by Connie Mason
When Grady leaped into the driver’s seat, Storm offered no resistance. She was too tired to argue. The hectic events of the past few days had taken their toll, and losing Buddy had been a shock to her system. Before they reached the outskirts of Guthrie, Storm was already asleep, using Grady’s broad shoulder as a cushion for her head.
Storm never stirred when Grady placed an arm around her, drawing her tightly against him. The evening had grown cool and she snuggled closer against him to absorb his comforting warmth. She didn’t even awaken when they reached her claim and he carried her into her tent, placing her gently on the bedroll that served as her bed and covering her with another blanket he found nearby. After unloading her provisions and stacking them against the tent, he drove the wagon to his own claim, unloading his supplies before unhitching the horses and hobbling them nearby. He’d return the wagon the next day, he decided, giving him another excuse to see Storm.
Workers arrived with Storm’s lumber the next morning, and within days the cabin took shape. Meanwhile, Grady began work on his own dwelling, which was rising much more slowly since he was working alone. Storm had decided to move her cabin site more than a half mile away from the place where she had originally erected her tent; it now stood on a grassy knoll beneath a stand of trees that would shade her home in the blistering heat of summer. The site also gave her a good view of her land. And better yet, it was farther away from Grady’s cabin site, which was nestled on the bank of the river.
The digging of the well was going more slowly than the raising of the cabin, Storm thought as she trekked across Grady’s land with a pail in each hand. She had driven the wagon to a section of his roped-off claim, then walked the rest of the way to the river to draw water for the day. It was a daily chore, one she had come to loathe. Each time she crossed the half-breed’s land she felt more and more indebted to him, and she didn’t like the feeling. Sometimes she saw him working on his cabin and she nodded in greeting, and other times he was nowhere in sight. Inspecting his land, she supposed. She had to admit it was a much better piece of land than her own quarter section and she envied him his claim.
This morning the absence of hammering sounds told Storm that Grady wasn’t working on his cabin. Her relief was profound when she realized she wouldn’t have to see him with his splendid torso bared to the sun as he worked on his cabin. The sight of a half-naked Grady, his bronze muscles taut and slick with sweat, nearly always sent her pulses spinning out of control.
“How is your cabin coming along?”
Storm spun around, dropping the buckets she had just filled at the river’s edge and spilling the water onto the ground. “Must you sneak up behind me like that?”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I always move quietly; comes naturally, I suppose.”
“Look what you’ve made me do,” Storm said crossly.
Scowling up at him, she nudged an empty bucket with her booted toe. Only then did she get a good look at him, and she gasped in dismay. He was shirtless, as usual, and pantless as well. The brief breechclout he wore left little to the imagination. Storm’s eyes settled briefly on the taut piece of deerhide stretched across his loins before flying back up to his face.
“I can remedy that easily enough,” Grady said, picking up the buckets and walking down to the river bank.
Storm gulped and tried to look away when he bent over to draw water. A goodly portion of his taut buttocks was exposed, and the sight thoroughly unsettled her. When Grady completed his task and turned around, her face had turned a dull red. When comprehension dawned, he gave a soft, mocking laugh.
“Does my body disturb you?”
“I—no, should it?”
“You make a terrible liar, Storm Kennedy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were an untouched maiden. Did you never admire your husband’s body? Or explore his flesh in ways that made you both burn with desire?”
Storm was appalled. “Why—I—how dare you suggest that I—I—participated in such depraved activities!”
Grady cocked a dark eyebrow. “Depraved? You were a married woman, Storm. What is depraved about desiring your husband? Or pleasing him and being pleased in return?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His explicit questions were flustering her. She had no idea what he meant.
Aghast, Grady stared at her. The notion that Storm’s husband hadn’t taught her the meaning of passion was inconceivable. Was Buddy Kennedy too young and inexperienced to appreciate her woman’s body and what it was capable of?
“How can that be? Did you find no enjoyment in the marriage bed?” He stared at her lips, mesmerized by the soft, pink flesh, parted slightly in shock. They begged for his kisses, and Grady’s need to taste their lush contours was so pressing it obliterated every moral instinct he possessed.
Reeling in shock, Storm sensed his intention too late to turn and run. Actually, she wasn’t sure she would have fled had she known what was coming. Instead, her eyes widened as his arms slid around her, letting her feel his need as he pulled her close. When the look in her eyes changed from shock to confusion, Grady asked, “Can you feel how much I desire you?”
Storm nearly fainted from pleasure. The feel of his hard body against her much softer one was a new experience. Of course she and Buddy had embraced, but never had she felt the pressure of his need branding her through the layers of her clothing. Buddy had been a gentle, thoughtful lover, ever mindful of her delicate sensibilities. Lovemaking took place only at night, under the cover of darkness, not during the day when emotions were laid bare in the daylight. Wasn’t that the normal way of things?
Suddenly Grady was kissing her, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of her lips before covering them completely. She was shocked at her own eager response to his kiss, and her mouth parted in protest. It was all the encouragement Grady needed as he pressed her closer and slid his tongue between her parted lips. Abruptly his lips grew hard and searching, seeking, demanding, leaving no room for protest as his tongue explored ruthlessly, leaving Storm gasping for breath. Never in her eighteen years had she experienced a kiss quite like the one bestowed on her by Grady Stryker.
