A Promise of Thunder

had never felt so alone or bereft in her life. Though her parents had many children and were barely able to scrape a living from the rocky Missouri soil, she had always felt loved and protected. And Buddy had always been there to lend her support. “Who would do this to me?”
    “Someone who wants your homestead,” Grady said grimly. “The damn shame of it is, we can’t prove Nat Turner is the culprit.” He turned pensive. “I could always beat the truth out of him.”
    “If you do, you’ll be thrown in jail for assault,” Storm advised. “What am I going to do?” she repeated in such a forlorn voice, Grady experienced an emotion that was utterly foreign to him.
    “First I’m going to take you to my place and get some hot coffee into you. After that I’m going back into town to talk to the sheriff.”
    “Is there nothing salvageable?” Storm asked in a small voice.
    “Nothing, Storm. I’m sorry.”
    Hoisting her into the saddle, Grady swung in place behind her and turned Lightning toward his homestead. Though outwardly calm, he feared he’d find his own cabin destroyed. He knew a man who committed so vile a deed once would have no qualms about attempting it a second time. Grady knew Nat Turner hated him for having spoiled his plans on more than one occasion, and if he found his cabin still intact it was only because Turner feared Grady’s retribution.
    Grady’s worst fears were realized when he was close enough to see tendrils of smoke rising from the vicinity of his cabin. Storm saw them also.
    “Oh, no! Not your cabin too!” Tears that were still so close to the surface flowed without restraint down her cheeks. Grady dug his heels into Lightning’s flanks, and Storm clung to the pummel to keep from falling as the stallion shot forward.
    Grady uttered a cry of relief when he saw that the smoke they had seen from the distance came from one charred wall, not from the burnt wreckage of his cabin, as he had expected. The other walls were virtually untouched. By some miracle the torch had been carelessly thrown and lay beside the charred wall, half submerged in a puddle left from a recent rain. Evidently the arsonists hadn’t waited around long enough to watch the conflagration. The torch had been quenched before it did more than scorch one wall and destroy a few shingles. When Gradysaw that the smoldering flame threatened to burst into a blazing inferno at any moment, he reacted swiftly.
    Leaping to the ground, he found two empty buckets he had left in the yard, grasped one in each hand, and raced to the river. He was back in minutes, dousing the charred side of the cabin. Then back to the river again for more water. Storm saw what he was attempting and hurried to join him, using a large kettle she found nearby. After several trips Grady was satisfied that the smoldering fire couldn’t be rekindled into a full-blown blaze and called a halt.
    “Another hour and it would have been too late,” Grady said as he surveyed the damage to his cabin. In addition to the charred wall, parts of the roof had been destroyed. Fortunately the damage was minimal compared to the devastating loss Storm had suffered. “The wind could have fanned the smoldering embers to life and then we’d both be without a roof over our heads. Our ‘friends,’ whoever they may be, play rough.”
    The cabin smelled strongly of smoke as Storm stood just inside the door. Her weary eyes swept Grady’s home with a desultory glance. It wasn’t nearly as fine as hers and there was no cookstove or comfortable bed, but at least it was still standing, she thought dully. The charred wall was a grim reminder of her own loss and she turned from it with a brave show of defiance. Despite the grievous loss she’d suffered, she would survive somehow.
    The bone-chilling cold had penetrated the room, and she shivered as she hugged her wrap closer around her. Grady noted her discomfort and squatted beside the hearth to light a fire. He waited until the blaze took hold before turning back to Storm, who stood suspended in the center of the room, still in a state of shock.
    “I’ll make some coffee,” he offered. “Sit down, Storm. Worrying will serve no purpose.
    She moved woodenly toward the chair, perching gingerly on the edge. When the coffee was boiled, Grady poured her a cup and sat across from her, sipping the dark, rich brew and watching her. She hadn’t moved since she sat down, or even appeared to know where she was. Her head