A Promise of Thunder

by Connie Mason

  And the state of affairs between Storm and Tim hadn’t improved any. The boy seemed to hate Storm and still looked to Laughing Brook for direction. Grady stopped just short of punishing his son for his defiance. He wanted Storm to win Tim’s love through her wit and ingenuity. He believed that once Tim lost his belligerence they would form a close relationship. In the meantime he hated to send Laughing Brook away for fear of traumatizing Tim, who seemed unable to function without his surrogate mother.

  Grady felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him as he put the finishing touches on the roof of the new room he had built. Tonight, he thought gleefully, he and Storm would be alone in the new bedroom, where they could talk and make love. Being in the same room with her these past days and unable to love her had been the sweetest agony he had ever suffered. So close yet so damn far. If he were on the reservation he’d be the brunt of many jokes once his friends learned that a Lakota warrior couldn’t control his woman.

  Grady walked around to the back of the cabin, hoping to find Storm alone in the vegetable garden she had planted so he could tell her they would be moving into their new bedroom tonight. He found Storm and Tim deep in conversation. His small son was standing before Storm, hands on hips, his lower lip protruding at a stubborn angle and his black eyes defiant. He stopped short when he heard Tim say, “You’re a white witch. I don’t have to listen to you. Laughing Brook says you must be a witch to get Papa to marry you.” Suddenly he stared up at her curiously, as if trying to make up his mind. “Are you? Are you really a witch?”

  Grady waited, unwilling to interfere until he heard Storm’s reply. He knew his son was being deliberately cruel, but he was also aware that Tim came by his stubbornness naturally, and the boy was angry at having been uprooted from the reservation, the only home he remembered.

  “If I was a witch I’d wave my magic wand and make Laughing Brook disappear,” Storm replied, more sharply than she intended. She was at her wit’s end trying to make Tim accept her. “I don’t want to take Laughing Brook’s place in your heart, I just want us to be friends.”

  “Laughing Brook is my friend. Papa should have married her.”

  “But he didn’t, Tim. Shouldn’t you accept the fact that your father did what is best for him? If he wanted Laughing Brook, he would have married her. Have you forgotten that your father has more white blood in him than Indian blood?” How does one communicate with a stubborn six-year-old? Storm wondered desperately. Her heart went out to the small boy, and she would have given anything to have him love her.

  Tim appeared to be mulling over Storm’s words, unable to equate what Laughing Brook had told him with Storm’s plea for friendship. Storm had also raised an issue Tim hadn’t considered before. His own father, though he looked and acted like a fierce Lakota warrior, was more white than Indian. Deep in his heart Tim wanted to like Storm, yet the thought of losing Laughing Brook was too much for the little fellow.

  Screwing his face up tightly, he bellowed, “Papa is a Lakota warrior. He doesn’t like White Eyes. You are a witch, otherwise he wouldn’t have married you.”

  “Tim!” Grady decided it was time to make his presence known. “You will apologize to your stepmother.”

  Tim’s face grew mottled as he turned and flung a challenging question at Grady. “Why did you marry her, Papa?”

  For the first time in his life Grady was at a loss for words. Many reasons came into his mind as he searched Storm’s lovely face, foremost of which was the fact that she had touched his heart in a way that no other woman had, not even Summer Sky. He and Summer Sky had been children when they had married, but now he was a man. A man who needed a strong woman with the same values and matching passion. Summer Sky would have been an obedient, loving mate had she lived, but her sweet, giving nature would have made her incapable of being the kind of woman Grady needed now. She was perfect for the naive boy of eighteen he once was. What he needed now was a woman with the strength necessary to endure both good times and bad, a woman he could … Love …

  Chapter Twelve

  Storm hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until her lungs began to ache and her heart to pound. She had no idea how Grady would answer his son’s question, for she knew their marriage was merely one of convenience. She needed a home and he needed a mother for his son. The raging passion that existed between them was something Storm hadn’t counted on.

