A Promise of Thunder by Mason Connie

Author:Mason, Connie [Mason, Connie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0843948604
Publisher: Ten Talents Press
Published: 2011-09-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Storm hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until her lungs began to ache and her heart to pound. She had no idea how Grady would answer his son’s question, for she knew their marriage was merely one of convenience. She needed a home and he needed a mother for his son. The raging passion that existed between them was something Storm hadn’t counted on.

Grady remained silent so long Storm felt like turning and fleeing from the hot glare of Tim’s accusing dark eyes. Obviously Grady couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for their marriage, one that would satisfy his son, and it hurt. Then he said something so outrageous, so utterly untruthful that Storm wanted to scream out that he lied.

“I married Storm because I wanted to.”

Storm felt singed by the heat and hunger of Grady’s gaze, but she resisted looking up into his eyes, fearing the mockery she’d find in their cobalt depths. She knew he wanted her—no one could mistake that devouring look—but since Laughing Brook’s arrival Grady had no need for his wife. True, she hadn’t been aware of Laughing Brook sharing Grady’s pallet since that time she awoke and heard them making love, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t found other times to be intimate.

“Why can’t Laughing Brook be your second wife?” Tim wanted to know. “Flies-Like-A-Hawk has three wives.”

“White law allows for only one wife,” Grady explained. Though he spoke to his son his eyes never left Storm’s face. “And besides, I don’t want a second wife, or a third. I’m perfectly satisfied with one wife. I have learned much since I rode with renegades and left the reservation,” he continued, dropping to his knees before his small son. “The time when Indians walked the earth as free men, proud of their heritage and secure in their future, is long past.”

“But I am an Indian, Papa, and so was Mama. How can I forget what I am?”

“You must never forget your proud heritage, son,” Grady said passionately. “We both come from noble stock, and our dark skins will never allow us to forget who or what we are. Nor should we. But I want a better life for you than the reservation offers. My father, your grandfather, served the President of the United States and fought for the freedom of all people regardless of race and color. Don’t ever forget that. I feel strongly that our future, yours and mine, lies here in Oklahoma, on our own land.”

“But you always hated the White Eyes, Papa,” Tim said, puzzled by Grady’s turnabout.

“I’ve since learned there are good White Eyes and bad White Eyes, just as there are good Indians and bad Indians.” He rose to his feet. Suddenly he reached out, took Storm’s chin between thumb and forefinger, and lifted her face so she was forced to look into his eyes. “Storm is a good White Eyes. She has never done anything to hurt the People. She is not meek, gentle, or obedient

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