Firestorm by Brenda Joyce Page B

had had one topic on their minds—boys. Storm thought they were silly. She was more interested in when the family’s prize mare was going to foal, and the bear that was killing everyone’s cattle, and the outlaw McRae whom the Rangers were pursuing.
    Now Storm was miserable. And angry. And humiliated. She had the awful feeling that Brett knew she had liked his kisses, a thought she found almost impossible to live with. The rutting pig. Vain peacock. Piece of cow dung. She was glad she had had enough sense to realize just how far things were going and had punched him as hard as she could. She’d hurt him, too, she knew it, and the thought pleased her no end.
    A maid knocked and came in bearing Storm’s dinner tray, making her realize she was ravenous. She attacked her meal immediately and finished every last mouthful of the steak and potatoes, beans and salad, even a piece of cherry cobbler. She had been too ashamed and confused to face Paul at dinner downstairs.
    Storm was no fool. She knew about mating. That is,she’d seen horses and dogs and cows coupling since she was a child. Once, she’d even seen her brother, Nick, with one of their maids in the pantry. Storm had to smile at that memory—Nick had been only sixteen, tall and skinny and lost in the voluptuous Irish girl’s charms. So she knew, pretty much, how a man and woman coupled, and she had realized this afternoon exactly what that hardness appearing between them had meant. It had given her the strength to break away, had revived her sanity. She flushed at the thought. Brett wanted to take her the way Nick had taken Rose. Her color increased; her senses tingled with heightened awareness.
    She was ashamed. She understood now why her mother and father shared such secret, pleased looks, why they were always touching and kissing. But that was different. They were married. They loved each other. Storm had never even thought about the attraction that exists between a man and a woman, but now that she did, she knew it was right and good when it was between two people who loved each other. She, however, didn’t love Brett—she disliked him immensely. Possibly she even hated him. And he certainly didn’t like her. So what was wrong with her?
    Was she turning into a loose hussy like Beth Ellen?
    Beth Ellen was the blond, blue-eyed daughter of one of their neighbors, one of those girls who had been taking walks into the woods with boys since she was thirteen. Storm had never understood why, but there was no mistaking how different Beth Ellen acted when she was alone with her, or around her parents, and when there was a handsome man in the vicinity. When Nick came by, Beth Ellen became flushed and coy, and when she thought no one was looking, she brushed up against him. At other times she was as demure as a mouse. Storm had asked her once what was so great about boys, and Beth Ellen had just laughed.
    Storm thought she would never be able to fall asleepthat night because of her distress, but she did, almost instantly. Her sleep was full of dreams, however. At first they were pleasant. She was back home surrounded by her family. Then they were at a barbecue, and Beth Ellen was there, dressed in the kind of gown Storm had been wearing lately, while everyone else wore their usual cotton frocks—except Storm, who was wearing buckskins. She felt ugly next to Beth Ellen’s sophisticated beauty.
    Suddenly Brett was there, too. He was completely taken with Beth Ellen, and it was mutual. They both ignored Storm. She was hurt—incredibly hurt—to see them together. When they walked in the woods, she followed, only to find them rolling on the ground in each other’s arms, getting ready to couple. Brett heard her and looked up. When he saw her, he started laughing. Storm woke up.
    It was just a dream, and she had forgotten it by the time she woke again in the morning, for she had other worries on her mind. Tonight she was