  Grady remained silent so long Storm felt like turning and fleeing from the hot glare of Tim’s accusing dark eyes. Obviously Grady couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for their marriage, one that would satisfy his son, and it hurt. Then he said something so outrageous, so utterly untruthful that Storm wanted to scream out that he lied.

  “I married Storm because I wanted to.”

  Storm felt singed by the heat and hunger of Grady’s gaze, but she resisted looking up into his eyes, fearing the mockery she’d find in their cobalt depths. She knew he wanted her—no one could mistake that devouring look—but since Laughing Brook’s arrival Grady had no need for his wife. True, she hadn’t been aware of Laughing Brook sharing Grady’s pallet since that time she awoke and heard them making love, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t found other times to be intimate.

  “Why can’t Laughing Brook be your second wife?” Tim wanted to know. “Flies-Like-A-Hawk has three wives.”

  “White law allows for only one wife,” Grady explained. Though he spoke to his son his eyes never left Storm’s face. “And besides, I don’t want a second wife, or a third. I’m perfectly satisfied with one wife. I have learned much since I rode with renegades and left the reservation,” he continued, dropping to his knees before his small son. “The time when Indians walked the earth as free men, proud of their heritage and secure in their future, is long past.”

  “But I am an Indian, Papa, and so was Mama. How can I forget what I am?”

  “You must never forget your proud heritage, son,” Grady said passionately. “We both come from noble stock, and our dark skins will never allow us to forget who or what we are. Nor should we. But I want a better life for you than the reservation offers. My father, your grandfather, served the President of the United States and fought for the freedom of all people regardless of race and color. Don’t ever forget that. I feel strongly that our future, yours and mine, lies here in Oklahoma, on our own land.”

  “But you always hated the White Eyes, Papa,” Tim said, puzzled by Grady’s turnabout.

  “I’ve since learned there are good White Eyes and bad White Eyes, just as there are good Indians and bad Indians.” He rose to his feet. Suddenly he reached out, took Storm’s chin between thumb and forefinger, and lifted her face so she was forced to look into his eyes. “Storm is a good White Eyes. She has never done anything to hurt the People. She is not meek, gentle, or obedient like your mother was, but I have learned that the qualities Storm possesses are more desirable in the world we live in.” His eyes sparkled with mirth and one corner of his mouth tilted upward in the parody of a smile. “Though there are times Storm sorely tries my temper, she is my wife for better or for worse and will remain my wife. Once you realize that, Tim, you’ll be able to accept Storm and we’ll all be happier for it.”

  Storm was truly stunned by Grady’s words. When he released her chin the tips of his fingers caressed the hollow at the base of her throat in a gesture so intimate her flesh tingled long after he removed his hand. She wanted to believe Grady had married her because it was what he truly desired, but she found it difficult to swallow. Before they were wed he had admitted that there was no room in his heart for love, that having loved once he had no intention of doing so again. Obviously no woman alive could take the place of his dead wife. But that had been perfectly agreeable with her, for she had loved Buddy and wanted no other man replacing him in her heart.

  But that was before … Before she learned about passion and being loved in ways she never dreamed possible and experiencing the kind of bliss she never attained wit
h Buddy. If it was possible to love twice, Storm reasoned, then Grady was truly her soulmate in ways she had never imagined with Buddy. But it was difficult giving your heart to a man whose loving inspired guilt and shame, Storm thought contritely.

  Storm wasn’t the only one dazed by Grady’s words. For the first time since leaving the reservation, Tim realized that Storm would always be a part of his life. And that he could never look backward to the life he had once known with Laughing Brook. His father had chosen to live in the white world and he must conform to those rules if he was to attain a modicum of happiness.

  “Do I have to call her mama?” Tim asked sullenly.

  Grady seemed at a loss for words, but Storm quickly jumped into the void. “Not if you don’t want to. Just call me Storm until we feel more comfortable with one another.”