Storm tried valiantly to escape the confines of Grady’s arms, but to no avail. The gurgling sounds she made deep in her throat seemed to increase his arousal as his kiss deepened, until she thought she would die of pleasure.
She hated the feeling.
She loved it.
She wished he would stop.
She wanted it to go on forever.
It wasn’t Buddy.
It was the thought of her dead husband and the knowledge that Grady was giving her more pleasure than she’d ever experienced with Buddy that finally moved her to act. And when she felt his hands slide over her ribs to fondle her breasts, she knew she had to do something or burn in hell forever. Twisting from his grasp, she stepped back, breathing heavily, and not just from exertion. What she felt—what Grady made her feel—was something her meager experience hadn’t prepared her for. It was something so astounding, so earthshaking, it frightened her.
Storm wasn’t the only one stunned by the kiss. The tumult Grady experienced was equally shattering. What had started out as an amusing experiment had quickly turned into raw lust. His violent reaction to a woman he had no business kissing stunned him. Thus he wasn’t prepared when Storm doubled her fist and rammed it into his face. The blow caught him in the eye, sending him stumbling backward. Unable to stop his descent, he sat down heavily on his bottom. What sounded suspiciously like a grunt left his lungs in a great expulsion of air. The surprised look on his face gave Storm enormous satisfaction. So did the swelling already visible around his right eye.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again!”
Still stunned, Grady remained on the ground, staring up at Storm with new respect. He could feel his flesh swelling and wondered if her fist was as sore as his eye. He was amazed at the strength behind the wallop and hoped she hadn’t broken anything.
“You could have warned me you were going to do that,” Grady complained.
Storm bit back a smile. Though her hand hurt dreadfully, it was worth it to see the arrogant half-breed laid low. “Keep your hands to yourself, Grady Stryker, and I’ll not be forced to defend myself again.”
“I think you protest too much, lady,” Grady said, picking himself up off the ground. “You thoroughly enjoyed everything I did to you. Are all white women so damn contrary?”
“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m not the kind of woman who allows just any man to kiss her.”
“Is it because I’m a half-breed?” His flinty blue eyes probed her relentlessly, demanding an answer.
“It’s because I didn’t like the way you kissed me, or touched me. My own husband didn’t kiss or touch me like that.”
Grady looked incredulous. “More’s the pity. It’s about time someone did.”
“What do you know about marriage?” she snorted, incensed. Obviously the half-breed knew nothing about the holy state of matrimony.
“I was married before I was twenty-one.” His statement took the wind out of her sails.
“M—Married? You have a wife?” Why should that information give her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach? Storm wondered curiously.
“I had a wife.”
Storm thought he was being exceptionally bullheaded and asked, “What happened to her? Did you abandon her?”
“Summer Sky is no longer alive. She left the earth over three years ago.”
The hollowness of his voice gave Storm a glimpse of the agony Grady suffered over the death of his wife. Storm thought that he must have loved her deeply to still suffer the loss after so long a time.
“I’m sorry.” She could think of no other words that would express her sympathy.
“It was a long time ago. It is no longer as painful as it once was,” Grady said, staring off into the distance. “In time you will feel the same about your husband. Life continues. One day you will find a new mate to share your life.”
“Have you? Found a new mate, I mean.”
His eyes were sharp and assessing as he said, “Perhaps.”
Storm grew restive under his sizzling scrutiny. Sometimes he looked at her as if he were a cat and she his saucer of milk.
“Then I wish you luck. It will take an unusual woman to keep a man like you under control.”
“Yes, very unusual.”
“I must return,” Storm said as she grabbed the buckets Grady had filled with water and started to move off. The conversation was becoming far too intimate for her liking. And after the kiss he just gave her, she feared he might take advantage of her again. Another kiss like that and she’d be babbling like an idiot.
“Let me carry them to your wagon,” Grady said, taking the buckets from her hands. Finding no reason to object, Storm hurried away, leaving Grady to follow behind her.
Storm’s cabin was ready for occupancy early in November. It was crudely finished but tight and cozy enough to keep out the winter winds when they came. She had purchased a few pieces of furniture in Guthrie and had the workers set them in place before they left. The well still wasn’t completed, but work was continuing. Meanwhile, she made the daily trip for water, crossing Grady’s land to reach the river.
Storm’s pride and joy was the iron stove she had purchased in Guthrie. It sat like a fat black Buddha in the kitchen area of the small cabin. Later, she reckoned she could add a bedroom and maybe a separate kitchen. But for now the one large room would serve her needs quite adequately.
Her bed, consisting of a brass frame with rope supports and a thick feather mattress, occupied one corner of the cabin, separated from the work area by a blanket hung from the ceiling. A table, two chairs, and several kerosene lamps were the only other furnishings in the room. The cabin still looked bare in comparison to her parents’ home in Missouri, but given time Storm knew she could make it into a home she could be proud of.
