Free A Promise of Thunder by Connie Mason Page A

mattress, occupied one corner of the cabin, separated from the work area by a blanket hung from the ceiling. A table, two chairs, and several kerosene lamps were the only other furnishings in the room. The cabin still looked bare in comparison to her parents’ home in Missouri, but given time Storm knew she could make it into a home she could be proud of.
    The first visitor to Storm’s new house was Nat Turner. He arrived one brisk day with a small bouquet of fall flowers. Storm was more than a little startled to see him ride up to the house bearing a gift.
    “I heard in town that your cabin was built and I wanted to be the first to bring you a housewarming gift,” he said, smiling obsequiously. “It isn’t much, but I know how lonely you must be out here by yourself.”
    “Why, thank you, Mr. Turner,” Storm said,touched by his thoughtfulness. “Won’t you come in? I’m just about to sit down to lunch. There’s plenty if you’d care to join me.”
    “I’d be right pleased,” Nat replied, taking off his hat and entering behind her. Once inside, he looked around curiously, wondering what a woman like Storm Kennedy was doing living in a scantly furnished one-room cabin with few amenities to make life bearable. “You’ve fixed the cabin up right nice, Mrs. Kennedy.” Lies came easily to his lips. He could lie and practice deceit with ease, as long as it benefited Nat Turner. “May I call you Storm?”
    “Why, I—I suppose,” Storm stammered. She could think of no reason why he shouldn’t use her first name.
    “You must call me Nat. I feel like we’re old friends. Have you decided yet how you’re going to farm your land on your own, Storm?”
    Actually, Storm had given it a great deal of thought lately. She didn’t have a lot of money left to hire help, yet she had to put the land to use in some way. “I’m still considering several options, Mr.—Nat. Please sit down,” she said, gesturing to one of the kitchen chairs. “I hope you’re hungry. I shot a rabbit early this morning and made it into a delicious stew. There’s also biscuits and honey for desert.”
    “A veritable feast, Storm. Thank you, I’m famished. Are you proficient with a gun? Do you do a lot of hunting?”
    “Just for small game,” Storm said as she ladled out the stew. “Buddy—my late husband—taughtme how to shoot when we were just children. I’m no expert, but I know how to handle a firearm.”
    “As well you should, you being out here alone and all. Has the half-breed on the neighboring spread given you any problems? It’s a shame his kind are allowed to settle amongst civilized people.”
    Storm’s spoon stopped half-way to her mouth. “Are you talking about Grady Stryker? Did you know his father owns one of the largest and most prosperous ranches in Wyoming?” She didn’t know that for a fact, but the opportunity to point out that Grady wasn’t the savage people thought was just too tempting to resist. Well, she amended silently, perhaps he
was
a savage, but in ways that had nothing to do with his Indian blood. It had to do with some violent act that had changed him. She had no knowledge of what had changed him, but she fully intended to learn the truth one day.
    Turner’s mouth dropped open. “I had no idea. Rumor has it he’s an Indian renegade called Thunder who terrorized white settlers and raided indiscriminately.”
    “I wouldn’t know about that,” Storm said. Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug.
    “Look here, Storm, don’t trust the half-breed. I don’t care who his parents are, the man is a killer. I really think you ought to reconsider your decision to homestead.”
    “I’ll not give up my land.”
    “I’ll give you a good price if you sell to me.Let me deal with the half-breed. I know how to handle men like him.”
    “If I need help dealing with Grady I’ll let you know,” Storm said tightly. She didn’t like being pressured. “As for my claim, Nat, I’m keeping it. I know