A Promise of Thunder

wanted to know?” Grady asked with icy disdain.
    “My friend here wants to meet you,” Turner said, gesturing toward the gunman. “You both have a lot in common.” Grady’s glacial glance flicked contemptuously over the gunman. “His name is Bull. Just Bull,” Turner repeated when Grady stiffened suddenly and turned the potent fury of his blue eyes back to the gunman.
    “Bull,” Grady repeated tersely. “Ever been to Cheyenne, Bull?”
    “Maybe,” Bull said testily. “What’s it to ya?”
    “Just curious. If that’s all you wanted, I’ll bid you good-bye. It’s time I was getting home.”
    “Not so fast, Renegade,” Bull said, placing a hamlike hand on Grady’s arm. “I know who you are. My friend Turner’s been tellin’ me about you, about how fast you are with a gun, and how you and your band of renegades attacked wagon trains and killed innocent women and children and all.”
    Grady went still, every nerve in his body demanding that he respond violently to Bull’s words. A nudge from Storm calmed him down. “You’re mistaken. I’ve never attacked wagon trains carrying women and children. You’re confusing me with someone else. I’m a respectable farmer.”
    “I ain’t confusin’ you with no one,” Bull said slyly. “Every man in the territory has heard stories about the renegade Injun and how fast he was with a gun. When Turner here told me he knew ya personally, I persuaded him to come to Guthrie with me so he could introduce us.”
    Grady stared at Bull through shuttered lids. He tried to ignore the voices in his head, but he knew who Bull was. Summer Sky had described him accurately before she died in his arms, and the descriptions of him and his friends were etched upon his brain forever. He glanced at Storm, wondering how she would react if he followed his intuition. For years he had been searching for the three men responsible for Summer Sky’s death and now one of them stood before him, bigger than life and twice as ugly.
    “Say what you’ve come to say,” Grady ground out.
    “I’m saying that ya ain’t as good with a gun as people say ya are. I’m willin’ to put my life on the line and tell ya I’m better.”
    Storm stifled a gasp and tugged at Grady’s arm, urging him away from the violence she knew was inevitable. He shrugged her aside, for a moment forgetting she even existed. His thinking process shut down the moment he realized Bull was one of the men responsible for Summer Sky’s death. “Are you challenging me to a gun duel?”
    Bull grinned evilly. “I’ll be a hero when it’s known that I drew against the renegade and won.”
    “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah, damn sure. You ain’t had much practice out there on your farm. What do ya say, Renegade, are ya willin’ to meet me fair and square?”
    “Grady, no!”
    Storm’s plea fell on deaf ears. “When was the last time you were in Cheyenne, Bull?”
    Bull spat out an oath. “What’s so damn important about Cheyenne?”
    “Where are your friends Cox and Bickley?”
    “Huh? How do you know about them? They were both killed robbin’ a bank in Fort Worth.”
    “Too bad you weren’t with them,” Grady spat. “Do you remember a day five years ago when all three of you were in Cheyenne together?”
    “Oh …” Storm felt as if she had been struck in the stomach with a fist. She knew exactly what Grady was talking about.
    “Maybe,” Bull said guardedly. “What’s it to ya?”
    “Do you recall an Indian girl that day? She was driving a wagon to town. You and your friends stopped her and pulled her from the wagon. You tormented her, calling her a squaw, and then you tore off her clothes.”
    Turner looked from Bull to Grady, realizing he had placed himself squarely in the middle of a potentially explosive situation that had nothing to do with him. It was something he hadn’t counted on. But it was too late now to back out. He was in this with Bull and had every confidence in the gunman’s ability. Hehad seen for himself how fast Bull was on the draw and knew for a fact that Stryker hadn’t had much practice defending himself lately. Turner’s object, of course, was land. He’d be on hand to buy poor Widow Stryker’s double claim after her second husband’s funeral.
    “I don’t remember nothin’ like that,” Bull said sullenly.
    “Think hard, Bull. I have a very reliable description of you and your friends. That girl was my wife. She was carrying my child. You