A Promise of Thunder

the White Eyes, Papa,” Tim said, puzzled by Grady’s turnabout.
    “I’ve since learned there are good White Eyes and bad White Eyes, just as there are good Indians and bad Indians.” He rose to his feet. Suddenly he reached out, took Storm’s chin between thumb and forefinger, and lifted her face so she was forced to look into his eyes. “Storm is a good White Eyes. She has never done anything to hurt the People. She is not meek, gentle, or obedient like your mother was, but I have learned that the qualities Storm possesses are more desirable in the world we live in.” His eyes sparkled with mirth and one corner of his mouth tilted upward in the parody of a smile. “Though there are times Storm sorely tries my temper, she is my wife for better or for worse and will remain my wife. Once you realize that, Tim, you’ll be able to accept Storm and we’ll all be happier for it.”
    Storm was truly stunned by Grady’s words. When he released her chin the tips of his fingers caressed the hollow at the base of her throat in a gesture so intimate her flesh tingled long after he removed his hand. She wanted to believe Grady had married her because it was what he truly desired, but she found itdifficult to swallow. Before they were wed he had admitted that there was no room in his heart for love, that having loved once he had no intention of doing so again. Obviously no woman alive could take the place of his dead wife. But that had been perfectly agreeable with her, for she had loved Buddy and wanted no other man replacing him in her heart.
    But that was before … Before she learned about passion and being loved in ways she never dreamed possible and experiencing the kind of bliss she never attained with Buddy. If it was possible to love twice, Storm reasoned, then Grady was truly her soulmate in ways she had never imagined with Buddy. But it was difficult giving your heart to a man whose loving inspired guilt and shame, Storm thought contritely.
    Storm wasn’t the only one dazed by Grady’s words. For the first time since leaving the reservation, Tim realized that Storm would always be a part of his life. And that he could never look backward to the life he had once known with Laughing Brook. His father had chosen to live in the white world and he must conform to those rules if he was to attain a modicum of happiness.
    “Do I have to call her mama?” Tim asked sullenly.
    Grady seemed at a loss for words, but Storm quickly jumped into the void. “Not if you don’t want to. Just call me Storm until we feel more comfortable with one another.”
    Tim thought about that for awhile, then nodded slowly. “If it’s all right with Papa, then I shall call you Storm.”
    “I think it’s a fine idea, son,” Grady said solemnly. “And if you’d like, later you can help me build a chicken coop. Having chicken and fresh eggs whenever we want will be a treat.”
    Satisfied, Tim ran off, leaving Storm and Grady staring after him. When Grady turned to face her the tension loomed between them like a heavy mist. She waited for him to speak, but he seemed as reluctant as she to break the silence. It was as if this moment had been building from the moment Grady had returned home; he was like a volcano on the verge of erupting. Grady touched her cheek, and the breath seemed to solidify in her throat.
    “Storm …”
    “Thunder, where is Little Buffalo? I can’t find him.”
    Once again Laughing Brook had intruded upon a private moment. It seemed to Storm as if the Indian maiden deliberately spied on them and knew exactly when to interrupt. Never had she felt so close to Grady or so ready to admit that she had forgiven him for Buddy’s death. For the first time since their hasty wedding, Storm truly felt they could make something of this marriage.
    Muttering an oath, Grady swung around to glare at Laughing Brook. He sincerely hoped Tim would learn to cope without her soon so he could return her to the reservation. It was timeshe chose a husband from among the warriors vying for her hand.
    “Tim can’t be far, Laughing Brook,” Grady said tightly. “Perhaps he went down to the river.”
    “Then I shall help Storm dig in the garden,” she offered sweetly, knowing full well that she had interrupted a special moment between husband and wife.
    Storm smiled ruefully. “Since you have offered, I welcome your help.” She handed Laughing Brook the shovel.
    Seething with frustration, Grady turned and stomped off. But the