by Connie Mason
“I’m sorry for you, Mr. Stryker,” Storm whispered softly.
After that their conversation suffered a natural death. Grady’s mood had changed abruptly from most pleasant to melancholy as he stared moodily at the passing landscape. It wasn’t until they reached Guthrie that either attempted speech again, and then it was only to remark on the state of affairs in the territorial capital.
Proof that the land offered for homesteading was wholly inadequate to the demand was evidenced by the vast numbers of disappointed would-be settlers, literally thousands, who were now rushing out of Guthrie to northern destinations. Every northbound train was almost as heavily loaded as when it had come in the day before, and thousands of people who returned from the land run empty-handed brought tales of as many more persons wandering around aimlessly all over the Cherokee Strip, looking for unclaimed land that was nonexistent.
Station platforms all along the line were crowded with people who had rushed in and were now looking for a way to get out. The opening of land by the government was over, the Indian land was given away, and still there were thousands of men and women without homes.
“I suppose we’re the lucky ones,” Storm said thoughtfully as she carefully dodged clumps of people milling in the streets.
“I’ll feel better once I file my claim,” Grady said.
The claims office was a madhouse as men rushed to file their claims so they could return to their land and build their obligatory shanties. Officials were so swamped they had to set up makeshift desks outside the main office in order to handle the overflow. It was to one of these that both Storm and Grady headed once they found a place to park the wagon.
The line moved slowly, too slowly to suit Grady, who had a natural aversion to idleness. Even Storm began to chafe restlessly as the sun grew high overhead and the lines grew longer. Several spats broke out in line, most caused by quarrelsome men anxious to get back to protect their land.
Suddenly Grady felt the hackles rise at the back of his neck and he turned slowly, having the distinct feeling that someone was staring at him. Had he been recognized again as one of the renegade Indians who brought terror to the hearts of settlers? Would he always be haunted by the things he had done in retaliation for Summer Sky’s death? Even though his anger and gun had been directed only against those men whose hatred for the Indians made them enemies, his reputation had grown by leaps and bounds until every man, woman, and child had feared Thunder, the Sioux renegade.
He turned slowly, his right hand hanging limply at his side, his fingers flexed. Grady’s eyes narrowed as he immediately identified the man who was staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. It was Lew Fork, the “Sooner” who had shot him when his back was turned. He was standing in line to file a claim.
Storm had no idea what was happening. She saw Fork and Grady facing one another, but since she had never seen the “Sooner” she had no idea who he was.
“I thought you were dead, Injun,” Fork said in a loud voice. “What are ya doing in line? Did ya jump another man’s claim like ya did mine?”
“Get your facts straight, Fork,” Grady said tightly. “Men who jump the gun have no right to claim land.”
“What makes ya think I jumped the gun?” Fork asked belligerently. “Who do ya think people will believe, me or some half-breed Injun? You got more lives than a cat.”
Goaded beyond endurance, Grady started to reach for his gun, but Storm stopped him. Though her touch was light as a feather he felt the heavy weight of her disapproval.
“Don’t,” Storm said softly. “Killing that man will prove nothing except your superiority with a gun. Let the authorities handle it.”
“Dammit, Storm, that man is the cowardly yellowbelly who shot me when my back was turned.” Never before had he allowed a woman to dictate caution to him. Not even Summer Sky had tried to quell his sudden bursts of temper.
“Let the law handle it, Grady.”
“Go ahead, Redskin, draw,” Fork taunted, realizing he had an ally in Storm. Immediately people began backing away.
“What’s going on here?” The voice held a ring of authority, and Grady recognized the distinctive blue uniform of the military. Guthrie was teeming with soldiers, most dispatched to the territorial capital to keep peace during the land rush. They also had the thankless task of proving or disproving the claims of Sooners.
“The Injun here is tryin’ to claim my land, Captain,” Fork said in an ingratiating tone of voice.
The Captain studied Grady closely, missing nothing about him. Not the dangerous glint in his blue eyes, his swarthy complexion, or the way he carried his gun, strapped to his thigh like a gunslinger.
“Is that true, Mr.—Mr.—?”
“Stryker. Grady Stryker. And no, it’s not true. This man claimed land he had no right to. He couldn’t possibly have reached that particular quarter section before me, set out his stakes, and put up a tent unless he jumped the gun.”
“I’ll attest to that, Captain,” Storm concurred. “I was right behind Mr. Stryker and there was no one ahead of us. When we arrived at the land Mr. Stryker claimed, it was already staked. I left to stake my own claim and when I returned I found Mr. Stryker had been shot in the back.”
“Wounded?” the Captain asked skeptically. He saw no evidence of Grady being wounded as recently as yesterday. “Are you certain, young lady?”
“I dressed the wound myself,” Storm said with asperity. “It should be very easy to prove.”
“I’ll take your word for it, miss.”
“It’s Missus. Mrs. Kennedy.”
“Kennedy. Is your husband the man who was killed in the street recently by a stray bullet?” He slanted Grady a pointed look. “And wasn’t this man involved in the incident?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I’m Captain Stark. Please accept my condolences.” He turned to Grady, trying to recall where he’d heard the name “Stryker” before. “If Mrs. Kennedy is telling the truth, then you have a right to file charges against the man for shooting you, Mr. Stryker.”
