A Promise of Thunder (12 page)

An enigmatic smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes glowed with fierce possession. “We made love, Storm Kennedy, and it was magnificent. Every bit as good as I knew it would be. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it; I know better.”

She groaned and dropped her face into her hands, giving in to her despair. If she lived to be one hundred, she’d never survive the horror of waking up in bed with the man responsible for Buddy’s death. The fact that she had responded to the savage’s loving in a way she’d never responded to Buddy intensified that horror.

“Dammit, Storm, what is wrong with you? Those men didn’t hurt you. And your cabin is unscathed save for a shattered window, a broken hinge, and a few bullet holes.”

She pried her hands away from her face and whispered savagely, “Why? What kind of man are you to take advantage of a woman in distress? What kind a woman am I to—to—oh, God, I can’t even talk about it. I’ve shamed Buddy’s memory.”

Grady was truly perplexed. To his way of thinking there was no shame in a man and woman wanting one another, fulfilling their mutual need in a natural way. “Buddy is dead, but you’re alive, more alive than you’ve ever been in your life. If what I suspect is true, your dead husband never pleased you as well as I did last night. Can you deny the passion you experienced in my arms?”

“No!” she spat fiercely. Her honey-brown eyes narrowed with anger. “But it was wrong to feel like that with a—a—savage!”

The word exploded in Grady’s brain like a blast from a gun. “Savage! Is that what you think of me? Am I less than human because
of my Indian blood? You’re a damn hypocrite, Storm Kennedy. I may be a savage, but you’re a liar who’s afraid to voice your true feelings. You told me last night that I was the first man to bring you to climax.”

Storm gulped in fear, realizing she had trapped herself with her own words. “I—I
am
a liar. I didn’t mean what I said. Of course you weren’t the first man to—to—make me feel like that. Buddy and I had a very satisfying marriage.”

“Are you telling me you’re always such a hot little piece?”

His crude language brought a flush of color to her cheeks. “You’re the expert; think what you like.”

Suddenly he swept back the blanket, exposing her to his lascivious gaze. Bold blue eyes raked the length of her naked body before coming to rest on her outraged face. “Something tells me, Storm Kennedy, that you protest too much. Tell me again that I didn’t please you.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, Grady Stryker. Buddy was a much better lover than you.” Her lie was more for her benefit than his.

Grady’s eyes blazed with unholy light as he pulled her upright into his arms. She knew what he intended before his hard mouth came down on hers. His kiss was angry, his tongue a rapacious sword that stabbed past her lips in a fierce demonstration of total domination. His hands, oh, God, his hands—they stroked, caressed, and probed relentlessly, leaving no
part of her free of his possession. He was every bit the savage she had called him, and more. She fought against total subjugation and lost.

With the agility and strength that was second nature to him, he lifted her atop him and impaled her fully, penetrating deeply, his hardened staff throbbing against the tight walls of her sheath. Storm gasped as he filled and stretched her, touching her so deeply and thoroughly, she felt magnificently possessed by the scent and essence of him.

She expected savagery. He gave her tenderness.

His lips softened. His mouth nuzzled her breasts with exquisite gentleness and thrilling passion. His fingers stroked and molded the soft mounds of her buttocks as he slid her up and down the engorged pillar of velvet and steel. Her climax came abruptly, shattering her into a million pieces then flinging her to the stars. She was barely aware of Grady’s shout of raw pleasure as he attained man’s highest reward.

“How do I compare with your dead husband now?” Grady panted into her ear.

“There’s no comparison. You can’t hold a candle to Buddy.”

Red dots of rage exploded in Grady’s brain. “You’re a sorry excuse for a woman, Storm Kennedy!” The lie nearly strangled him, but it was too late to take it back now. “You are nothing like my sweet, gentle Summer Sky. At least she knew how to make me feel like a man.
There’s much you need to learn about pleasing a man.”

“Oh!”