  Tim thought about that for awhile, then nodded slowly. “If it’s all right with Papa, then I shall call you Storm.”

  “I think it’s a fine idea, son,” Grady said solemnly. “And if you’d like, later you can help me build a chicken coop. Having chicken and fresh eggs whenever we want will be a treat.”

  Satisfied, Tim ran off, leaving Storm and Grady staring after him. When Grady turned to face her the tension loomed between them like a heavy mist. She waited for him to speak, but he seemed as reluctant as she to break the silence. It was as if this moment had been building from the moment Grady had returned home; he was like a volcano on the verge of erupting. Grady touched her cheek, and the breath seemed to solidify in her throat.

  “Storm …”

  “Thunder, where is Little Buffalo? I can’t find him.”

  Once again Laughing Brook had intruded upon a private moment. It seemed to Storm as if the Indian maiden deliberately spied on them and knew exactly when to interrupt. Never had she felt so close to Grady or so ready to admit that she had forgiven him for Buddy’s death. For the first time since their hasty wedding, Storm truly felt they could make something of this marriage.

  Muttering an oath, Grady swung around to glare at Laughing Brook. He sincerely hoped Tim would learn to cope without her soon so he could return her to the reservation. It was time she chose a husband from among the warriors vying for her hand.

  “Tim can’t be far, Laughing Brook,” Grady said tightly. “Perhaps he went down to the river.”

  “Then I shall help Storm dig in the garden,” she offered sweetly, knowing full well that she had interrupted a special moment between husband and wife.

  Storm smiled ruefully. “Since you have offered, I welcome your help.” She handed Laughing Brook the shovel.

  Seething with frustration, Grady turned and stomped off. But the look he gave Storm before he departed was more potent than a glass of fine brandy.

  After supper that night Laughing Brook managed to corner Grady alone when he went to the river to fetch water for Storm’s bath. She had sneaked out of the cabin while Storm was busy putting things in place in the new bedroom. Tim had wandered into the bedroom after Storm, leaving Laughing Brook free to pursue Grady. She found him standing knee deep in the river, bathing. His bronze skin shimmered with iridescent drops of water, and his hair was dripping. His back was to her and despite the coolness of the March night he was splashing icy water over his entire body.

  Laughing Brook stared greedily at the taut mounds of his bare buttocks, reluctantly moving her eyes upward to the thickly bunched muscles of his arms and torso, flexing involuntarily from the shock of icy water against his heated flesh. She licked her lips, feeling her need for Grady in every crevice and curve of her body. Then, in one fluid motion, she removed her dress and kicked off her moccasins. She stepped into the water, shivering violently but warmed by the vision of Grady’s hard body pressed intimately against her own lush curves.

  She had nearly reached him when Grady heard her. He whirled, stunned by the sight of Laughing Brook, naked, her supple skin gilded a tawny gold by the moonlight. He stood motionless, staring at her as if mesmerized, until she was close enough for the heat of her body to reach out and scorch him.

  “Isn’t it a little cold for you to be bathing in the river?” he asked, striving to keep his voice level. It was difficult with the full ripeness of her breasts so close to his chest.

  “It’s not too cold for you.”

  “I’m a man.”

  “I know. Not just a man but a mighty warrior.” She looked pointedly downward. “Your loins are full and heavy. I would ease you if you’d allow it. I know your wife hasn’t been a true wife to you. I would comfort you in your need.” She moved closer, until the diamond-hard tips of her breasts stabbed against his chest.

  “You shouldn’t be here. If I’d known you wanted to bathe, I would have given you privacy,” Grady said in a strangled voice.

  Laughing Brook’s answer was to wind her arms around Grady’s neck and rub her body against his. “You know what I want, Thunder.”

