supposed to, none of this would have happened.
Storm knew this was her father’s worst nightmare as the same thing had happened to Emma’s mother when Emma was about a year old. The outcome had been tragic. Her eyes darted from one face in the room to another. As her gaze went from one brother to the next, for some reason, Colt’s face stood out more. Cole’s features appeared to fog over in her mind.
“D
o you know where she was taken?” Storm asked her father.
“Down by the river.”
“How long?”
“Maybe around noon.”
“Noon? Why didn’t someone say something sooner?”
“It was one of the children, who shouldn’t have been down there, who saw it happen. They didn’t say anything until now for fear of being in trouble. I’ve told the marshals here, from the description, it has to be Red Ken Walker. And if it’s him, he’s taken her to the mountains.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to wait until morning when it’s light out?” Cole asked.
Storm regarded Cole for a moment. Why couldn’t she see his face clearly? “No, I don’t want them to have a day’s start on us. I’ll grab some supplies, and meet you out front. We leave now.” Storm didn’t want to waste time waiting for first light. If anything happened to Emma, she would never forgive herself.
Besides, she had the eyes of a hawk.
Chapter 2
Emma had lain flat on the grass by the river, staring at the sky, and chewing on a long blade of grass. The air smelled fresh and clean, like it usually did just after it rained. Her fingers tangled in the blades of grass, tickling her palm as she enjoyed the peace and tranquillity of her surroundings.
Storm had gone out with the men herding cattle. Sometimes Emma went with them, but not today. Today she hadn’t felt up to it. They were moving out too early for her liking. Using a coded message, she’d arranged to meet up with Storm when she got back so they could go for a swim. Emma felt bad, knowing her sister had to go through life pretending to be a boy.
It wasn’t fair.
She hoped someday Storm would be able to walk in this world being exactly who she wanted to be. They’d always been close, even when they were growing up. Their father had seen to that, telling them even though, they had different mothers, it didn’t stop them from being family. He’d said Storm was always to look out for his little sister.
When Storm’s mother told her she was really a girl, Storm had sought Emma out and confided in her, making her promise to never tell their father, or she’d be sent away. Storm had cried so hard, as she told her about their other two siblings. Then Emma had never seen her cry again.
It hurt her to think she had two more sisters somewhere out there. Sisters they may never get to meet. Her heart had hardened against her pa a little that day. At first, Emma had demanded they go straight to their father and get the others back. Storm begged her not to say anything. She’d been so scared she peed her pants.
Emma felt ashamed as she recalled the day.
Although they were family, their status was different. When they were younger, Emma had found it difficult to understand. In her childlike mind, there was no difference. But their father spoke double-talk. In private, they were kin, and although he allowed Storm to call him Pa, he never introduced Storm as his son to gentry.
When his fancy friends turned up, Storm wasn’t even allowed in the house. Emma would sometimes see pain in her father’s eyes when he had to turn Storm away. It never stopped him doing it, though.
Storm was part Indian and that barrier would always go against her.
Emma slowly began to understand how things worked. She’d always seen Storm as her equal, but others wouldn’t, including their father. The man was conflicted. It saddened her to think her sister may never find a husband or have children while their father was alive.
Like Storm, Emma was convinced if their father knew Storm’s gender, he’d send her away or marry her off to one of the outback tradesmen. Emma would never see her again.
Life was so unfair.
An unfamiliar sound in the bushes had rattled her into awareness. She may only be a female, but she wasn’t a helpless one. Emma and Storm had spent most of their childhood learning to hunt, fight, and survive in the wilderness. Her father had been concerned for her welfare her whole life, constantly worrying that someday she’d be abducted. Storm had been trained to protect her from such a fate. A task she took seriously, sometimes too seriously.
Storm could be more restrictive than their father. But she loved her sister, and they had spent many nights playing dress up so Storm could look and feel like a woman—see for herself just how beautiful a woman she was.
The sound had grown nearer, and Emma had sat upright, looking around her, keeping her movements subtle so her intruder wouldn’t know she was aware of him. She’d seen the old codger creeping through the reeds from the corner of her eye and smiled.
Had he really thought he was sneaking up behind her unnoticed?
The man had encroached on her quiet time and was in for one hell of a surprise when she turned the tables on him, foiling any plans he may have had. Her hand to hand combat equaled any mans. She’d leaned back onto the grass, rested her hand behind her head and closed her eyes.
