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the other supplies necessary for her survival.
    In a very short time she was seated before the fire, shoveling beans into her mouth and thinking how lonely it was without Buddy. He had been her constant companion for so long, the loss sent a sharp pang through her innards. She hadn’t really cried or had a chance to mourn Buddy since his death, and when tears appeared suddenly she didn’t try to stop them. She let them course down her cheeks, finding solace in the healing flood. When it was over she knew she could continue, with or without Buddy. She would always mourn her husband, but she had never been one to dwell overlong on the injustices of life. Life simply went on.
    When she and Buddy had struck out for Oklahoma, she had eagerly welcomed the challenge of pioneer life, and not even Buddy’s death would make her give up the dream of owning one of the last tracts of free land in the country. Abruptly, Storm’s thoughts wandered in another direction. She wondered if the half-breed had managed a fire and a meal. When she glanced over toward his claim she saw nothing but dark stretches of land for as far as the eye could see. The moon and the stars provided the only light, except for that projected by her meager campfire.
    Storm didn’t want to worry about the half-breed, didn’t even want to think about him, but somehow his image intruded upon her thoughts. It was difficult to hate a man whowas wounded and helpless. Although helpless hardly described Grady Stryker, Storm realized that he couldn’t have entered the race as fully prepared as she and Buddy had been, for to her knowledge his decision to homestead had been one made on the spur of the moment. He probably had no food or even a spare blanket to keep him warm during the coolness of the night.
    Suddenly Storm came to a decision. She filled a tin plate with the remainder of the food she had prepared, picked up the coffeepot, and started walking the short distance to Grady’s claim. Since it was full dark and she had to pick her way carefully, it took fifteen minutes to reach his roped-off claim. Stepping over the barrier, she saw that Grady had indeed erected a shelter. Upon closer inspection she saw that his tent consisted of a shotgun stuck into the ground as a tent pole and a blanket stretched over it and staked down on all four sides. There was absolutely no way he could stuff his tall, lean frame into the small enclosure. Setting the plate and coffeepot on the ground before the tent, she called his name.
    She heard his tethered horse snort softly in response, but Grady was nowhere in sight. She was ready to return to her own claim when the sound of rippling water caught her attention. Since she had wanted to wash up before she retired, she headed in the direction of the river, wishing she had been one of the lucky ones to claim land bordering the water. As things stoodnow, she’d be forced to negotiate with the half-breed for her water until a well could be dug.
    The moon lit her way as Storm walked across the lush prairie, happily aware of the fact that she had claimed a piece of prime farmland. Though she didn’t know a great deal about farming or raising animals, she was determined to learn. Surely she wasn’t the only woman to claim a piece of Oklahoma for herself, nor was she the first woman pioneer whose man was killed before he could realize his dream.
    Storm stumbled upon Grady quite suddenly. He was poised at the edge of the water, his back to her, nude except for a breechclout covering his loins. He looked like an ancient heathen god, standing as tall and straight as a towering spruce. His stance emphasized the strength of his thighs and the slimness of his hips. Moonlight danced along the ropy muscles of his biceps, highlighting his shoulders, a yard wide and molded bronze. In fact, he was gilded bronze all over, even the taut mounds of his buttocks. His midnight hair shone with glistening pearls of water, as if he had just emerged from the