A Promise of Thunder
Page 11
“A little dizzy. Was the punch spiked? I’m not accustomed to drinking.”
“Spiked?” Nat repeated in feigned surprise. “Wherever did you get such a preposterous idea? Perhaps the dancing tired you more than you know.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Storm agreed with alacrity. The idea of her being tipsy didn’t set well with her.
“It’s a long ride home,” Nat said slyly, “and bitter cold. Perhaps you should take a room at the Guthrie Hotel tonight and return home tomorrow.”
When Storm tried to think of a valid reason to object her muddled brain refused to work. Besides, it sounded like a wonderful idea. And defying the brash half-breed appealed to her. Let him think what he wanted when she didn’t return home tonight.
“The idea of postponing the ride back to my farm does sound appealing,” Storm said. She tried to stifle a hiccup, but it came bursting from her throat despite her best efforts. “Oh, excuse me.”
Nat smiled in mute satisfaction. He was inordinately pleased with himself for manipulating Storm into doing what he wanted. She was already quite taken with him, and the spiked punch he had plied her with was working with devastating effect. If all went according to plan, when Storm Kennedy awoke with a hangover tomorrow morning her homestead would be his. He felt confident that a hotel room was the last place the half-breed would think to look for her. He turned the buggy toward the hotel.
“You’ve made a wise decision, my dear. You’ll be snug in your bed at the hotel in no time at all. Leave everything to me.”
A lopsided smile stretched Storm’s lips as she thought of Grady’s reaction when he learned she had stayed in town tonight. He needn’t know where she stayed, or the fact that Nat wouldn’t be sharing her bed, as long as it showed Grady he had absolutely no power over her.
Once inside the Guthrie Hotel, Storm swayed on her feet as Nat and the desk clerk spoke in low tones. She didn’t notice the sly look the clerk sent her or the knowing smile Nat received when the room key was placed in his hand.
“Come, my dear, you’ll be tucked in bed in no time.” He grasped her arm and led her upstairs to the second floor. He stopped before Room 205, inserted the key in the lock, and held the door open so she could enter. When Storm turned around to bid him good night, she was surprised to see that Nat had entered behind her and shut the door.
“I’ll be just fine now, Nat. You can go. Thank you for your concern.”
“I thought I’d wait around to see if you have any more dizzy spells.”
Before Storm could form a reply there was a discreet knock on the door. Nat hastened to answer, and when he returned he had a bottle and two glasses in his hand. “A sip of bourbon is just what the doctor ordered to help you sleep. Perhaps you took a chill on the ride into town. If so, this will dispel any illness you may have contracted. In the morning you’ll feel fit as a fiddle.”
“Oh, I don’t think—that is—I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Just a sip, Storm, to please me. Then I’ll be on my way.” He was already pouring the tumbler half full of the aromatic spirits.
“Very well,” Storm said, accepting the glass he offered. If it meant being left in peace, she’d take just one tiny sip. She held the glass to her lips, intending to drink sparingly, but Turner had other ideas. Grasping the bottom of the glass, he tilted it upward, forcing her to take a huge gulp of the potent liquor. It ran down her throat in a hot, burning gush of molten fire.
Gasping for breath and sputtering indignantly, Storm flung his hand away. “Why did you do that?”
“A small drink never hurt anyone, my dear. You’ll sleep all the better for it.”
Suddenly Storm’s face grew slack and the room spun around in dizzying circles. She clutched at the air in desperate need, finding it appallingly empty. She began a slow downward spiral. Nat caught her before she hit the floor, placing her carefully on the bed.
“Are you ill, Storm?”
“I—I don’t know. I feel so dizzy. And I can’t think straight.”
A slow, enigmatic smile curved Nat’s lips as he pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. “You work too hard, my dear. You should have listened to me when I told you homesteading was too difficult for a woman. I have a client who is quite anxious to purchase large tracts of land in the Cherokee Strip. You can leave town tomorrow with enough money to start out someplace new. You should let your family take care of you until you find another husband.”
His words hardly registered in Storm’s muddled brain, yet she knew she shouldn’t be here alone with him in a hotel room. She tried to rise, to tell him to leave, but nothing worked. Her body refused her commands and her mind had shut down completely.
“If you’ll sign this bill of sale, Storm,” Nat said, whipping a document out of his pocket, “you’ll receive a fair price for your land. I have sufficient cash with me to pay you immediately.”
Though Storm couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of Nat’s words, his low, soothing voice was relaxing, and she closed her eyes.
“No, dammit, don’t go to sleep!”
Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain Storm heard the rustle of paper and felt something hard being placed between her fingers. “The bill of sale, Storm, sign the bill of sale! All you need do is sign your name and I’ll let you go to sleep.” Grasping her shoulders, Nat shook her awake. Her eyes flew open.
She muttered crossly when Nat lifted her into a sitting position and spread a sheet of paper across her knees. Why wouldn’t he let her sleep? “Sign your name, Storm. If you want to be left in peace, just sign your name. Here,” he said, grasping her hand and placing it in position.
Sign my name? Storm thought distractedly. If it meant that Nat would go away and let her sleep, she’d do it gladly. But she’d made no more than one downward stroke with the inked pen when the flimsy door gave way beneath a set of massive shoulders.
Chapter Eight
“What the hell!” The chair toppled over as Nat leaped to his feet and spun around. “You!”
The pen slipped from Storm’s fingers and she stared blankly from Grady to Turner, too dazed to realize what was happening.
“Your vile scheme won’t work this time, Turner,” Grady growled as he stalked into the room. He took one look at Storm’s glazed eyes and another at the document still spread across her knees and turned on Turner with a vicious snarl. “What in the hell have you done to her?”
“Nothing. I haven’t touched her,” Turner said, backing slowly toward the door. He had no intention of messing with a man whose reputation with a gun was legend.
“Are you all right, Storm?” Grady asked. His words were directed at Storm, but his hard blue gaze pinned Turner to the wall.
“I’m tired,” Storm said petulantly “I want you both to go away so I can sleep.”
Grady was beside Storm in two strides. Without removing his eyes from Turner, he snatched the bill of sale from her lap, briefly scanned its contents, then tore it into tiny pieces. “If you attempt anything like this again, Turner, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born. If you doubt me, remember that I’m knowledgeable in all the subtle methods of torture used by the Sioux.”
“See here, Stryker, who appointed you Mrs. Kennedy’s keeper?” Turner asked in an unaccustomed show of bravado.
“No one tells me what to do,” Grady said with quiet menace. “Now I suggest you leave before I do something you won’t find very pleasant.”
Turner opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. He hesitated a moment too long for Grady’s liking. Moving with the speed and stealth of a panther, Grady seized Turner by the collar of his stylish jacket and the seat of his pants and threw him out the open door. Then he slammed what was left of the shattered panel hard enough to rattle the wall. When he finally turned back to Storm, she was still sitting on the side of the bed, weaving from side to side, glassy-eyed and disoriented. He spit out an epitaph and bore her down on the soft surface of the mattress.
Anger boiled up inside Grady, and his voice was roughened by it. “Do you realize what you almost did, you little fool? Are you aware of nothing that happened tonight?”
Storm frowned in concentration, but all it did was give her a headache. “I went to the barn dance with Nat Turner and had a wonderful time.” She wanted to giggle, but Grady’s fierce expression stopped her.
“Was it your idea to stay in town tonight instead of returning home? Did Nat suggest you rent a hotel room?”
“I—I—For heaven’s sake, Grady, will you please stop badgering me? If you must know, I stayed in town because—because I knew it would make you angry.”
Grady looked thunderstruck. “You almost lost your homestead. Was making me mad worth it? Women!” He shook his head in exasperation.
“Lost my homestead? That’s not possible. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Grady said with an impatient growl. “You’re too drunk to understand anything.”
“I am not drunk!” Her eyes grew round when a hiccup slipped past her lips.
“I’m not going to argue with you tonight, Storm. You’re in no condition to comprehend what took place in this room even if I spell it out for you. You’re tired. Go to sleep. I’ll take you home tomorrow and we can talk then.”
Storm’s face wore such a woebegone expression, Grady almost felt sorry for her. Almost, but not quite. She should have known better than to drink so freely of the punch after he’d warned her it was spiked.
Storm struggled to put a meaning to Grady’s strange words and came up lacking. There was an odd buzzing in her head and the room was spinning. Perhaps she was coming down with a strange malady. Or maybe she was just too weary to think coherently. In any event, Grady’s advice was too tempting to resist. After a good night’s sleep she’d feel better prepared to face his anger. Was the man perpetually angry? she wondered dully as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
The steady rise and fall of Storm’s breast told Grady that she was slumbering peacefully, unaware of the danger in which she had placed herself tonight. He’d show her no mercy tomorrow when he regaled her with all the lurid facts about her “friend” Nat Turner and how he’d tried to cheat her out of her homestead. But there was tonight to consider. What was he going to do about Storm tonight? True, she was sleeping quite peacefully now, but the door was all but ruined, and anyone could barge in and do her harm. He solved the problem neatly by renting a room for himself across the hall and tucking her into his bed.
