Laughing Brook's pleased smile told Storm exactly how the Indian maiden felt about that. "It will be for the best."

It was mid-afternoon before Grady returned to the house. His mouth was grim, his eyes bleak but determined. The tensing of his jaw betrayed his deeply troubled thoughts. He didn't want to lose Storm, but he'd despise himself the rest of his life if he refused Bull's challenge. His son would think him gutless and his own conscience would plague him until the day he died. Stripped of his pride, a man is no good to himself or to his family. Why couldn't Storm realize that?

Grady went directly to the bedroom, where he changed into his buckskins and strapped on his gunbelt. He adjusted the height carefully, then tied it down at his thigh. The last thing he did before he left the bedroom was write a will leaving everything to Storm with the condition that she would care for his son until he reached his majority. After her death the homestead would be Tim's. He placed it on the nightstand where Storm would be most apt to find it and went in search of Tim. After patiently explaining to the lad what was happening and why, Grady looked for Storm. He found her in the garden, pulling weeds with such fierceness that clods of dirt were flying in every direction.

"It's time," he said simply.

Silence. A clod of dirt came hurtling his way and he sidestepped it neatly.

"Will you be waiting for me?"

She glared up at him. "Is there nothing I can say that will change your mind?"

"You've already said it."

"Then I won't be here when you return."

Grady frowned. "This is your home."

"I can't live like this. If Bull doesn't kill you, other men will come looking for you sooner or later."

"You're not thinking clearly, Storm. After Bull there will be no others. I promise."

"Just like you promised before? Good-bye, Grady. I-I wish you luck."

"I'll be back." He stared at her, memorizing her features. His eyes lingered on her lips. Lord, he loved her lips! Their lush sweetness drove him wild. He could kiss them forever and never tire. Right now he wanted to taste them so desperately he could feel the pressure building inside him.

Storm raised her head and met Grady's eyes, the tension so thick it could be sliced with a knife. When her eyes slid over him his skin felt too tight for him, and he deliberately looked away. One more look like that, he thought with a jolt of awareness, and he'd scoop her up in his arms, take her in the house, and make love to her. And that was something he couldn't let happen right now. He had an appointment at sundown and nothing short of his own death would stop him from appearing at the appointed time.

Without another word, Grady turned abruptly and left. Storm collapsed in a heap on the ground, shivering with cold despite the warm April day. She wanted to run after Grady, to throw herself at him, beg him one last time not to meet Bull, but she did none of those things. When she heard the thunder of hoofbeats pounding against the ground she knew it was too late. Hardening her resolve, she wiped her eyes and walked into the cabin and into the bedroom.

Storm decided not to pack everything she owned, hoping against hope that Grady would change his mind before sundown. After stuffing several items of clothing inside an old carpetbag she spent a few extra minutes gathering her keepsakes, which she packed in the carpetbag with her clothes. She experienced one terrible moment when she found Grady's will, but it served only to strengthen her resolve to leave. Then she stood in the center of the room, staring at the bed and remembering how wonderful it was between her and Grady. But it was too late now-too late. Obviously Grady didn't care enough for her to give up the violence she abhorred.

"So you are really leaving," Laughing Brook said when Storm came out of the bedroom carrying the valise. Tim was standing nearby, listening to every word. When he heard that Storm was leaving his face screwed up into a frown.

"Are you going away, Storm? Are you going to watch Papa kill that bad man?"

"I can no longer live here, Tim." Storm decided not to lie to the boy. He was too astute not to realize the truth.

"But I thought you were Papa's wife."

"I am, but your father seems to have forgotten it. He is more concerned with revenge than he is with his family. But this is my choice, Tim, you mustn't blame your father."

"Don't you like me?" Tim asked soulfully.

"Oh, Tim, don't ever think that. I've come to love you a great deal."

"Then why are you leaving?"

"It's something I must do for my own peace of mind. You have Laughing Brook and your father. You don't need me."