“Ain’t my word as good as the Injun’s?” Fork complained bitterly.
“Are you any relation to Blade Stryker of Wyoming?” Captain Stark asked, ignoring Fork as he suddenly made the connection.
“Blade Stryker is my father.”
“I thought so; you have the same look about you. Of course, your mother’s blue eyes are what gave you away.”
“You know my parents?”
“Your father has provided the army with some fine horses over the years. I had the pleasure of visiting Cheyenne and Peaceful Valley just last year. There are few military men who haven’t heard about the secret mission Captain Stryker performed for President Johnson many years ago. It’s quite a story.”
Storm was stunned. It seemed unlikely that this untamed savage came from such upstanding parents. What had happened to turn him into an undisciplined renegade?
“My father is quite a man,” Grady admitted. A pang of regret for the pain his parents had suffered on his account turned his features grim. He was seized by a longing so intense, he turned away to prevent embarrassment.
“Is everything Mrs. Kennedy said true?” Captain Stark asked.
“Now wait a damn minute,” Fork growled. “What about me and my claim? Can’t ya see the man and his whore are lyin’ through their teeth? He probably killed her husband on purpose so’s they could be together.”
With the speed of lightning Grady reached out, wrapping his long fingers around Fork’s throat. “I ought to kill you for that remark, Fork. I didn’t even know Mrs. Kennedy until that gunman’s bullet killed her husband.” His fingers tightened, slowly squeezing the breath from Fork.
Captain Stark’s quick thinking was the only thing that saved Fork. His arm flew up, abruptly breaking Grady’s hold on the ‘Sooner.’ “None of that, Stryker. I’d hate to have to write your father that you were hanged for murder. Do you want to press charges against this man for shooting you?
”
Grady shook his head. “No, let the scum go. Being left without land to claim is punishment enough. But I warn you, Fork, don’t ever show your face anywhere near my land. Next time you’ll not be so lucky.”
Rubbing his throat, Fork glanced at Captain Stark, and when the captain made no move to stop him, he slunk away.
A man at the edge of the crowd stopped him. “Do you know who that half-breed is?” His voice was pitched so low Fork had to strain to hear him. When Fork shook his head, the man continued in a hushed voice. “His Sioux name is Thunder. Most whites know him as Renegade. He’s the fastest gun this side of the Rockies and he carries a grudge against all white men.”
“Why?” Fork croaked.
“Don’t rightly know, stranger, but some believe it involves a woman. The man who draws against him and wins will earn the respect and gratitude of men like my friend, who challenged him yesterday and lost.”
“What happened?” Fork asked, intrigued.
“It was incredible. I never saw a man draw and shoot so fast. Stryker shot my friend without blinking an eye. If you’d like to get even for what just happened, I’ll take you to my friend. He could use a man like you—one with a grudge against Stryker, or Thunder, or whatever you want to call him.”
Glancing back to where Grady stood talking to Captain Stark, Fork smile evilly. “Take me to your friend. I reckon we got some talkin’ to do.”
Chapter Four
While Grady spoke to Captain Stark, a man sidled up beside Storm, tipped his immaculate new hat, and asked, “Are you all right, ma’am? I saw the confrontation between your—er—friend and the ‘Sooner’ and hope you weren’t offended by the man’s rough language.”
Storm stared at the stranger, impressed by his refined speech and manners. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, dressed in the latest fashion. The slim mustache gracing his upper lip twitched when he smiled at Storm. He looked like a prosperous businessman.
Taken in by the stranger’s suave manner, Storm’s answer came immediately. “Mr. Stryker hardly qualifies as a friend. I’ve only just met him. And the circumstance of our meeting was deplorable.”
“Ah, yes, the tragic accident involving your husband. How sad for you, my dear. Let me introduce myself. I am Nat Turner, newly arrived in Guthrie to conduct business.” He didn’t mention what kind of business he was involved in, and Storm didn’t bother to ask.
Storm eyed Turner warily, leery of his intentions. “I’m Storm Kennedy.”
“I don’t blame you for being cautious, Mrs. Kennedy. Guthrie abounds with all types of scoundrels. But I took you for a lady immediately and wished only to offer my services. In whatever capacity,” he added, sliding a glance in Grady’s direction. “Has the half-breed been bothering you?”
“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Turner, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Of course you are, but just in case, I can be reached at the Guthrie Hotel. I see you are in line,” he remarked conversationally. “Have you by chance claimed a piece of Oklahoma?”
Storm smiled radiantly, eager and willing to relate how she had claimed her quarter section of prime land. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Remarkable, I’d say, though I can’t help but wonder how you’ll manage on your own. Farming is difficult enough for a man, but a woman—?”
Storm’s bottom lip jutted out belligerently. “Perhaps I won’t farm the land. There are other possibilities, you know. Besides, I’m quite capable of surviving on my own.”
“Very commendable, yes indeed, but not very practical. I predict that once you have time to consider the tremendous responsibility you’re assuming you’ll have second thoughts. If you do—”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do, I’d be more than happy to buy your land from you at a reasonable price. Just think, you can go back home with money in your pocket and find yourself a husband to support you.”
