A Promise of Thunder (15 page)

“You—”

Whatever she was going to say was lost on Grady, for he was already out the door.

Breakfast was the last thing Storm wanted. Her stomach was churning wildly and she knew if she put anything inside it she would promptly lose it. And her head was pounding with a hundred hammers. She did manage to keep down a cup of tea, but kept her face carefully averted from the huge plate of greasy eggs, steak, and potatoes Grady was shoveling down with such disgusting gusto. Once he had taken the edge off his hunger he began relating the events of the previous night. Storm listened in wide-eyed horror to the tale of how that skunk Nat Turner had very nearly succeeded in tricking her into selling her land.

Once Grady had finished with all the nasty details, Storm stared at him a full minute before speaking. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I followed you.”

“Why didn’t Nat see you?”

Grady smiled obliquely. “No one sees me if I don’t want him to.”

“Would I really have signed a bill of sale for my homestead if you hadn’t arrived when you did?”

“You already had the pen on paper when I burst into the room. I lost precious time when that blasted hotel clerk refused to tell me which room you were in. Seems Turner paid him to keep quiet. He wouldn’t have told me at all
if I hadn’t offered him something even more valuable.”

“More valuable? Did you offer him more money?”

“I offered him his life,” Grady said with quiet menace. His tone of voice sent a shiver down Storm’s spine.

“I can’t believe Nat would get me drunk. He told me the punch wasn’t spiked. I was so thirsty from dancing, I must have drunk a gallon of the stuff.”

“I tried to tell you what the man was like.”

“You also kept interfering in my life when you had no right.”

“Where would you be today if I hadn’t interfered?” His intense gaze pinned her to the wall.

“I—don’t know, and I thank you for last night, but that doesn’t make you my keeper. From now on I’ll know what to expect and be prepared.”

Grady sent her an oblique look as he scraped back his chair and rose to his feet. “If you’re able to ride, I’ll take you home. We’ll have to ride double, but the extra weight will be no burden for Lightning.”

Though Storm didn’t relish the idea of being so close to Grady for the ten-mile ride home, she wanted to return to her snug little cabin as quickly as possible. “I’ll manage.”

A weak sun broke through the clouds as Storm and Grady rode home. Though Grady kept their pace deliberately slow and easy, each jolt made Storm aware of his muscular form pressed in intimate contact with hers. Her
hips rested snugly in the cradle of his loins, her back was warmed from contact with his chest, and everywhere they touched felt like a burning brand against her flesh. She stiffened her spine in a futile attempt to hold herself upright, but the position soon became impossible to maintain. In the end she grit her teeth and let herself absorb the comfort his huge body provided.

Storm even managed to doze in the saddle a time or two, barely aware when Grady eased an arm around her waist and pressed her more snugly against him. But Grady was more than aware of how perfectly she fit his arms and how small and vulnerable she seemed against his hardness. A surge of protectiveness such as he hadn’t felt since Summer Sky’s untimely death gave him an unsettling sensation in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need another woman in his life, he cautioned himself sternly. He especially didn’t need a white woman whose independence and stubbornness were completely at odds with the qualities he admired in a woman.

A groan left Grady’s lips as Storm shifted in her sleep, fitting her bottom more snugly against his loins. Was there no end to the torture he must suffer on Storm Kennedy’s account? In his village, when he wanted a woman—usually one of the accommodating widows—he merely made his choice and took her with little fanfare or discussion. But it was different here in the white world, where a man must satisfy himself with prostitutes or take a wife. And Storm was the last woman in the
world he would take to wife. She’d probably make Little Buffalo a terrible mother. Or would she? Conflicting emotions were still waging a battle inside his brain when he reached the outer boundaries of Storm’s homestead, never anticipating the total devastation that awaited them.

The first inkling Storm had of impending disaster came when Grady reined in Lightning so violently, the poor animal reared and nearly unseated them. She came awake with a jerk, startled to hear a string of vile curses rush past Grady’s lips.

“Wha—what’s wrong?” she asked groggily as she tried to shake off the bonds of sleep.

