Part 11 (1/2)
”It's a little late for that, isn't it?” Grady said with mocking arrogance.
”It's never too late to mend one's ways. Have you never been a.s.sailed by guilt, or felt the crus.h.i.+ng weight of having done something you're not exactly proud of?”
Grady sent her a sharp look, wondering if she was trying to make him feel as guilt-ridden as she was. What man or woman alive hasn't done things they're not proud of? He thought about his parents and how he had hurt them by taking himself and Little Buffalo from their home and not writing or communicating with them in over five years. Since he'd been separated from his son he'd had a glimpse of the pain and distress he had caused his own parents. And they certainly must have heard about Thunder, the renegade Sioux who led daring raids against those who did harm to the People.
”Each of us must atone for his sins in his own way,” he said cryptically. ”If you do not wish to share my bed, then so be it. There are any number of women willing to lie with me. I do not need you for that purpose. All I ask is that you be a mother to my son.”
Grady's easy acquiescence stunned Storm. She had expected an argument, or at least a few bitter accusations. What she hadn't expected was his bold statement that he would find another woman to accommodate him in bed. What was she getting herself into? she wondered dismally. But it was too late to back down now. She had made her bed and she must lie in it.
”I love children, so caring for Little Buffalo will prove no hards.h.i.+p.”
Satisfied, Grady nodded, the harsh lines of his face softening into a reluctant smile. ”We will marry when you are rested and over the shock of your loss. I won't have a hollow-eyed bride by my side when we say the words. Go to sleep, Storm. It's nearly dawn and you've earned your rest.”
”You won't-”
”You have my word. A Lakota warrior does not lie. I will not make love to you until you ask it of me.”
He lay down, wondering how he could survive living in the same house with Storm yet not touching her. He was strong, but not that strong. He had practiced celibacy in his life and not been harmed by it, but Storm was so great a temptation his strength would be tested to the limits. Even now, after just having loved Storm, his loins ached with need for her. He could always ease himself with another woman, he reasoned, but somehow that thought appalled him. How could another woman satisfy him when it was Storm he wanted?
Thunder and Storm.
The day would come, he predicted, when Thunder and Storm would make the heavens ring with the fury of their dueling souls.
The next day was Sunday, and Storm slept late. When she awoke Grady was gone. She busied herself around the house, mentally listing all the things that were needed to make his cabin more homey. He returned at dusk with the wagon and horses, which had survived the fire, and a few odds and ends rescued from the ashes. One was a framed wedding picture of her and Buddy taken from a twisted metal trunk. It was a memento Storm would treasure forever. Unfortunately, none of Storm's clothing survived the fire, and she was forced to wear the same dress for her wedding that she had worn at the dance.
They drove the wagon to Guthrie Monday morning. Storm was solemn-faced and stiff, Grady pensive as they huddled against the biting wind. December had swept across the land with a vengeance. The skies were gray and a light dusting of snow covered the hard-packed earth. They rode in a silence broken by an occasional comment, each contemplating an uncertain future with a barely known partner. Yet both were willing to admit, at least to themselves, that an attraction existed between them that was hot enough to singe the air around them.
They found a preacher easily, and though the good man was somewhat startled by their request-the same preacher had officiated at Buddy's burial-he married them willingly enough. They were married in the preacher's home with his wife as witness. When they left he shook his head in consternation, certain the young widow had lost her sanity. What woman in her right mind would marry a man whose skill with a gun had marked him for a violent end? And besides, the man was obviously a savage who knew little of white ways.
”That marriage is doomed to failure, Martha,” he remarked to his wife as they watched the newlyweds drive away in the wagon.
The twinkle in Martha's eyes was unmistakable as she replied, ”I wouldn't be too sure about that, dear.”
”Harumph. Then you saw something I didn't.”
Martha merely smiled in the secretive way of women and left her husband to wonder at the complexity of the female mind.
Storm was still too numb from the swiftness of events during the past two days to feel anything. She was married, married for the rest of her life to a man who thought and acted like an Indian. She was still pondering the rationality of her decision when Grady stopped the wagon in front of the general store.
”You'll need clothes for yourself and things to make the cabin more homey. I know women appreciate such things. Summer Sky took great pride in her home during the short time we had together. Charge anything you need to my account.”