“I appreciate your advice, Mr. Turner, but Oklahoma is my home now. Come what may, I’m here to stay.”
“Who is that man talking to Mrs. Kennedy?” Grady asked Captain Stark when he noticed Storm wasn’t alone.
“A speculator by the name of Nat Turner,” Stark said, glancing in Storm’s direction. “Don’t know much about him. He just arrived in town.”
Grady didn’t like the way the man was cozying up to Storm. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I think I’ll see what he wants with Storm.”
“Very well, Stryker. Just remember, stay out of trouble. In deference to your father, I’m going to ignore the rumors concerning your past. But at the first sign of trouble, I’ll be all over you like hot tar.”
“I’ll remember that, Captain,” Grady said as he focused his attention back to Storm and the man with whom she was conversing.
“Nevertheless, please don’t hesitate to call on me for anything—anything at all,” Grady heard the stranger say to Storm.
“Is there a problem?” Grady asked, scowling at Turner in a manner that bespoke his displeasure.
“I’m merely offering my services to Mrs. Kennedy,” Turner replied quickly.
Turner thought the half-breed looked like the kind of man he usually avoided, a man with a hot temper who acted first and asked questions later. Turner’s philosophy in life was never to tangle personally with dangerous men. There were other, more subtle ways to gain the upper hand with men like that without exposing oneself to violence. He paid good money to avoid violence and keep his reputation unsullied.
“Mrs. Kennedy doesn’t need your services, Turner.” For some reason Grady felt an instant dislike for Nat Turner.
“I can speak for myself,” Storm said, her temper flaring. What made Grady Stryker think he was responsible for her? He had no business speaking in her behalf. As soon as they were alone she intended to give him a piece of her mind. “Thank you very much, Mr. Turner, for your kind offer, but I don’t anticipate any problems.”
“Then I’ll be on my way,” Turner said, tipping his hat. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Kennedy.” He gave Grady a quick nod before continuing on his way.
“Do you always speak to strangers?” Grady asked with unreasonable anger. “Did your parents teach you nothing?”
“How dare you suggest I’d invite a man’s attentions,” Storm bit out. “Mr. Turner noticed the confrontation between you and Fork and kindly offered assistance. I thought he was a real gentleman.”
“Some men prefer widows for their obvious experience,” Grady said crudely, “while others prey on any comely woman too naive to see through them. You’re young, beautiful, and too damn desirable for your own good. You’d be wise to discourage men like Turner. You’re not adept enough to handle them.”
Grady noted the surprised look on Storm’s face and was puzzled by it. Didn’t she know men would find her beautiful and desirable? Was she so naive that she had no earthly idea she was breathtakingly lovely, with an innate sensuousness that made men itch to possess her? Nothing about her was ordinary. From the top of her shining blonde head to the tip of her dainty feet she was sensual, provocative, and fascinating. Grady thought her lips the most tempting he had ever seen. Full and lush, they seemed made expressly for kissing.
“I have no intention of listening to you or any other man, Mr. Stryker. I’ll do as I see fit.”
The slightest of smiles curved Grady’s lips. “Seeing as how we’re neighbors, why don’t you call me Grady?”
“Because I have no intention of becoming too friendly with you,” Storm said. Her scathing reply drew a chuckle from him. “Do you think I could forget so soon that you’re responsible for Buddy’s death?”
Grady’s face darkened and he turned away. Storm had wanted to put him in his place and she felt a thrill of accomplishment at having done it so handily. He really is a detestable man, she thought.
Then why does sparring with Grady Stryker make you feel so alive? a voice inside her
dared to ask.
Because Grady Stryker is like no other man, that same voice replied.
Storm chose to ignore those voices. All she knew was that Grady Stryker was a danger to her. If just being near him could make her forget Buddy, what would a friendship lead to? Trouble, she decided. More trouble than she could even imagine. Men like Grady Stryker didn’t settle down in one place for long. Sooner or later their violent ways caught up with them.
Once their claims were filed, Storm and Grady went their own ways, agreeing to meet back at the wagon later in the day. First Storm visited the bank, receiving assurance that she had sufficient funds with which to buy lumber and hire men to build her shanty. Only she wasn’t going to build a shanty. It was going to be a real cabin, small out of necessity, but comfortable enough for her immediate needs. No soddy built of turf for her. Many settlers built them for economy’s sake despite the fact that they were damp and nearly impossible to keep clean.
From the bank, Storm went to the lumberyard to order wood and roofing for her cabin. The owner assured her the material would be delivered to her claim the next day. Construction could be started immediately.
Storm and Grady met by chance at the lumberyard when he stopped there to order his own lumber. Since his funds were limited, he planned to build his own dwelling.
A visit to the grocery store for provisions was her last stop before Storm headed back to the wagon. She had already arranged for a well to be dug and bought items she and Buddy had neglected earlier. She placed her purchases in the wagon beside Grady’s packages. Because he had been less prepared than Storm, his goods nearly filled the wagon. Foremost was the roomy tent he intended to use until his cabin was erected.
