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  Ride the Thunder by Janet Dailey

  From the gilded glamour of Manhattan's penthouses to the untamed beauty of Idaho's mountains, a passionate romance blazed.

  Jordanna was wild and willowy, a globetrotting huntress, socialite daughter of a man whose equal she never dreamed she'd find. Until the night a bronzed, rugged stranger brought her desire to a frenzy she had never known.

  Fleeing to Idaho to forget his fiery touch, she joined her father's hunting party--only to find the stranger there, acting as a guide. Again, their primitive passion burned. But a dark secret, born of jealousy, betrayal and murder, threatened to destroy their newfound love.

  "From the Predators, I've Learned That a Man Takes What He Wants."

  Brig's hand curved itself to the back of her neck, the rough skin of his fingers snaring strands of her auburn hair. Jordanna took a quick breath and lost it. His thumb traced the outline of her lips.

  The hand at the back of her neck increased its pressure to lift her on tiptoe. Her hands slid over the slick material of his vest. Passion leaped between them like a living flame as he parted her lips and explored the intimate recesses of her mouth. Desire quivered through her . . .

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 1980 by Janet Dailey

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-671 -87511-6

  First Pocket Books printing July 1980

  25 24 23 22 21

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Prologue

  The large den was paneled with rich walnut wood. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains over the windowed door opening onto the rooftop of the penthouse apartment. The walls gleamed with a natural luster. Few books lined the shelves which ran floor to ceiling in one corner of the room. The volumes it contained were devoted to weapons and hunting and were worn from frequent handling. Mostly the shelves held souvenirs and photographs of a hunter posed beside his kill. A mounted wolverine prowled an upper shelf while a lacquered coiled rattier threatened the unwary from its shelf nearer the floor.

  The trophy heads of deer, moose, and elk, hanging on the walls, were interspersed with the more exotic breeds of rhino, wildebeest, and gazelle. A mounted bobcat stalked the hearth of the plain brick fireplace; its prey, the Chinese pheasant on the other side. Atop the mantel, twin ivory tusks from a rogue elephant formed an arc for a golden eagle, mounted with its wings spread, protecting the lifeless gray squirrel in its talons. On the floor, in front of the fireplace, was the shaggy brown hide of a grizzly, its beady eyes and bared teeth frozen in silent menace.

  An expensive and solidly built gun cabinet sat against one wall. The metal barrels of the weaponry gleamed from careful oiling, but the wooden stocks showed the wear of use. A massive desk had no litter of paperwork on its top, only more photographs and mementos from successful hunts.

  A pair of twin sofas covered with blond leather faced each other across the bearskin rug. Seated on one was a gangly fourteen-year-old boy dressed in a sky-blue sweater and darker blue trousers. His long, delicate fingers were busily cleaning the bore of a rifle. A lock of dark, nearly black hair had fallen across his forehead as he bent to his task. There was a quality of perfection about his sensitive features, as if drawn by an artist. Long, thickly curling lashes outlined a pair of velvet brown eyes that were earnestly concentrating on the rifle.

  Seated opposite him on the other sofa, a twelve-year-old girl was similarly engaged in cleaning a lighter weight weapon. There, the resemblance ended. Her coltish figure was clad in crisp blue jeans and an oversized gray sweatshirt. Her long hair fell in a single copper braid down the front of her shoulder. When it interfered with her task, she flipped it behind her in a gesture of impatience. Fresh and eager, her features glowed with vitality. Only the curve of her lips exhibited the vulnerability and sensitivity that stamped her brother's handsome face. Her hazel eyes were heavily flecked with green that could flash and sparkle in anger or excitement, or become dark and troubled like the sea.

  From a high-backed armchair that had been covered in brown leather and worn to a tan shade, a man silently supervised the pair. He absently rubbed a cloth over the wooden stock of the Winchester in his lap, a gesture that was both affectionate and respectful. His rifle was already cleaned after its recent use. Long years of experience had enabled him to finish before the pair he was watching.

