Part 4 (2/2)
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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she knew she had to do something or burn in h.e.l.l 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 l.u.s.t. 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 d.a.m.n 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 a.s.sessing 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 bra.s.s 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 furnis.h.i.+ngs 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.”
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