"But I do, Storm, I do need you. Laughing Brook is leaving soon, Papa has said so."

"I will stay as long as you need me, Little Buffalo," Laughing Brook a.s.sured him. "Let her go; we don't need her. You are more Indian than white. Once she leaves, your father will realize his place is with the People."

Storm turned away, unable to respond to Laughing Brook's logic. Leaving Grady would be difficult, but she couldn't live with the knowledge that other nameless men from his past could show up in Guthrie one day and challenge him. It would be like living with a bomb ready to explode. She had lost one husband because of a senseless gunfight and couldn't survive losing another loved one in the same way. She should have known better than to think Grady could give up his violent ways.

"Good-bye, Tim," Storm said as she walked out of the cabin. Determination alone kept her chin high and her eyes dry. After renting a hotel room in town Storm had no idea what she would do. Divorce was a possibility and would bear some thinking about. If she and Grady eventually did divorce, she wanted her homestead back.

Since she considered the wagon hers, Storm hitched the horse and drove to Guthrie. She arrived an hour before sundown, the time set for the shootout between Grady and Bull. She checked into the hotel immediately, trying to keep her eyes from straying in the direction of the livery where Grady was to meet Bull. She was given a room on the second floor and deliberately avoided looking out the window of the small room, but she couldn't stop her hands from shaking as she placed her meager belongings in the drawers and hung her dresses in the wardrobe provided. Only when her small ch.o.r.e was done did she walk to the window and note the position of the sinking sun in the sky.

Sundown.

Suddenly she was propelled by a nameless terror she had never known before. She found herself rushing out the door and down the hallway. Racing down the stairs and through the lobby, skirts held high so she wouldn't trip. Into the street, where her legs churned vigorously; gasping for breath, her face flushed, Grady's name became a litany on her tongue. People turned to stare at her, at her flashing ankles, at her blonde hair streaming in disarray down her back, but their curiosity went unheeded. Storm was beyond caring. All that mattered was that she reach Grady before the shooting began. If he was wounded, or G.o.d forbid, killed, he'd go to his death thinking she didn't care about him.

The livery was just yards away, and she reached it not a minute too soon. Storm's face was red, her lungs burned from lack of air, and she was on the verge of collapse. Abruptly the ominous sound of gunfire reverberated across the distance. One shot, then another, then nothing but sinister silence. Storm's legs turned to rubber as she skidded to an abrupt halt. The searing agony of breathing stopped completely as she went still.

Too late. Oh G.o.d, too late.

People began running in the direction of the shots, leaving her behind, unable to walk, unable to talk, her breath struggling to emerge from her throat. Finally one word came spewing out on a scream of terror.

"Grady!"

Her legs pumping furiously, Storm picked up her skirts again and took off at a run. Following the crowd to the open field behind the livery, Storm came upon the scene abruptly. Two men lay sprawled on the ground. Neither moved; both looked dead. A circle of people began forming around them. Someone bent down to feel for a pulse. It was at this point that Storm found the courage to move forward. She gave Bull a cursory glance before concentrating on the other man. She could see the slow spread of blood beneath Grady and feared she was too late.

She pushed her way through the crowd and people cleared a path for her, some shaking their heads, others clucking their tongues in obvious disapproval of the gunfight. Storm had just dropped to her knees beside Grady when the doctor approached, huffing and puffing from having been hastily summoned from his office. Reluctantly, Storm gave way to his expertise, watching anxiously as he used his stethoscope to find a heartbeat.

"Is he-is he-"

"Are you his wife?" the doctor asked brusquely.

"Yes, I'm Storm Stryker."

"Your husband's alive, Mrs. Stryker, barely. If I can get this bleeding stopped, he should make it. He's a strong specimen and, unless I miss my guess, in excellent shape."

"Take your time, Doc," a bystander said, "the other man's dead. You can't do him any good now."

"Where was Grady shot?" Storm wanted to know.