  A briar pipe was clamped between his teeth, its bowl dead although the aromatic blend of tobacco lingered in the air. Dressed in a bush jacket and brown pants, he looked the part of the hunter. His dark brown hair had an auburn hue. Distinguished tufts of gray were appearing at the temples. Virilely handsome, he possessed an air of remoteness. Over the years, he had attained such a control over his emotions that little of what he was thinking or feeling was visible in his chiseled face or dark brown eyes.

  From beyond the closed door of the den came the sound of another door opening and closing. Instantly the young girl's head came up, a viridescent shimmer of excitement lighting her eyes. The rifle and cleaning tools were swiftly cast aside as she jumped to her feet.

  "That must be Mother. Wait until I tell her the news!"

  "Jordanna, wait. " By the time the man had taken the pipe from his mouth to call to her, she had darted from the room. The corners of his mouth tightened briefly as he set his pipe on the tobacco stand beside his chair. Without any display of haste, he rose and walked to the gun cabinet. After locking his rifle inside, he turned and met the look of anticipation in his son's eyes. "You finish cleaning your rifle, Kit. I'll inspect it before it's returned to the case. " A smile accompanied the firm order.

  "Yes, Dad. " The teen-aged boy returned his attention to the task without any show of unwillingness or resentment, as his father left the room.

  Moving from the strictly masculine den to the chandeliers and brocade of the living room was almost a cultural shock. A plush carpet in the palest shade of muted green covered the floor of the spacious room. Paintings of Italian masters, both originals and expensive prints, adorned the off-white walls in a variety of heavy gilt frames. A full-size sofa was covered in a blue brocade with a faint gold design. Crystal and brass lamps resting on Italian-style tables flanked the sofa, while a long coffee table of pecan stood in front of it. Matching love seats in the same fragile green as the carpet faced each other in front of a white marble fireplace. The monochromatic theme of pale green was repeated in the velvet draperies and their heavily swagged valances. Vases filled with freshly cut flowers were scattered about the room, the flowers all varigated shades of pink.

  In the center of all this studied elegance stood a raven-haired woman, a ravishingly beautiful creature of cool sophistication. A uniformed maid waited at her side, a sable coat draped over her arm, while the woman gracefully removed the black kid gloves she wore.

  "Thank you. Tessa. " As she handed the gloves to the maid, her cultured voice made a polite dismissal; she had no further need for the maid's services.

  The maid quietly left the room, as the copper-haired girl came rushing in. "Guess what?" she challenged her mother with breathless excitement

  "What on earth are you doing in those wretched clothes, Jordanna?" A pair of jade green eyes skimmed the girl's attire with open distaste. Her own winter-beige suit was cut in the latest style, all accessories painstakingly coordinated for the best effect. "I thought I told Tessa to throw them out. You have a closet full of beautiful outfits that I've bought you. It's
time you stopped looking like a common little hoyden. "

  "We've been target practicing. " The criticism sailed over the young girl's head. "Dad says I can go hunting with him next weekend when he takes Kit, " Jordanna announced with unabashed joy.

  A shocked stillness claimed the lovely alabaster features, to be slowly replaced by a building anger. "You're talking nonsense. "

  "No, I'm not, " Jordanna insisted. "Dad said he would take me. Honestly, he did. " Sharp-eyed, she caught the movement in her side vision and turned. "If you don't believe me, you can ask him. You said you'd take me, didn't you, Dad?" she appealed to the man entering the living room.

  "Yes, I did, " he admitted, the even look of his brown eyes meeting the green fire of his wife's gaze.

  "Jordanna is a young girl, Fletcher. It's bad enough that you have to take Christopher on this bloody test of manhood without dragging my daughter along to witness it!"

  "But I want to go, " Jordanna protested.

  "You shut up and keep out of this!" Her mother whirled on the girl, barely controlling the fury that trembled through her. "This is between your father and me. "

  "Livvie, you are over-reacting, as usual. " The dryly issued statement provided more fuel for an already blazing temper.

  "Over-reacting?!!" The girl was forgotten as the woman glared at the man facing her. Long, manicured nails were dug into the soft palms of her hands. "That's your favorite accusation, isn't it? Olivia, you are being too emotional. " Sarcastically she mimed his previous comment.

