A Promise of Thunder

child in her arms. “Your papa is going to be fine, Tim. He is beginning to wake up. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”
    Tim’s face was radiant. “I was so afraid,” he choked out as he tried so hard to be brave. “Where are you going? You’re not going to leave Papa while he’s sick, are you?”
    Bitter anguish clouded Storm’s face. “It’s what your father wants, Tim. But perhaps I won’t go far and we can still see one another occasionally.”
    “It’s not what Papa wants!” Tim denied fiercely. “He told me he married you because he wanted to, and Papa doesn’t lie.”
    The child’s words added fuel to Storm’s distress. Grady was ordinarily a very truthful man. She knew he wasn’t lying when he told her he wanted her to leave.
    “I know how anxious you are. Why don’t you go inside and see your father now. Tell Laughing Brook—tell her I’ll trade the wagon for the horse she rode to town. She’ll find it at the livery. She’ll need it to carry your father back home.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned abruptly, mounted the horse hitched tothe railing, and rode away. It was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.
    Storm stopped at the hotel first, where she informed the clerk that Laughing Brook and Tim would be occupying her room. Then she quickly packed her clothes and left the room. Once in the street she attached the valise to the saddle and stood beside the horse, deep in thought. She hadn’t the slightest notion where she was going or what she should do. It came to her suddenly that the cattle feeding on the lush grass growing on their land belonged to her. She had purchased them with the remainder of Buddy’s money, and Grady had insisted that they be treated as her property alone.
    If she sold half the herd, she might have enough money to rebuild her cabin on the land she had homesteaded. The deed had been changed to show that her name was now Storm Stryker, but legally the land was still hers. Something else Grady had insisted upon. As long as they were married, it wasn’t necessary to divide the land into what belonged to her and what was Grady’s, but since Grady no longer wanted her as his wife she felt justified in taking what was hers. Her mind settled, Storm mounted and reined the horse toward the homestead. Since no one would be occupying the cabin while Grady mended in town, she felt safe in staying there.
    Storm’s mind went in many directions during the ride to the cabin, but her decision never wavered concerning her reluctance to return toMissouri. She had nothing to look forward to in Missouri but a bleak existence. Buddy’s parents would certainly blame her for his untimely death, and her own parents, though they loved her dearly, didn’t need another child to shelter or feed. She had much to think about, Storm decided as the cabin came into view. She and Grady were as separate as two humans could be, and her future depended on her ability to survive through adversity.
    Briefly, she considered selling her quarter section of land to Nat Turner and settling farther west, in Wyoming or Montana. But the thought of Turner making a profit off the land she had won was abhorrent to her. And Grady would be livid.
    It was dusk when Storm dismounted and unfastened her valise from the saddle. She spent a few minutes unsaddling the horse and rubbing him down before carrying her valise into the house. Lengthening shadows created dancing specters in the corners of the dark room as she opened the door and stepped inside. Dropping the valise beside the door, she went directly to the table to light the lamp. Suddenly she froze, feeling the hackles rise on the back of her neck. Her senses told her she wasn’t alone, and every nerve recoiled at the thought.
    “Who’s there?” she called out, whirling to face the unseen foe.
    “I will not hurt you, wife of Thunder.”
    Storm sucked in a shaky breath. “Who are you?”
    A man stepped out of the shadows. Dressed in buckskins, his tall, muscular form was painfully thin, creating an illusion of fragile strength. His moccasined feet were noiseless on the wooden floor as he moved to where Storm could see him clearly. His braided hair was no longer black but generously streaked with gray. His dark face was creased, his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes sharp and assessing. Storm recognized a commanding strength in his aging body; the same unyielding strength she found in Grady. At first she thought the man was