A Promise of Thunder

stepping around Grady to join Nat. “I just stepped out for a breath of air. I—I felt a little dizzy.”
    He looked at her shrewdly. “Are you all right?”
    “Just fine.” She took Nat’s arm, blatantly ignoring Grady and the fact that he was glaring daggers at her.
    “Storm.” Grady’s abrasive voice brought her to a skidding halt, though she didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning to face him. “My jacket.”
    Turner took one look at the fringed jacket around Storm’s shoulders, plucked it from her body, and tossed it to Grady, who caught it quite handily. Then, without another word, Turner guided Storm inside. But before he led her out onto the dance floor, he poured her another glass of punch, which she downed in one gulp just to spite Grady. Then he gave her another, which she sipped more slowly, but nonetheless eagerly.
    It was after midnight when the dance ended. Grady was nowhere in sight when Nat handed her into the buggy and settled a blanket over her knees. Her head was reeling and the urge to sleep was a pressing need inside her. She hadn’t wanted to believe the punch was spiked, certain Nat wouldn’t have let her drink so much if it were. Except for an occasional glass of wine she’d had little experience with hard liquor. It was unfortunate her farm was ten miles away from Guthrie, she thought sleepily. When Turner hoisted himself into the buggy beside her, she tilted crazily against him.
    “Are you feeling ill?” he asked solicitously.
    “A little dizzy. Was the punch spiked? I’m not accustomed to drinking.”
    “Spiked?” Nat repeated in feigned surprise. “Wherever did you get such a preposterous idea? Perhaps the dancing tired you more than you know.”
    “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Storm agreed with alacrity. The idea of her being tipsy didn’t set well with her.
    “It’s a long ride home,” Nat said slyly, “and bitter cold. Perhaps you should take a room at the Guthrie Hotel tonight and return home tomorrow.”
    When Storm tried to think of a valid reason to object her muddled brain refused to work. Besides, it sounded like a wonderful idea. And defying the brash half-breed appealed to her. Let him think what he wanted when she didn’t return home tonight.
    “The idea of postponing the ride back to my farm does sound appealing,” Storm said. She tried to stifle a hiccup, but it came bursting from her throat despite her best efforts. “Oh, excuse me.”
    Nat smiled in mute satisfaction. He was inordinately pleased with himself for manipulating Storm into doing what he wanted. She was already quite taken with him, and the spiked punch he had plied her with was working with devastating effect. If all went according to plan, when Storm Kennedy awoke with a hangover tomorrow morning her homestead would be his. He felt confident that a hotel room was the last place the half-breed would think to look for her. He turned the buggy toward the hotel.
    “You’ve made a wise decision, my dear. You’ll be snug in your bed at the hotel in no time at all. Leave everything to me.”
    A lopsided smile stretched Storm’s lips as she thought of Grady’s reaction when he learned she had stayed in town tonight. He needn’t know where she stayed, or the fact that Nat wouldn’t be sharing her bed, as long as it showed Grady he had absolutely no power over her.
    Once inside the Guthrie Hotel, Storm swayed on her feet as Nat and the desk clerk spoke in low tones. She didn’t notice the sly look the clerk sent her or the knowing smile Nat received when the room key was placed in his hand.
    “Come, my dear, you’ll be tucked in bed in no time.” He grasped her arm and led her upstairs to the second floor. He stopped before Room 205, inserted the key in the lock, and held the door open so she could enter. When Storm turned around to bid him good night, she was surprised to see that Nat had entered behind her and shut the door.
    “I’ll be just fine now, Nat. You can go. Thank you for your concern.”
    “I thought I’d wait around to see if you have any more dizzy spells.”
    Before Storm could form a reply there was a discreet knock on the door. Nat hastened to answer, and when he returned he had a bottle and two glasses in his hand. “A sip of bourbon is just what the doctor ordered to helpyou sleep. Perhaps you took a chill on the ride into town. If so, this will dispel any illness you may have contracted. In the morning you’ll feel fit as a fiddle.”
    “Oh,