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anything to do with it? she wondered curiously. Yet Storm sensed a brooding sadness in him that begged for compassion and understanding. She might hate what the man had become, but she felt a strong, compelling attraction for the kind of man he could be once he mended his wicked ways.
    “You didn’t answer my question,” Grady repeated softly. “Do you care what happens tome?” Why was he pursuing this line of thought when he knew damn well Storm had good reason to despise him?
    Her skin looked so soft and velvety, he longed to reach out and stroke her cheek. She was so close he could smell violets wafting from the thick blond strands of her hair. Grady had thought all feelings of tenderness long buried, but somehow this young widow had stirred memories that suddenly emerged from the ashes to disturb and titillate him.
    Drawn into the electric blue of his eyes, Storm had to shake herself to escape his spell. She heard his question and found it offensive.
    “I don’t care a fig about you, Mr. Stryker. I helped you because my Christian upbringing demanded it. I still think you’re a violent man who courts danger.”
    The brief softening of Grady’s features abruptly hardened into an inscrutable mask. He must have been crazy to think Storm Kennedy would consider him anything but an uncivilized savage. Next time he’d know better than to deal civilly with the woman. Over three years ago he had chosen the kind of life he wanted to lead. What made him think he could or should change now?
    Because of your son
, his conscience whispered. Certainly not because of a golden-haired witch with the face of an angel.
    “Perhaps you should return to your claim, Mrs. Kennedy,” Grady said dully. “According to the rules you must erect a shelter.” His shoulderhurt like hell and he felt weak as a kitten from loss of blood, but he’d be damned if he’d ask Storm for any more than she was willing to give.
    Storm shot him a quelling look. “You’re right, there’s still much to be done.” She started walking back to the wagon, turned suddenly, and asked, “What about your tent? Can you manage on your own?”
    “I can manage. It’s only a flesh wound. I’ve had worse.”
    Storm nodded and continued on her way. The provocative sway of her hips and a flash of shapely ankles held Grady mesmerized, and he forced himself to look away. He had no damn business desiring Storm Kennedy, no business at all. She was a part of the white society he held in contempt. And she was so different from Summer Sky, he wondered why he was drawn to her.
    Thunder and Storm.
    The names implied power, wrought by the tremendous forces of nature, uncontrollable, wild, unpredictable. Combined they made men cower and the earth shake.
    Thunder and Storm.
    The fury they unleashed created havoc in both the heavens above and the earth below.
    Grinning crookedly, Grady decided Storm needed Thunder to bring forth the fire. Perhaps Wakantanka was right. Thunder could only exist in the bosom of Storm’s soul. But everyone knew Storm would be weak and ineffectivewithout Thunder. Taming a Storm might be more rewarding, certainly more entertaining, than allowing it to pass by in the night.

Chapter Three
     
    Storm had her makeshift shelter erected before the inky blackness of night descended over the prairie. She and Buddy had prepared well, having purchased stakes, canvas, and supplies to last them several months, or until the land started producing. Buddy had used an inheritance from his grandmother to finance their trip, and there were still sufficient funds left in the bank in Guthrie to build a snug cabin on her new land.
    Using some of the extra stakes, Storm built a fire and started coffee boiling. She was famished, having eaten nothing since early that morning. Rummaging in the back of the wagon, she found a tin of beans, another of fruit, and some hardtack. The next day, when she went to Guthrie to file her claim, she’d buybacon, eggs, flour, sugar, and