Storm swiveled her head to look at him. She hoped she wasn't always going to be compared to Summer Sky, the love of Grady's life. ”Do you have money?”
”Enough that you can robe yourself decently and fix up the cabin to suit your tastes. I know my cabin isn't as nice as yours was, but I wasn't planning on marrying again.”
Storm let that pa.s.s. It sounded as if he was sorry they were wed.
”There are things I need to do before we head back home. Take your time. When I return we'll go to the land office. You'll need to change your name on the deed. You're Storm Stryker now, not the Widow Kennedy.”
As if he needed to remind her, Storm thought glumly as Grady a.s.sisted her from the wagon. How could she forget being married to a man who was too thoroughly male, too physically disturbing, and much too tempting to ignore?
Grady watched her enter the store, then turned resolutely away. He had business, all right, and he didn't want Storm in the way when he conducted it. His first stop was the sheriff's office, where he reported the acts of arson and presented the evidence to corroborate his claim.
”Have you any idea who did this, Mr. Stryker?” the sheriff asked.
”Obviously someone who wanted Mrs. Kennedy's homestead,” Grady said, ”and hoped to scare her into selling. Since I have no proof I'm not naming anyone, but we both know who's been trying to buy up homesteads in the Cherokee Strip, don't we?”
Sheriff Danville stroked his chin, staring pensively at Grady. ”I'll ask around and keep my eyes and ears open. But if we're both thinking of the same man, I doubt we'll find anything to connect him to the fires. The man is slick, I can say that for him. Did you know he opened an office in town?”
”What kind of office?” Grady couldn't imagine Turner engaged in anything legal.
”Don't rightly know, but he calls himself an investments broker.”
”Maybe I should pay our friend a little visit.”
”I won't stand for no trouble, Stryker,” Danville warned. ”Let the law take care of it. The town hasn't forgotten that last bit of commotion you caused a while back. I'll bet Widow Kennedy hasn't forgotten it, either. Does trouble always come looking for you?”
”I'd like to forget the past and look to the future, Sheriff. I'm a genuine homesteader now. And a married man. I'll be bringing my son to live with me come spring.”
”Married? When did all this happen.”
”This morning.”
”Where is the little woman? Is she one of the squaws from the reservation?” His voice held a hint of mockery, making Grady want to knock the smirk off the man's face.
”For your information, I married Storm Kennedy.” He waited for the sheriff's gasp of shock and wasn't disappointed. ”You could spread the word that anyone who messes with Storm now has me to contend with, and I'll show no mercy for the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who harms what belongs to me.” He nodded, then turned and walked briskly toward the door. Suddenly he stopped and spun around. ”On second thought, sheriff, I'll tell the b.a.s.t.a.r.d myself.”
”Stryker, don't go breaking the law,” Danville called after him. Grady gave no indication that he had heard Danville's parting shot.
Nat Turner's office wasn't difficult to find. It was located in a prominent place on the main street between the hardware store and the bank. The outer office was deserted when Grady entered a few minutes later, but the buzz of voices coming from behind a closed door brought a slow smile to his lips. His fingers flexed convulsively above his holster as he kicked open the door. Splintered wood flew in every direction as the three occupants of the room, their faces frozen in shock, turned to face the unwelcome intruder.
”Are these the sc.u.m you hired to do your dirty work?” Grady growled in a voice cold enough to freeze the ears off a bra.s.s monkey. ”Say your prayers, Turner.”
Chapter Ten.
”It's the renegade!” Fork gasped, reaching for his gun.
”I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Grady warned ominously. ”Your friend knows how foolish it is to try to outdraw me.”
”What do you want?” Turner asked, finally finding his voice.
”I want all three of you out of town by midnight,” Grady said. ”You succeeded in burning down Storm's cabin, but you'll not get another chance to terrorize her. If any of you make one move to harm her I'll strip the skin from you piece by piece. When I finish you'll beg me to kill you.”
”Sweet Jesus!” Fork turned pale, and cold sweat popped out on his forehead as he envisioned his b.l.o.o.d.y corpse after Grady finished with him. ”He means it, too.”
”Don't believe him,” Turner sneered. ”The law knows how to deal with men like him.”