A Promise of Thunder

himself did not understand, Grady lingered in town, sleeping in the livery when he found no other suitable lodging. For a man without a conscience, he had lost a lot of sleep thinking about the provocative blonde and her dead husband. He wondered what she planned to do now that her husband was dead. Did she have family back East somewhere?
    Try as he might, Grady could not deny the fact that it was his conscience that brought him to the undertaker that bright September morning. A somber man dressed in black greeted him at the door.
    “How may I help you?”
    Grady cleared his throat and glanced around the room filled with wooden boxes.
    “There was a man brought in here yesterday. Young, gunshot. Do you know his name?”
    “Ah, you must mean Mr. Kennedy. The funeral is this afternoon. Are you a member of the family?”
    “No,” Grady said harshly, unwilling to admit he was the indirect cause of the young man’sdeath. “Has the burying been paid for?”
    “Why, no, it hasn’t,” the undertaker said. His suspicions fully aroused now, the undertaker took a good look at Grady, put two and two together and came up with the right answer. “Why, you’re the man who shot Mr. Kennedy.”
    Grady’s mouth stretched into a grimace. “I don’t shoot unarmed men. Kennedy was killed by a stray bullet. But I’m not here to defend myself, I want to pay for the burying.”
    “Why? The man has a widow.”
    “Just tell me how much,” Grady said tightly. A man of few words, he saw no reason to offer explanations when he couldn’t even explain his reasons to himself.
    The undertaker named a figure. Grady nodded, took the appropriate sum from his money pouch, and placed it in the man’s hand. “Are you sure that’s enough? I want him to have a decent burial.”
    There was a rustle of calico, and then an angry feminine voice asked, “Why should you care what kind of burial my husband has?”
    While Grady and the undertaker were talking, Storm had entered the establishment in time to hear their words.
    Startled, the undertaker sent Storm a sheepish look. “Mr.—er—Mr. …” He slanted Grady a quizzical glance and waited for him to supply a name.
    “Stryker. Grady Stryker.”
    “Yes, well, Mr. Stryker has just paid for your husband’s burying.”
    “What! The man’s a savage; why should he offer to pay for Buddy’s funeral?”
    “Why don’t you ask him?” the undertaker suggested. It mattered little who paid for the burial as long as someone did.
    “All right, I will.” She turned to Grady, her eyes dark with fury. “I don’t want your charity, Mr. Stryker.”
    “It’s not charity. I’d—” he began.
    “Just take your money back. I don’t want it. Buddy and I weren’t rich, but I have enough to pay for his burial.”
    “Now, Mrs. Kennedy, perhaps you should reconsider,” the undertaker offered kindly. “You will need the money to return to your family. Mr. Stryker said he didn’t kill your husband. Can’t you accept his offer as a gift of kindness?”
    “Kindness?” Storm fumed. “Look at the man! Does he look the sort who is accustomed to doing good deeds? He looks like a gunslinger to me. And heaven only knows what he’d want in return for his ‘kindness.’ Give him back his money, Mr. Lucas.”
    Silas Lucas shrugged and handed the money back to Grady. “You heard the lady, Mr. Stryker.” Then, sensing a confrontation, he turned and walked away rather than be privy to the clashing of two explosive tempers.
    “I only wanted to do what was right, Mrs. Kennedy,” Grady said tightly. Truth to tell, he felt sorry for the young widow. Her expressive sherry eyes were red-rimmed from crying, andshe looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. He wondered if she even had a place to stay in this crowded town.
    “Your sympathy isn’t appreciated. Save it for someone who needs it,” Storm said. “You hardly look the type to feel regret. If it wasn’t for you, Buddy would still be alive.”
    “I had no idea a man would come gunning for me here in Guthrie,” Grady returned. “Had I known, I would have been more cautious.”
    “A man like you must face death every day,” Storm said disparagingly. “But Buddy wasn’t a violent man. He loved life, he—” Suddenly the burden of Buddy’s death became too much for Storm to bear. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably and she broke into tears.
    If he lived to be a hundred, Grady would never understand what made him pull