“You’re Peckham’s daughter, aren’t you?” The male voice had broken through her silence, and a shadow fell over her face, blocking out the sun. She’d opened one eye, then screwed up the side of her face and squinted at him. Then opened the other eye, lifting a hand to shade her gaze from the noon sun as it seeped past the gaps in his arms and legs, and beamed down on her.
Emma had pushed up onto her elbows. “Who wants to know?”
“I reckon you must be, since you have just as much lip as your pa. And you resemble your mother. Stick-em up.”
Emma’s eyes had fallen onto the gun he was pointing at her. She should have felt afraid, but she didn’t. There hadn’t been anything menacing coming from the old man, sporting a Mexican hat, and kerchief around his neck. She guessed, he’d forgotten to pull it over his mouth. And she’d decided to go along with it.
She’d raised her hands above her head. “What’s all this about?”
“You’ll find out in good time. It’s time to make your pa give me what he owes me.”
“What could my father possibly owe you? You’re like an aging bandit. I could hear your old bones creaking before I saw you.”
“Yeah well, you’re being abducted by this aging bandit, creaking bones and all. So get on your feet, you’re coming with me.” He’d raised his sombrero onto his head and spat.
Emma did as she was told. Besides, she’d nothing better to do. It could have been fun, or if nothing else, at least interesting. Before they left, she’d left a sign for Storm to let her know she was all right, and not to be in any hurry to find her. She’d wanted to see how this played out.
When they were younger, Emma and Storm made up their own language using the signs they’d been taught when learning to track. It had been fun. One of them would hide with the other kids, leaving clues for the one doing the hunting to find. The clues told them where everyone was, and they knew not to find each other until the last. They were always the winners of their childhood game, and no one could figure out how they were doing it. It got so the other kids wouldn’t play with them—but they didn’t care. They had each other.
They developed the technique so well, they started to leave messages for each other in plain sight, that only they could see and understand. They’d gotten so good at using their environment to speak to each other, they could talk without using words.
“Get on your horse.” The old man’s voice had broken through her thoughts.
“Where are we going?” she’d asked, as she made ready to drop her breadcrumbs for Storm to follow.
“To the mountains. Won’t be so easy for your pa to track us then.”
Emma smiled to herself, then ran her foot into the ground to tell Storm they were heading to the mountains.
“Stick your hands out ahead of you. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to tie you up so you can’t get away.”
Emma had stuck her hands out and stifled a laugh when he rested his gun on the ground to tie her up. She’d shaken her head. If she’d had a mind to escape, there was no way this old fool could have stopped her.
But she hadn�
�t wanted to get away. It was the most fun she’d had in a long time. She’d waited patiently for him to finish his loose attempt at securing her wrists together. “This ain’t too tight, none?”
She wanted to say, “It ain’t tight at all.” Instead, she’d said, “It feels real secure, mister, I won’t be escaping anytime soon. You must be real good stirring cattle.”
He’d laughed, showing his yellow and black teeth. “Back in my day, I was real good at a lot of things. I’m retiring now and need what your pa owes me to make what’s left of my life easy.”
“Sure, isn’t that what everybody wants?”
He bent to pick up his gun, pointed it at her, and waved it toward her horse. “Go on git, git on your horse, and I’ll lead you to mine.”
Emma had obliged. She’d mounted her horse while he held the reins, clicked her heels, and led the horse into a slow trot so the old man didn’t have to run alongside her. The day had gotten much more interesting. And she wanted him to tell her the story between him and her father.
Until then, she’d just made sure the trail they’d left for Storm to follow was an easy one.
Chapter 3
Ready with everything they needed for their journey, stacked in a few saddlebags, Storm made her way out front to meet the boys. They were standing huddled together by the fence, talking among themselves. She went up to them, handing each of them an extra saddlebag and blanket.
"We’re going to need these. The nights are cold, especially if they’re headed for the mountains. But first, we need to go by the river. I can’t just take my pa’s word that’s where we’ll find Emma. I need to be sure. Let’s mount up."
She swung up onto her black and white stallion, hanging her saddlebag across the blanket between her and the horse. It was one her mother had made her, and she never went anywhere without it.
Storm slipped her rolled up blanket over her head through the string attached on either end, while she waited for the boys to arrange things on their saddles.
Wild Storm (The Unbridled Series Book 2) Page 1