Then he lowered himself into a chair and sat beside her the rest of the night, staring at her as if trying to make up his mind about something. What made Storm Kennedy different from any other woman he had ever known? he wondered curiously. Was she really the Storm that Wakantanka had referred to in his vision, or was he being fanciful and imagining things because her name happened to be Storm? In his heart Grady knew he wasn’t responsible for the death of Storm’s husband. So why had he appointed himself her protector? Why did he want her with a fierceness that was more pain than pleasure? And why, after he had loved her only once, did he resent any other man who had ever touched her?
Nat Turner rushed past the dozing hotel clerk as if the devil was on his heels. He went directly to the saloon where both Fork and Purdy were known to hang out and found them playing cards at one of the gambling tables. He snarled out a command and they quickly joined him at a table in the far corner of the room. He motioned for a bottle and three glasses and, when they were delivered, quickly filled them to overflowing and tossed his down, hoping to settle his nerves enough to think clearly. Fork and Purdy drank theirs more slowly, waiting for Turner to speak. They could tell he was upset and figured he would spit it out in good time.
“That’s it!” Turner finally blurted out. “I’m through playing good guy. From now on it’s all-out war. The first to feel the brunt of my anger is Storm Kennedy. Next is that half-breed bastard who seems to know what’s going on every minute of every day. It’s uncanny, that’s what it is.”
“What happened, boss?” Fork asked. He had a good idea what had sparked Turner’s anger, but wisely waited for Turner to tell him himself. Fork knew that somehow or other Turner’s plans had been foiled again by the renegade. The rich Texas client wanted grazing land in the Cherokee Strip, and Turner hadn’t succeeded in buying up one damn acre. Homesteaders were a stubborn lot, Fork thought glumly. They hung on to their land till the bitter end, even if it meant starving to death.
“I was so close,” Turner hissed. “So damn close, she had already started to sign the bill of sale.”
Purdy whistled softly. “How in the hell did you manage that?”
“I got the woman drunk, that’s how. Everything was going according to plan until the breed showed up. Hell, a dance was the last place in the world I expected to see the Injun. When I took Storm to the hotel for the night I thought I’d seen the last of him, but he came bursting into the room scant seconds before Storm signed the bill of sale.”
“Damn!” Fork spat disgustedly. “I told ya the man ain’t human. “What ya gonna do now?”
“It’s not what I’m going to do but what you two are going to do,” Turner said, his eyes gleaming maliciously. “Listen carefully and do exactly as I tell you.”
Turner spoke in low tones as both men leaned close in order to catch every word. After a few minutes, Purdy said, “Tonight?”
“Hell, yes, tonight! The timing is perfect. Do as I say and you’ll be amply compensated.”
“We’re on our way, boss,” Fork said as he surged to his feet, dragging Purdy with him.
“Report to me when you get back.”
Turner was still sitting in the saloon when Fork and Purdy returned shortly before dawn. The only thing that had changed was the level of whiskey in the bottle sitting on the table before him. It was empty.
“Well?” Turner asked anxiously.
“It’s done, boss,” Fork boasted as he plopped wearily into the chair across from Turner. Purdy slouched into the remaining seat at the table. “Everything went as smooth as silk.”
“What about the breed?”
“He wasn’t nowhere in sight. Neither was the woman.”
Turner smiled with slow relish. “Good work, boys. There will be a generous bonus in your next paychecks. Now we just sit back and wait. It won’t be long before Storm Kennedy comes begging me to buy her land.”
Drops of water bathed her face. Gently at first, then in a raging torrent. Storm sputtered and came awake. Grady was standing above her, pouring the contents of a glass of water over her face. When mere sprinkles failed to awaken her, he upended the entire glass.
“Damn you, what are you doing?” Storm struggled to sit up, then flopped back down when the grinding pain in her temples made even the slightest movement excruciating. But Grady showed no pity as he continued pouring until the glass was empty and her face drenched.
“Wake up, Storm. It’s time to start for home.”
“Home?” Storm said, trying to remember where she was and failing miserably. “Where am I?”
“In a hotel room.”
“What!” This time she managed to struggle to her feet. “With you?”
Grady’s grating laughter made her stiffen with indignation. “I spent the entire night in a chair watching you sleep. Do you recall nothing of what happened last night?”
“Of course I remember. I went to a barn dance with Nat Turner. But—how did I end up in a hotel room with you?”
“I’ll leave you a few minutes so you can freshen up,” Grady said. “Then I’ll explain everything over breakfast.”
“Damn it, Grady Stryker,” Storm said, stomping her foot, “don’t you dare leave this room until you tell me if we—if you and I—”
“Relax, Storm, I didn’t t
ouch you. When we make love again I want you fully awake and aware of everything I do to you.”
“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.”