His face was taut with simmering rage, his lips drawn back to expose his teeth in a fierce scowl. At first Storm thought Grady’s anger was directed at her, until she followed the direction of his gaze. “You’ve had visitors during the night,” he said tightly. The hollowness of his voice frightened her.

“Dear God, no!” The words were ripped from Storm’s throat in a tormented shriek. Grady had reined in a hundred feet or so from where the cabin once stood. Nothing remained of the snug little dwelling she had left the night before except charred wood and smoldering ashes. Only the scorched, wood-burning stove she had been so proud of remained, virtually unscathed by the inferno that had destroyed her home.

Without waiting for Grady to dismount, Storm slid from Lightning’s back, running,
stumbling, falling, picking herself up, then running again. Cursing violently, Grady leaped to the ground and gave chase. Storm was within a few feet from the burnt-out hulk when Grady caught her.

“There’s nothing you can do now, sweetheart,” he said as she sobbed against his chest.

“Everything I held dear is gone,” she choked out. “All my memories of Buddy, things my parents gave me to set up housekeeping, our wedding presents—everything. How? Why? I don’t understand. What did you mean by ‘visitors’?”

“Perhaps I spoke prematurely. Did you leave an unbanked fire in the hearth?” Instinct told him the fire hadn’t started on its own, but he didn’t want to alarm Storm until he was absolutely certain.

Still in shock, Storm shook her head.

“What about the stove? Could you have forgotten to douse the flame?”

“No, I distinctly remember banking the fire in the hearth, and the stove was cold when I left home. What am I going to do?” she wailed disconsolately. “There’s not enough money left to rebuild.”

The air was pungent with the acrid odor of charred wood, and thin wisps of blue mist hung in the cold air above the ruins, suggesting to Grady that the fire had started in the early hours after midnight and had burned quickly. It was suspicious, damn suspicious, Grady thought as his keen eyes made a thorough search of the
area. Even the smallest clue could tell him what had happened during the night.

“Stay here,” Grady said as he set Storm aside and approached the remains of the cabin.

“Where are you going?”

“To look for signs,” Grady tossed over his shoulder. “I don’t think the fire was an accident. I believe it was set deliberately.”

Only one wall was left standing, charred beyond redemption and ready to topple at the slightest provocation. The other walls had collapsed into a heap of blackened rubble. Nothing remained of the cabin’s contents save for the stove and a few scorched pots and broken pieces of pottery. After a cursory glance at the rubble, Grady turned his attention to the immediate vicinity surrounding the cabin. Dropping to his knees, he examined a set of hoofprints in the soft ground, grunting in satisfaction when he located another set, neither of which belonged to him or Storm. From the depth of the print in the damp soil, Grady established that the riders were much heavier than Storm. And he knew with certainty that they weren’t Lightning’s prints; his mount wore shoes with distinctive markings.

Then he found a telling piece of evidence that proved conclusively that the fire had been deliberately set. He discovered the remains of a crude torch that had been used to set the cabin ablaze. He carried it back to where Storm stood, intending to put it in his saddlebag and show it to the sheriff.

“What did you find?” Storm asked anxiously. She was still in a daze, unable to fully comprehend the disaster that had befallen her. Everything of value she owned had been destroyed in one night’s evil doings.

Grady held up the charred torch. “Hoofprints that belong to neither one of us, for one thing,” Grady said, “and a torch that was probably used to set the fire.”

“Oh, God,” Storm said, sinking to her knees. She had never felt so alone or bereft in her life. Though her parents had many children and were barely able to scrape a living from the rocky Missouri soil, she had always felt loved and protected. And Buddy had always been there to lend her support. “Who would do this to me?”

“Someone who wants your homestead,” Grady said grimly. “The damn shame of it is, we can’t prove Nat Turner is the culprit.” He turned pensive. “I could always beat the truth out of him.”

“If you do, you’ll be thrown in jail for assault,” Storm advised. “What am I going to do?” she repeated in such a forlorn voice, Grady experienced an emotion that was utterly foreign to him.

“First I’m going to take you to my place and get some hot coffee into you. After that I’m going back into town to talk to the sheriff.”

“Is there nothing salvageable?” Storm asked in a small voice.

“Nothing, Storm. I’m sorry.”