"Left side, just below the heart. Another inch and he'd be a goner. Soon as I stop the bleeding, I'll have him carried to my surgery, where I will remove the bullet."

"Are you sure he'll be all right?" Storm asked anxiously.

"He'll be fine if you let me do my work and stop asking questions."

Storm bit her tongue while the doctor worked over Grady. From the corner of her eye she saw that the sheriff had arrived and was talking to several bystanders, then to Nat Turner, who she had just noticed for the first time. When she saw Bull being carried away she turned her attention back to Grady and what the doctor was doing.

"Mrs. Stryker." Storm looked up to see the sheriff looming above her. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Please, Sheriff, not now. Can't you see my husband is hurt?"

"This will only take a moment."

Reluctantly, Storm rose to her feet, keeping her eyes on Grady's still form while trying to concentrate on what the sheriff was saying.

"What do you know about this, Mrs. Stryker? This sort of thing is illegal in Guthrie. I warned your husband once about making trouble."

"This isn't Grady's fault, Sheriff," Storm said indignantly. "I was with my husband when Mr. Turner and Bull-the dead man-came up and challenged him."

"Why did your husband feel it necessary to accept? This whole unsavory mess could have been avoided if he had refused. Stryker was involved in one killing already, as you well know. He should have walked away from this one."

"Are you going to arrest him?" Storm asked, aghast.

"Mr. Turner seems to think it was your husband's fault."

"He's a liar! I was there when Bull challenged Grady."

"Rumor has it your husband once rode with a band of renegades. Some say he's a gunslinger called Renegade. Frankly, I'm confused. Who is he?"

Storm hesitated, unwilling to divulge anything that might hurt Grady. "Gossip is unreliable. Don't believe everything you hear. My husband is a family man."

"Turner insists the rumor is true, but Captain Starke says Stryker came from good stock, that his father was a hero. I decided to give your husband the benefit of the doubt as long as he caused no trouble."

"What happened today isn't Grady's fault, Sheriff, I swear it. Turner wants our land and will go to any lengths to get it. You've got to believe me."

"Frankly, I don't know who to believe. Personally, I like your husband. That's why I haven't pursued the rumors. But I don't relish having drifters come looking for trouble in Guthrie. This town doesn't need men who live by the gun.

"Guthrie is still a raw, new town. The law is just being established here, and I don't want Guthrie to be known as a lawless place. Captain Starke is a powerful man in the territory, and if he says your husband is a law-abiding citizen, then I'll take his word for it, until he's proven otherwise."

Just then two men arrived with a litter, and the doctor directed them as they lifted Grady onto the stretched canvas.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Storm said distractedly, "but I must go now. They're taking Grady away." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried after Grady and the men carrying him away.

Grady's face was white as a sheet, and he was so still, Storm could barely detect the slow rise and fall of his chest. The stench of her own fear filled her nostrils. She couldn't lose Grady, not now, not after she had learned to love him in a way she had never loved even Buddy.

The operation went well. When Dr. Finney came out of his surgery two hours after the operation began, he was grinning from ear to ear. "I told you your husband was a strong man, Mrs. Stryker. He's going to be just fine. It was a little tricky removing the bullet, but he came through it with amazing fort.i.tude."

Storm had spent the two hours it took to remove the bullet pacing the waiting room, her mind in turmoil. Hearing the doctor's words now brought such a rush of grat.i.tude, it was all she could do to keep from falling on the doctor's neck. "Can I see him now?"

"You can peek in on him, but he won't know you're there. He's heavily sedated. I suggest you go home and rest. By tomorrow he'll be able to speak to you, though he won't be up to carrying on a long conversation."

"Go home?" Storm asked, dismay coloring her words. "I want to stay with Grady."

"I don't think-"

"Please, Doctor, I must. What if he wakes up in the night and wants something?"

The doctor sighed wearily. "Very well, young lady. You certainly are persistent. I'll see that a comfortable chair is available so you can rest."

