A Promise of Thunder

Kennedy woman might be young and beautiful, but she’s damn feisty. Ya ain’t gonna handle her with kid gloves.” His snicker set Turner’s teeth on edge.
    “Perhaps you’re wrong,” Turner said thoughtfully. “Perhaps kid gloves are exactly what’s needed to convince the Widow Kennedy tomove on to other parts. Or …” an arrested look came over his face, “I could rely on that old adage about honey catching more flies than vinegar. Boys,” he said, grinning wickedly, “I’m going acourtin’. Wish me luck.”
    Storm hadn’t seen Grady since the day he stormed out of her cabin. Nor did she expect to see him anytime soon after the angry words they’d exchanged. The weather had turned blustery, and each time she carried wood into the house for her stove she was reminded that if not for Grady she would be out cutting wood right now. Truth to tell, the guilt she felt was not due entirely to the firewood he had provided. A good share of it came from their lustful coupling that night a week ago.
    “Damn womanizer!” Storm muttered beneath her breath as she grabbed her jacket from the hook and stomped out the door. She had no business thinking about a no-good half-breed whose mysterious hatred for the white race left him bitter and distrustful when she had chores to do. Plucking a bucket from the doorstep, she headed for the well to draw water for the day. She was just lowering the bucket down the shaft when she saw a rider approaching in the distance.
    Leaving the bucket dangling at the end of the rope, Storm rushed back inside the cabin and grabbed her shotgun. She had beenso immersed in arousing thoughts of Grady Stryker that she had neglected to bring her gun along. Since the attack the other night, she had made a point to carry it wherever she went. When she opened the door Nat Turner had already dismounted and was approaching the cabin.
    “Storm, my dear girl, I just heard the news in town. Are you all right? What kind of monsters would attack an unprotected woman?”
    “News gets around fast,” Storm replied. “I was just in town yesterday to order another pane for my shattered window and mentioned to Mr. Clark that I had unwelcome visitors in the night. Of course I also reported it to the sheriff.”
    “Dreadful news like that doesn’t take long to spread. What do you suppose they wanted?” he asked innocently.
    “I—don’t know.” Storm stammered. A dull red crept up her neck. She was too embarrassed to reveal that both men had attempted to rape her before Grady intervened.
    “Hmmm, could be robbery. Then again, you are a beautiful woman.” From what he left unsaid Storm realized he had guessed what the masked men had attempted. “How in the world did you manage to chase them away without being hurt?”
    “Come inside, Nat, and I’ll explain,” Storm invited. It was too cold to stand outside talking. “There’s hot coffee sitting on the back of the stove and apple pie left from yesterday.”
    Once they were seated across from one another sipping coffee and eating pie, Nat waited politely for Storm to continue her explanation of the attack.
    “I had help,” she revealed tersely. “Grady Stryker saved me from—from—an unpleasant experience.”
    Turner feigned surprise. “The half-breed? What in the hell was he doing here at that time of night?”
    “It’s not what you think, Nat,” Storm was quick to add. “Grady’s arrival was as much a surprise to me as it was to the two masked men. I owe my life to his excellent hearing and keen senses. He sensed danger even before he heard shots echoing across the prairie.”
    “How—fortunate,” Nat said. His smile, while outwardly sincere, never reached his eyes. “I hope the sheriff finds the men responsible.”
    “Yes, indeed, very fortunate,” Storm concurred brightly. Though she tried to subdue the memory, her eyes turned dreamy when she recalled what had transpired after the intruders left her property. Her cheeks reddened and she shook her head to rid it of every delicious detail of their passionate encounter.
    Nat cleared his throat, bringing Storm back to the present. “I tried to tell you, my dear, that it isn’t safe for you out here alone. What if it happens again and Stryker isn’t as perceptive as he was the other night?”
    “I’ll be prepared next time,” Storm declared stoutly.
    Turner frowned. “This unprovoked attack should convince you that you’re not capable of protecting your land. You need a