Flinging himself out of bed, Grady stalked to the door, forgetting that he was stark naked, forgetting everything but the need to remove himself from the presence of a woman who wasn’t honest enough to admit she felt passion with him. He flung open the partially ruined door with a bang and a curse, nearly breaking it off the remaining hinge. The raw bite of the wind stole his breath away. But he was too proud to ask for a blanket to cover his nakedness, too incensed to return for the scant protection of his discarded breechclout. He stalked out the door, pure savage and every bit as ferocious as the fearless Lakota warrior who out of bitterness and hate had vowed vengeance against the white race. He turned once to send Storm a look of utter contempt before slamming the door behind him.

Storm stared at the door long after Grady left. Long after she heard the thunder of hooves on the hard-packed earth. Sweet Lord, what had she done? What kind of woman was she to forget all she and Buddy had shared through the years? One moment of exquisite passion had made Buddy a dim memory from her past. Obviously the half-breed had cast a spell on her that turned her into a wanton hussy with the morals of an alley cat. How could Grady have found a place inside her that Buddy, her dearest friend, had never discovered?

What made Grady different from any other man?
she asked herself.

The simplicity of the answer stunned her.
No other man had the power to move her as Grady did.

She hated the way he manipulated her. She despised the way her body responded to the touch of his hands and mouth. And she definitely didn’t appreciate the knowledge that he was the first man to reach some magical place in her that no other man had ever touched.

Even if it was true.

“You bungling idiots!” Nat Turner raved as he fixed Fork and Purdy with a malevolent glare. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Purdy shifted in restless agitation while Fork, wearing a bandage where Grady’s knife had gauged a nasty groove, grimaced in painful recollection. He preferred not being reminded of their disastrous encounter with the half-breed. But Turner was relentless in his fury.

“What in the hell are you being paid for? You were supposed to convince the Kennedy woman that she isn’t capable of homesteading or defending her property. You were ordered to scare the living hell out of her so she’d accept my offer to buy her land. But no, manhandling one frail woman was too much for you. My client in Texas is badgering me for land.”

“How were we supposed to know that blasted renegade would barge in just when we had the woman where we wanted her?” Purdy complained bitterly. “Look what he did to Fork. An inch lower and the renegade’s knife woulda put a quick end to him.”

“Stop sniveling. I can’t stand whiners,” Turner returned crossly. “What you’re telling me is that the two of you are no match for the breed.”

“Now see here, Turner,” Purdy protested, “you got no call talkin’ to me and Fork like that. Soon as I heal we’ll try again, only this time we’ll know what to expect. Maybe we’ll even hire another man to act as lookout while we rough up the woman. That damn renegade’s got eyes in the back of his head. How in the hell did he know what we were up to?”

“Seeing as how I can’t trust you two to do the job for me, I reckon I’ll have to do it myself,” Turner said. “If my methods don’t work by the time Purdy is healed, I’ll let you have another go at her.”

“I didn’t think you liked dirtyin’ your hands with rough stuff,” Fork said with sly innuendo. “The Kennedy woman might be young and beautiful, but she’s damn feisty. Ya ain’t gonna handle her with kid gloves.” His snicker set Turner’s teeth on edge.

“Perhaps you’re wrong,” Turner said thoughtfully. “Perhaps kid gloves are exactly what’s needed to convince the Widow Kennedy to
move on to other parts. Or …” an arrested look came over his face, “I could rely on that old adage about honey catching more flies than vinegar. Boys,” he said, grinning wickedly, “I’m going acourtin’. Wish me luck.”

Storm hadn’t seen Grady since the day he stormed out of her cabin. Nor did she expect to see him anytime soon after the angry words they’d exchanged. The weather had turned blustery, and each time she carried wood into the house for her stove she was reminded that if not for Grady she would be out cutting wood right now. Truth to tell, the guilt she felt was not due entirely to the firewood he had provided. A good share of it came from their lustful coupling that night a week ago.

“Damn womanizer!” Storm muttered beneath her breath as she grabbed her jacket from the hook and stomped out the door. She had no business thinking about a no-good half-breed whose mysterious hatred for the white race left him bitter and distrustful when she had chores to do. Plucking a bucket from the doorstep, she headed for the well to draw water for the day. She was just lowering the bucket down the shaft when she saw a rider approaching in the distance.