Hoisting her into the saddle, Grady swung in place behind her and turned Lightning toward his homestead. Though outwardly calm, he feared he’d find his own cabin destroyed. He knew a man who committed so vile a deed once would have no qualms about attempting it a second time. Grady knew Nat Turner hated him for having spoiled his plans on more than one occasion, and if he found his cabin still intact it was only because Turner feared Grady’s retribution.

Grady’s worst fears were realized when he was close enough to see tendrils of smoke rising from the vicinity of his cabin. Storm saw them also.

“Oh, no! Not your cabin too!” Tears that were still so close to the surface flowed without restraint down her cheeks. Grady dug his heels into Lightning’s flanks, and Storm clung to the pummel to keep from falling as the stallion shot forward.

Grady uttered a cry of relief when he saw that the smoke they had seen from the distance came from one charred wall, not from the burnt wreckage of his cabin, as he had expected. The other walls were virtually untouched. By some miracle the torch had been carelessly thrown and lay beside the charred wall, half submerged in a puddle left from a recent rain. Evidently the arsonists hadn’t waited around long enough to watch the conflagration. The torch had been quenched before it did more than scorch one wall and destroy a few shingles. When Grady
saw that the smoldering flame threatened to burst into a blazing inferno at any moment, he reacted swiftly.

Leaping to the ground, he found two empty buckets he had left in the yard, grasped one in each hand, and raced to the river. He was back in minutes, dousing the charred side of the cabin. Then back to the river again for more water. Storm saw what he was attempting and hurried to join him, using a large kettle she found nearby. After several trips Grady was satisfied that the smoldering fire couldn’t be rekindled into a full-blown blaze and called a halt.

“Another hour and it would have been too late,” Grady said as he surveyed the damage to his cabin. In addition to the charred wall, parts of the roof had been destroyed. Fortunately the damage was minimal compared to the devastating loss Storm had suffered. “The wind could have fanned the smoldering embers to life and then we’d both be without a roof over our heads. Our ‘friends,’ whoever they may be, play rough.”

The cabin smelled strongly of smoke as Storm stood just inside the door. Her weary eyes swept Grady’s home with a desultory glance. It wasn’t nearly as fine as hers and there was no cookstove or comfortable bed, but at least it was still standing, she thought dully. The charred wall was a grim reminder of her own loss and she turned from it with a brave show of defiance. Despite the grievous loss she’d suffered, she would survive somehow.

The bone-chilling cold had penetrated the room, and she shivered as she hugged her wrap closer around her. Grady noted her discomfort and squatted beside the hearth to light a fire. He waited until the blaze took hold before turning back to Storm, who stood suspended in the center of the room, still in a state of shock.

“I’ll make some coffee,” he offered. “Sit down, Storm. Worrying will serve no purpose.

She moved woodenly toward the chair, perching gingerly on the edge. When the coffee was boiled, Grady poured her a cup and sat across from her, sipping the dark, rich brew and watching her. She hadn’t moved since she sat down, or even appeared to know where she was. Her head was lowered and she appeared to be studying the tips of her fingers. Grady assumed the shock of finding her home destroyed had sent her deep into depression.

“Are you all right?” he asked. The obvious concern in his voice brought her head up. She nodded. “Do you want to talk?”

“What can I say? My home is gone; there’s not enough money left to rebuild or put in crops. What little cash remains from Buddy’s inheritance is earmarked for the purchase of cattle.”

“Do you have enough money to get you back to Missouri? If not, I can offer you a small loan.”

“And give up my homestead?” Storm shot back, startled that he would suggest such a thing. “You expect me to surrender meekly
after what Turner did to me? The land is mine! Do you hear me? No one is going to take that away from me.” Her voice rose in fierce defense of what she and Buddy had worked so hard for. Owning land was her dream, and she had won the coveted homestead despite the obstacles she had been forced to overcome.

“What do you intend to do?” Grady asked, amazed by her fierce determination to see her dream through. Most women would be too stricken to continue on alone after suffering losses such as Storm had known. But then, he knew of no other woman who had the gumption to join the rush for land and homestead without a man beside her. Storm Kennedy seemed to thrive on adversity.