A Promise of Thunder

what we just experienced together?”
    “Easy. I don’t want to be forced into something I’m not ready for. I’m newly widowed. Let me mourn my husband for a decent interval before accepting another man in my bed.”
    “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 assailed by guilt, or felt the crushing 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 aboutThunder, 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 hardship.”
    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 yetnot 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 landwith 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