"When can I take Grady home?"

"Not for several days. It's best he remain here in case infection develops."

Grady awoke several times during the night, asking for water. He didn't appear to know her or recognize his surroundings or recall the circ.u.mstances that brought him to such a pa.s.s. Toward dawn Storm managed to s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. She didn't awaken until the doctor came in to see his patient the next morning, before he opened his office.

"How long before Grady regains consciousness?" Storm asked as the doctor inspected Grady's wound and changed his bandage.

"He should awaken soon," the doctor predicted. "See that he stays calm and does nothing to dislodge the bandage or reopen the wound. I'll be in my office seeing patients. Call me if you need me." He started out the door, then turned back to Storm. "I'll have my wife carry you up some breakfast."

It was nearly noon when Grady began showing signs of coming out of his stupor. When he began thrashing around in the bed Storm had to literally hold him down. He opened his eyes, looked at her without comprehension, then drifted off again. He was still in a state of semi-awareness when the door to the room burst open and Laughing Brook stepped inside.

Storm whirled, shocked by the wild look in the Indian girl's black eyes. "Is he dead?" Laughing Brook asked. She was in a state of near panic. "It is your fault! If Thunder wasn't thinking about you and your decision to leave him, this wouldn't have happened to him. He's faster with a gun and more cunning than any man alive."

"Laughing Brook! What are you doing here? How did you know?"

"When Thunder didn't return home last night I knew something terrible had happened. I went to the sheriff's office and he told me what happened and where to find Thunder. Is he dead?"

"No, don't even think it. The doctor operated and he's going to be just fine. He should be coming around any moment now. Where is Tim? You didn't leave him alone, did you?"

"No, Little Buffalo is outside." She walked to the bed, her eyes filled with tears as she searched Grady's face. "Why is he so white?"

"He's lost a great deal of blood."

Just then Grady opened his eyes, searching the room restlessly until his gaze settled on Storm, standing at the foot of the bed. His first attempt to speak failed, but he was finally able to ask, "Where-am I?"

"In Dr. Finney's surgery," Storm said, moving closer. "You were shot yesterday. Do you remember?

For a moment Grady looked confused. "I-"

"Don't try to speak. Rest now; you're going to be all right. Would you like some water?"

He nodded, and Storm offered him a sip from the gla.s.s sitting on the stand beside the bed. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked at her strangely. His penetrating gaze sent a p.r.i.c.kle of apprehension down her spine. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "Grady, what is it?"

"Storm-don't want you-go away."

"What!" Storm's heart was pounding so loudly it drowned out everything but his startling words. Was Grady trying to tell her he didn't want her anywhere near him? Was he still angry at her decision to leave him?

His eyes glittering like two brittle diamonds, Grady struggled to speak again. "Don't want you-go away."

"Oh." Storm's hands flew to her face. Grady's rejection was like a knife thrust to her heart. Abruptly, she whirled and fled from the room, unable to bear Laughing Brook's gloating look.

Had she remained one moment longer she would have heard Grady say, "Storm, I-don't want you-to go away." Only Laughing Brook heard Grady's plea, and nothing short of death would drag it from her. When she saw that Grady had fallen back to sleep she quietly left the room. She found Storm standing just outside the door, weeping into her hands. Laughing Brook taunted her cruelly. "You abandoned him when he needed you. You have no reason to stay with him now; you heard what he said."

"He didn't know what he was saying," Storm said defensively. "Who will raise his son?"

"I will continue to do what I have done since Summer Sky's death. Little Buffalo is like my own child, and Thunder belongs to me. It is the way of the People. What further proof do you need?"

What proof indeed? Storm thought bleakly. Grady had spoken his mind and obviously couldn't bear the sight of her. She had hurt and angered him by leaving when he needed her and now he truly wished her gone. In her absence Laughing Brook would gladly care for his son and warm his bed.