Leaving the bucket dangling at the end of the rope, Storm rushed back inside the cabin and grabbed her shotgun. She had been
so immersed in arousing thoughts of Grady Stryker that she had neglected to bring her gun along. Since the attack the other night, she had made a point to carry it wherever she went. When she opened the door Nat Turner had already dismounted and was approaching the cabin.

“Storm, my dear girl, I just heard the news in town. Are you all right? What kind of monsters would attack an unprotected woman?”

“News gets around fast,” Storm replied. “I was just in town yesterday to order another pane for my shattered window and mentioned to Mr. Clark that I had unwelcome visitors in the night. Of course I also reported it to the sheriff.”

“Dreadful news like that doesn’t take long to spread. What do you suppose they wanted?” he asked innocently.

“I—don’t know.” Storm stammered. A dull red crept up her neck. She was too embarrassed to reveal that both men had attempted to rape her before Grady intervened.

“Hmmm, could be robbery. Then again, you are a beautiful woman.” From what he left unsaid Storm realized he had guessed what the masked men had attempted. “How in the world did you manage to chase them away without being hurt?”

“Come inside, Nat, and I’ll explain,” Storm invited. It was too cold to stand outside talking. “There’s hot coffee sitting on the back of the stove and apple pie left from yesterday.”

Once they were seated across from one another sipping coffee and eating pie, Nat waited politely for Storm to continue her explanation of the attack.

“I had help,” she revealed tersely. “Grady Stryker saved me from—from—an unpleasant experience.”

Turner feigned surprise. “The half-breed? What in the hell was he doing here at that time of night?”

“It’s not what you think, Nat,” Storm was quick to add. “Grady’s arrival was as much a surprise to me as it was to the two masked men. I owe my life to his excellent hearing and keen senses. He sensed danger even before he heard shots echoing across the prairie.”

“How—fortunate,” Nat said. His smile, while outwardly sincere, never reached his eyes. “I hope the sheriff finds the men responsible.”

“Yes, indeed, very fortunate,” Storm concurred brightly. Though she tried to subdue the memory, her eyes turned dreamy when she recalled what had transpired after the intruders left her property. Her cheeks reddened and she shook her head to rid it of every delicious detail of their passionate encounter.

Nat cleared his throat, bringing Storm back to the present. “I tried to tell you, my dear, that it isn’t safe for you out here alone. What if it happens again and Stryker isn’t as perceptive as he was the other night?”

“I’ll be prepared next time,” Storm declared stoutly.

Turner frowned. “This unprovoked attack should convince you that you’re not capable of protecting your land. You need a husband, my dear. Especially if you expect to remain on your homestead.”

“Contrary to your belief, I’m quite capable, Nat. I’ll manage just fine on my own.”

Turner knew when to retreat. The last thing he wanted was to incur Storm’s anger. “I’m sure you will, Storm. Meanwhile, do you have enough money to get by until your land starts producing?”

Storm thought back to her recent conversation with the banker. Building her cabin and digging the well had cost far more than she had originally anticipated. After purchasing provisions to last the winter, she barely had enough cash left to purchase the cattle she’d ordered. The news had shocked her, but she remained undaunted. Somehow she would persevere.

“I’ll get by.” Her grim expression gave Turner the distinct impression that Storm
would
succeed, unless he took matters into his own hands.

“Enough of this talk, Storm. What I really came for is to invite you to a barn dance Saturday night. How long has it been since you’ve enjoyed yourself at a social affair?”

“A barn dance?” Storm’s face flushed with pleasure. She recalled how much she and Buddy used to enjoy dancing. “It sounds won—” Her words ground to a halt. “Oh, I don’t think I should.”

“Of course you should,” Turner contradicted smoothly. “You’re still a young woman. You deserve a little pleasure in your life.”

“What will people say? My husband has been dead less than two months.”

“Who cares what they say? No one can take his memory away from you. I’m sure your young husband would be the first to urge you to accept my invitation.”

His arguments made sense to Storm. Buddy would have hated to see her sitting home and grieving. He’d want her to enjoy herself. “You’ve convinced me, Nat. I’ll be happy to attend the barn dance with you.”

Turner grinned delightedly. “I knew you were too sensible to remain a recluse when life beckons. I’ll pick you up at five o’clock Saturday evening. Don’t disappoint me.”