  Grady started violently when she pressed her mouth to his. He felt the flick of her hot tongue against his lips and tried to step backward, but Laughing Brook refused to be dislodged. They stood suspended in the knee-deep water for the space of a heartbeat before the sand beneath his feet suddenly gave way and Grady lost his balance. He fell into the water, taking Laughing Brook with him. The shock of the cold water relaxed her grip on him as she came up sputtering. Grady seized the opportunity. He turned abruptly and waded back to shore, leaving Laughing Brook sitting in the cold water, sputtering in indignation.

  Storm was tucking Tim into bed when Grady entered the cabin. Drops of water beaded his hair, and his shirt clung wetly to his back and shoulders. He carried a bucket of water in each hand, and she assumed he had bathed in the river when he went to fetch water. Bathing in the cold river was a habit she couldn’t accustom herself to, though Grady did it nearly every day except for the coldest days of winter. He set the buckets on the stove to heat before speaking.

  “The water will be hot shortly. I know how you appreciate a hot bath. Take your time; I’ll see to the animals.”

  “Thank you,” Storm said, declining to look at him. She knew they would be alone tonight for the first time in months, and she wasn’t certain what she would do or how she would act. But from all indications, Grady knew exactly what he wanted.

  Laughing Brook entered the cabin a few minutes later, looking enormously pleased with herself. Storm frowned when she noted that the Indian girl looked sensuously bedraggled. Her hair was dripping wet and her buckskin dress damp. Had she been with Grady at the river? Had they bathed together? Had they … Storm’s lips turned down into a frown when she envisioned Grady and Laughing Brook making love in the water. The pain of it nearly doubled her over.

  Laughing Brook’s bubbling laughter floated to her from across the room. “Thunder was magnificent tonight. Have you ever made love in the water? No,” she said, forestalling Storm’s answer, “I doubt that you have. Thunder says you are a cold woman. Did you know he is thinking of making me his second wife?”

  Her face flaming, Storm withheld comment. What could she say? With studied indifference she tested the water in one bucket, found it comfortably warm, and carried it into the bedroom she would be sharing with Grady. She had to admit that being able to close the door on Laughing Brook gave her enormous pleasure. Too bad she couldn’t do the same with Grady and banish him from their bedroom.

  Earlier, Grady had placed the large brass tub Storm had purchased in town in the center of the room. All Storm had to do was fill it with the buckets of warm water. Undressing quickly, she eased into the tub and let the heady warmth envelop her. Aware that Grady would return at any moment, she picked up the soap and began to wash. She gave a squeak of dismay when Grady entered the room a few minutes later and quietly shut the door behind him.

  His breath caught in his throat when he saw her, and he leaned against the door, looking his fill. Storm felt the effect of his potent stare in the way her body warmed and tingled wherever his gaze touched.

 
; “I’ve waited forever for this night.” His voice had a certain gravel roughness that Storm recognized immediately. Her knees jerked upright to her chest and she hugged them tightly, exposing as little of herself as possible. Grady grinned in wry amusement. “If that’s meant to discourage me, it’s not working, lady.”

  “I—I’m not through bathing yet.”

  “I’d hoped you wouldn’t be. Let me scrub your back.”

  She offered a feeble protest when he took the washcloth from her hand and moved behind her. When she felt the cloth touch her back and the gentle motion of his hand against her sensitive skin, a shudder raced down her spine. The musky, masculine scent of him filled her nostrils and she gave a breathless murmur of pleasure. When Grady bent to touch his lips to her bare shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Suddenly the washcloth hit the water and Grady leaped to his feet, a growl of impatience rumbling from his throat.

  “Bath time is over, lady,” he said harshly. His chest was heaving, as if each breath was raw agony, and his face was stark with raw need.

  When Storm failed to move he scooped her out of the water and carried her dripping to the bed. “Grady!”

  “Tonight I’m going to love you the way I’ve wanted to, the way I’ve dreamed of since the day I arrived home.”

  When she tried to jump from the bed, he pinned her down with his body. “You’re not going anywhere, lady.”

  “Isn’t one woman a night enough for you?” Storm hissed from between clenched teeth.

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”