Part 2 (2/2)
The moon lit her way as Storm walked across the lush prairie, happily aware of the fact that she had claimed a piece of prime farmland. Though she didn't know a great deal about farming or raising animals, she was determined to learn. Surely she wasn't the only woman to claim a piece of Oklahoma for herself, nor was she the first woman pioneer whose man was killed before he could realize his dream.
Storm stumbled upon Grady quite suddenly. He was poised at the edge of the water, his back to her, nude except for a breechclout covering his loins. He looked like an ancient heathen G.o.d, standing as tall and straight as a towering spruce. His stance emphasized the strength of his thighs and the slimness of his hips. Moonlight danced along the ropy muscles of his biceps, highlighting his shoulders, a yard wide and molded bronze. In fact, he was gilded bronze all over, even the taut mounds of his b.u.t.tocks. His midnight hair shone with glistening pearls of water, as if he had just emerged from the river. Storm's breath lodged in her throat as she stared at him, fascinated by the pagan splendor of his powerful body.
He was the closest thing to an unclothed man Storm had ever seen. She and Buddy had never undressed before one another. They had discreetly shed their clothes in private, and when they made love, Buddy, in order to protect her sensibilities, had raised her voluminous nightdress without looking. Though Storm had never seen her husband without his clothes, she knew he had looked nothing like Grady Stryker. Was there a man anywhere on earth the equal of him?
Grady tensed, sensing that he wasn't alone. In the past his keen senses had served him well, but this time he detected no menace, felt no danger from the intruder. He had bathed in the river to cool his feverish body. Then he silently communed with the moon and river, both of which the People wors.h.i.+ped as givers of life. He had heard the nearly silent footsteps and stood ready to spring, until the sweet scent of violets wafted to him on the breeze.
”Have you come to bathe, Mrs. Kennedy, or merely to watch me?”
A startled squeak escaped from Storm's lips. ”How-how did you know I was here?”
”My reflexes have been honed to recognize danger no matter what its guise,” Grady said, turning to face her. ”Had I not recognized the scent that lingers on your skin and on your hair, I would have attacked you. Next time announce yourself.”
”I-came upon you suddenly and-and-” Her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth as she stumbled over the words. ”I wasn't spying,” she finally spat out.
”What are you doing here?”
”I brought you something to eat, and when I didn't find you, I decided to wash up before I returned to my claim.”
”You brought me food?” Grady asked, incredulous.
She was grateful the darkness hid her flushed face. ”If you want it,” she said, shrugging. ”You couldn't have carried many supplies on your horse.”
”You're a strange woman, Mrs. Kennedy-Storm.” He grew pensive, then asked, ”Why do you have an Indian name?” He left the water's edge, and her eyes fell unbidden to the bulging muscles of his thighs and the intriguing way they flexed with each step he took. He didn't stop until he stood close enough to feel her soft breath against his cheek.
Her lips went suddenly dry and she had to lick them before she could speak. ”It's not an Indian name, not really. I was born during a violent storm and my parents thought it appropriate to name me Storm.”
”It is the same with the People.”
”Why do you have blue eyes?” Storm asked before she realized what she was saying.
Grady's features turned grim, as if recalling something painful from his past. But to Storm's surprise, he answered readily enough. ”They come from my mother. She is a white woman.”
”You look like a savage.”
Grady's eyes turned flinty. ”Looks are often deceiving.”
”Was your mother a captive?”
”Captive?” Grady's laughter vibrated the air around them. ”Those who know my parents say my father is the one held captive by my mother.”
”But how-”
”You ask too many questions, Storm Kennedy.”
And look much too lovely in the moonlight, he thought, but did not say aloud.
”Thank you for the food, but I think you should leave. Aren't you afraid of being here alone with me? I'm a renegade. If you aren't afraid, you should be.”
”I'm not afraid of you,” Storm retorted, ”but I'll be all too happy to go. If you'd kindly leave me alone for a few moments, I'll clean up and be on my way.”
”If I recall, your land does not border on the river.”
”That's why I'm asking permission to cross your property to reach the water.” She hated being beholden to the half-breed, but there was no help for it.
”I'll have to think about it.”
”Are you always so disagreeable?” Storm asked, stomping her foot furiously.
”I am when dealing with White Eyes. For the most part they are untrustworthy, prejudiced, and dishonest.”
”Your mother is white,” Storm shot back.
”My mother lives far away on a ranch in Wyoming. Leave her out of this,” Grady said tightly. ”Most whites are evil.”
”And most Indians are dirty savages. You don't even have a proper Indian name.”
”I am called Thunder by the People.”
”Thunder,” Storm repeated softly. The name conjured up visions of violence, mayhem, and destruction-it fit him perfectly.
”My parents named me Grady. When I left the People to live among the White Eyes I a.s.sumed that name.”
”You left the-I don't understand.”
”There is nothing for you to understand,” Grady said tersely. ”You may cross my land to the river whenever it pleases you.” He turned to leave with an abruptness that startled Storm, as if he couldn't wait to be rid of her. The bandage she had tied around his chest shone stark against his bronzed flesh, yet she hadn't thought to ask him about his wound.
Let him suffer, she thought; it would serve him right for being so darn ornery. Had he learned no manners at his mother's knee?
Kneeling at the river's edge, Storm plunged her hands into the cool water and proceeded to wash her hands, face, and neck, unaware that Grady had turned to watch her as she unfastened the top b.u.t.tons of her blouse and dribbled water between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Moonlight beamed down benevolently upon her, turning her hair into a halo of pure gold as she bent forward. Grady couldn't recall when he had seen a more entrancing sight or witnessed anything quite as s.e.xually arousing as Storm, raising her face to the stars, splas.h.i.+ng water on her face, neck, and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. And what made it even more provocative was the fact that she wasn't even aware of what it was doing to him.
Grady smiled in spite of himself, envisioning what it would be like to quench his l.u.s.t in the cradle of Storm's loins. He wondered if she would be as tempestuous, wild and untamed, as her name implied. Those forbidden thoughts made his flesh rise and harden with a need he had thought subdued long ago. He had wanted no woman in his heart but Summer Sky; now, suddenly, he was overwhelmed with desire for a white woman named Storm who had whirled into his life with all the fury of a tornado.
Shaking his dark head in denial of what his flesh was demanding, Grady spun on his heel and stomped away. When Storm pa.s.sed by his crude tent a short time later, Grady was just finis.h.i.+ng the plate of beans and bacon she had left for him.
”If you're finished, I'll take the plate.” Her voice was cool.
Grady handed her the plate and coffeepot. ”Thank you, it was very good.” He hadn't realized just how hungry he had been until he had picked up the fork. Tomorrow he'd have to see about getting some supplies out there and building some sort of shanty to serve as a dwelling. Getting them out to his claim was going to be a problem unless. ...
Storm took the plate and coffeepot from Grady's hands and started the trek back to her own claim. ”Storm, wait.”
Storm paused, uncomfortable with the idea of the half-breed using her first name. ”Was there something you wanted to say to me?”
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