A Promise of Thunder

there’s still much to be done.” She started walking back to the wagon, turned suddenly, and asked, “What about your tent? Can you manage on your own?”
    “I can manage. It’s only a flesh wound. I’ve had worse.”
    Storm nodded and continued on her way. The provocative sway of her hips and a flash of shapely ankles held Grady mesmerized, and he forced himself to look away. He had no damn business desiring Storm Kennedy, no business at all. She was a part of the white society he held in contempt. And she was so different from Summer Sky, he wondered why he was drawn to her.
    Thunder and Storm.
    The names implied power, wrought by the tremendous forces of nature, uncontrollable, wild, unpredictable. Combined they made men cower and the earth shake.
    Thunder and Storm.
    The fury they unleashed created havoc in both the heavens above and the earth below.
    Grinning crookedly, Grady decided Storm needed Thunder to bring forth the fire. Perhaps Wakantanka was right. Thunder could only exist in the bosom of Storm’s soul. But everyone knew Storm would be weak and ineffectivewithout Thunder. Taming a Storm might be more rewarding, certainly more entertaining, than allowing it to pass by in the night.

Chapter Three
     
    Storm had her makeshift shelter erected before the inky blackness of night descended over the prairie. She and Buddy had prepared well, having purchased stakes, canvas, and supplies to last them several months, or until the land started producing. Buddy had used an inheritance from his grandmother to finance their trip, and there were still sufficient funds left in the bank in Guthrie to build a snug cabin on her new land.
    Using some of the extra stakes, Storm built a fire and started coffee boiling. She was famished, having eaten nothing since early that morning. Rummaging in the back of the wagon, she found a tin of beans, another of fruit, and some hardtack. The next day, when she went to Guthrie to file her claim, she’d buybacon, eggs, flour, sugar, and the other supplies necessary for her survival.
    In a very short time she was seated before the fire, shoveling beans into her mouth and thinking how lonely it was without Buddy. He had been her constant companion for so long, the loss sent a sharp pang through her innards. She hadn’t really cried or had a chance to mourn Buddy since his death, and when tears appeared suddenly she didn’t try to stop them. She let them course down her cheeks, finding solace in the healing flood. When it was over she knew she could continue, with or without Buddy. She would always mourn her husband, but she had never been one to dwell overlong on the injustices of life. Life simply went on.
    When she and Buddy had struck out for Oklahoma, she had eagerly welcomed the challenge of pioneer life, and not even Buddy’s death would make her give up the dream of owning one of the last tracts of free land in the country. Abruptly, Storm’s thoughts wandered in another direction. She wondered if the half-breed had managed a fire and a meal. When she glanced over toward his claim she saw nothing but dark stretches of land for as far as the eye could see. The moon and the stars provided the only light, except for that projected by her meager campfire.
    Storm didn’t want to worry about the half-breed, didn’t even want to think about him, but somehow his image intruded upon her thoughts. It was difficult to hate a man whowas wounded and helpless. Although helpless hardly described Grady Stryker, Storm realized that he couldn’t have entered the race as fully prepared as she and Buddy had been, for to her knowledge his decision to homestead had been one made on the spur of the moment. He probably had no food or even a spare blanket to keep him warm during the coolness of the night.
    Suddenly Storm came to a decision. She filled a tin plate with the remainder of the food she had prepared, picked up the coffeepot, and started walking the short distance to Grady’s claim. Since it was full dark and she had to pick her way carefully, it took fifteen minutes to reach his roped-off claim. Stepping over the barrier, she saw that Grady had indeed erected a shelter. Upon closer inspection she saw that his tent consisted of a shotgun stuck into the ground as a tent pole and a blanket stretched over it and staked down on all four sides. There was absolutely no way he could stuff his tall, lean frame into the small enclosure. Setting the plate and coffeepot on the ground