A Promise of Thunder

snow from his feet and blowing on his hands to warm them, Storm was already curled up in the new bedstead he had set up in the far corner of the room. He spent agonizing minutes shedding his jacket and shirt and washing up at the washstand before moving toward the bed. The mattress sagged beneath his weight when he sat down. Instantly wary, Storm jerked upright.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Going to bed.”
    “You promised …”
    “Dammit, Storm, do you still insist that I honor that silly condition you set? This will be a damn cold marriage unless you give a little.”
    “It’s the way it has to be,” Storm said stubbornly. “I’m not ready yet to surrender myself completely to a man like you.”
    “A man like me?” Grady repeated angrily. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “I—nothing. Just go to sleep. We’re both tired, and there’s still much to be done tomorrow before we’re snowed in.” What Storm didn’t say was that Grady was the kind of man who would demand total surrender yet give nothing of himself in return.
    “One day you’ll beg me to love you, lady,” Grady predicted. “I hope for your sake I’m around when that day arrives.” His words left Storm with an ominous feeling of impending disaster.
    The next days passed quickly enough. Storm was constantly busy as she sewed curtains and fixed up the cabin to suit her tastes. It was quite homey by the time she finished, and even Grady remarked on the changes she had wrought. Each night Grady insisted on sleeping beside her, torturing her with the seductive warmth of his body. The nights were bitter cold and many a morning she awoke nestled against him, seeking the comfort of his big body. But to his credit, Grady did not attempt to make love to her.
    Though Grady suffered the agonies of Hell, he made no move to seek other sleeping arrangements. He wanted Storm to become accustomed to having him sleep beside her.Often during the night he would awaken to find her cuddling into the curve of his body, seeking his warmth. Then his arms would automatically close around her, bringing her even closer against him. If his hand accidentally found a tempting breast or brushed a rounded hip, he merely groaned and persevered. His honor as a Lakota warrior was a vital part of his character. He would not make love to Storm unless she asked him.
    Was there no end to the suffering he must endure on Storm’s account?
    The sizzling tension between Storm and Grady was nearly unbearable. Each time Grady began the nightly ritual of undressing, Storm quickly looked away or was occupied elsewhere with some pressing duty. Just looking at Grady made her legs weak and her head spin. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. She had loved Buddy but had never felt the overwhelming need or suffocating desire she experienced in Grady’s presence. The guilt over her response to a man the complete opposite of Buddy made her more determined than ever to resist his devil’s lure.
    Christmas approached, and one fine morning Grady drove into town, returning late in the day. He stunned Storm by producing a Christmas tree he had cut on his way home. It wasn’t nearly so fine as those Storm knew as a child in Missouri, but the gesture was heartwarming as well as surprising. She didn’t think Grady had a sentimental bone in his body.
    During the times Grady was away from the house Storm worked on his Christmas gift. She was sewing him a white shirt made of the finest linen. She was proud of her small neat stitches and hoped Grady would like it. She had to admit that he was being exceptionally understanding of her demand that they not make love and she wanted to show her appreciation with a gift worthy of the sacrifice.
    On Christmas day, besides cooking a fat turkey Grady had shot, Storm presented Grady with her gift. The gesture left him speechless. He’d had no idea she was making him a gift and exclaimed over the fine workmanship. Then he rummaged in his pocket and with a flourish presented Storm with a small, elegantly wrapped box. She stared at it for several minutes before daring to open it.
    “For me?”
    “Yes. Go ahead and open it.”
    Storm’s hands shook as she ripped off the paper and snapped open the lid. Her lungs emptied of air when she saw the delicately wrought gold wedding band nestled on a bed of velvet.
    “Oh.”
    “There wasn’t time to buy a ring when we were married. Besides, I ordered this one specially made and the jeweler needed time to