The first visitor to Storm’s new house was Nat Turner. He arrived one brisk day with a small bouquet of fall flowers. Storm was more than a little startled to see him ride up to the house bearing a gift.
“I heard in town that your cabin was built and I wanted to be the first to bring you a housewarming gift,” he said, smiling obsequiously. “It isn’t much, but I know how lonely you must be out here by yourself.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Turner,” Storm said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Won’t you come in? I’m just about to sit down to lunch. There’s plenty if you’d care to join me.”
“I’d be right pleased,” Nat replied, taking off his hat and entering behind her. Once inside, he looked around curiously, wondering what a woman like Storm Kennedy was doing living in a scantly furnished one-room cabin with few amenities to make life bearable. “You’ve fixed the cabin up right nice, Mrs. Kennedy.” Lies came easily to his lips. He could lie and practice deceit with ease, as long as it benefited Nat Turner. “May I call you Storm?”
“Why, I—I suppose,” Storm stammered. She could think of no reason why he shouldn’t use her first name.
“You must call me Nat. I feel like we’re old friends. Have you decided yet how you’re going to farm your land on your own, Storm?”
Actually, Storm had given it a great deal of thought lately. She didn’t have a lot of money left to hire help, yet she had to put the land to use in some way. “I’m still considering several options, Mr.—Nat. Please sit down,” she said, gesturing to one of the kitchen chairs. “I hope you’re hungry. I shot a rabbit early this morning and made it into a delicious stew. There’s also biscuits and honey for desert.”
“A veritable feast, Storm. Thank you, I’m famished. Are you proficient with a gun? Do you do a lot of hunting?”
“Just for small game,” Storm said as she ladled out the stew. “Buddy—my late husband—taught me how to shoot when we were just children. I’m no expert, but I know how to handle a firearm.”
“As well you should, you being out here alone and all. Has the half-breed on the neighboring spread given you any problems? It’s a shame his kind are allowed to settle amongst civilized people.”
Storm’s spoon stopped half-way to her mouth. “Are you talking about Grady Stryker? Did you know his father owns one of the largest and most prosperous ranches in Wyoming?” She didn’t know that for a fact, but the opportunity to point out that Grady wasn’t the savage people thought was just too tempting to resist. Well, she amended silently, perhaps he was a savage, but in ways that had nothing to do with his Indian blood. It had to do with some violent act that had changed him. She had no knowledge of what had changed him, but she fully intended to learn the truth one day.
Turner’s mouth dropped open. “I had no idea. Rumor has it he’s an Indian renegade called Thunder who terrorized white settlers and raided indiscriminately.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Storm said. Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug.
“Look here, Storm, don’t trust the half-breed. I don’t care who his parents are, the man is a killer. I really think you ought to reconsider your decision to homestead.”
“I’ll not give up my land.”
“I’ll give you a good price if you sell to me. Let me deal with the half-breed. I know how to handle men like him.”
“If I need help dealing with Grady I’ll let you know,” Storm said tightly. She didn’t like being pressured. “As for my claim, Nat, I’m keeping it. I know farming all my acres will prove a difficult task so I’m thinking of running cattle instead.”
“Cattle! What do you know about ranching?”
“About as much as I know about farming, but that isn’t going to stop me. I’ve already talked to someone in town about running cattle, and he’s promised to sell me a small herd come spring.”
“You are one determined woman, Storm,” Nat said, shoving back his chair. “The lunch was delicious, but I really must be going. If you change your mind, you know wher
e to reach me.”
“I won’t change my mind. The flowers are lovely. It was thoughtful of you to bring them out.”
Jamming his hat back on his head, Nat left the cabin. The disgruntled look on his face showed that he was far from pleased with the result of his visit. He had hoped that Widow Kennedy would be thoroughly disgusted by now with the hardships of pioneer life and eager to sell her claim. It was a good piece of land, ideal for grazing, and if he could get his hands on it he could turn a tidy profit. The grass was so lush that if she decided to run cattle instead of growing wheat, as so many of the farmers planned to do, she would stand to make a fortune.
“What are you doing here, Turner?”
Turner was so engrossed in his devious plotting that he didn’t hear Grady ride up on Lightning.
“I might ask you the same, Stryker. Or would you prefer I call you Thunder?”
A half smile crossed Grady’s face, a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Stryker will do. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Not that it concerns you, but I heard Storm’s cabin was finished and I brought her a housewarming gift.”
“Storm?” he said with a significant lifting of his brows. “Since when have you been on a first-name basis with Mrs. Kennedy?”
“Since we became friends.”
“Keep away from her. She is better off without your kind.”
“And leave her to yours?” Turner laughed nastily. “Not likely. Besides, I doubt Storm will want to stay here once she finds out how lonely the prairie can be for a woman without a man to protect her. When she’s ready to sell I’ll be here with money in my hand. I’ll make you the same offer, Stryker. Men like you don’t settle in one place for very long. Your land is even more desirable than Storm’s. Whenever you’re ready to move on, I’ll take it off your hands.”
“I’ll sell my land, Turner …” Turner’s eyes grew round and his lips stretched into a triumphant smile, “ … when hell freezes over.”