  "You are, " Fletcher Smith stated, the calm tenor of his voice never fluctuating. "Look at you. You're trembling like a leaf. "

  "What do you expect me to do?" she cried in frustration. "My daughter comes up to me and announces she's going hunting with you next weekend. She is my child, too, Fletcher! I believe I'm entitled to have a say in this matter. My permission is required, too. "

  "I would have discussed it with you, but you are so rarely around. You have such a busy calendar of engagements whenever I'm home. " His comment held an underlying hint of condemnation.

  "Which is seldom!" Olivia Smith retorted. "And when you are here, you spend two-thirds of your time in that room with your stuffed animal heads and your damned guns! Hunting may be your life, but it isn't mine!"

  "Isn't it?" The firmly chiseled mouth quirked in cynical humor. "You do quite well at stalking the male gender of the two-legged species, I've heard. You seem to be as adept at collecting trophies as I.

  "Why don't you come straight to the point, Fletcher?" Her embittered challenge was cold with anger. "Do you want to know how many lovers I've had?"

  The taut line of his jaw seemed to become sculpted in bronze. His gaze ran pointedly over Jordanna's whitened face. "If you intend to pursue Ms topic, Livvie, may I suggest that you wait until after Jordanna has left the room? Considering your supposed concern for the unpleasantries she might be exposed to in her formative years, you can hardly disagree. "

  A shaky, bitter laugh came from his wife. "You are good at making me look like a bitch, aren't you, Fletcher?" she murmured. Rounding her green eyes to hold back the stinging tears, she looked at her daughter. "Go to your room, Jordanna. "

  Instead the girl turned to her father and wrapped her arms around his middle to hug him tightly. "I'm sorry, Daddy, " she choked on a sob. "I didn't mean for her to get mad at you. "

  "It's all right, Jordanna. " He held her for a comforting instant then straightened the braid of her red hair so it rested along her spine. Unwinding her arms from around him, he set her firmly away. "You run along now. "

  "Please don't let her make me stay home next weekend, " she begged him. "I want to go with you. "

  "I know, " he nodded and gave her a gentle shove out of the room. "Run along. "

  Slow, dejected strides carried her from the room. Her obedience lasted until she reached the concealment of the hallway. There, she stopped and flattened herself to the wall to listen, wanting to hear the outcome, yet hating the bitter arguing that seemed to hurt her more than it hurt them.

  "Jordanna isn't going with you, " her mother declared. "It's bad enough that you are taking Christopher. He's such a fine, sensitive boy. When are you going to realize that you can't force him to grow up to be just like you?"

  "Considering the way you have pampered him, it will be a miracle if he ever grows up. Most boys his age have already been hunting, " he argued. "I've waited until now because you have kept saying he was too young. Kit wants to go. Stop smothering him with your love and let him grow, Livvie. "

  "Christopher doesn't want to go. If he says he does, then it's only because he knows it's what you want to hear. "

  "You are wrong. " He didn't raise his voice or alter its even pitch. "Some of his friends at school have been deer-hunting and told him all about it. Kit is excited about going. "

  "He doesn't realize that you actually expect him to kill a deer. He feels things, Fletcher. He could never kill a poor, defenseless animal in cold blood. You get a thrill out of it"

  "When are you going to stop equating hunting with murder?" he demanded.

  "When you stop trying to mold my son into what you believe a man should be!" she retorted angrily. "I should have stopped you when you bought Christopher his first gun. "

  "Rifle, " he corrected automatically.

  "Rifle. Gun. What's the difference? You convinced me to let him keep it. I stood by while you taught him how to use it. How you ever managed to talk me into letting Jordanna learn to shoot is something I'll never understand. You always get your way, Fletcher. I even agreed to let you take Christopher hunting. But not Jordanna. I won't let her go with you. "

  "Both of them want to go. I want them to go. I don't get to see them that often. If they aren't in school, then I'm gone somewhere. I want some time for us to be a family, to share things together. "

  "Then stay home! Stop traipsing all over the world!" Olivia Smith shouted in frustration. "I'm not asking for myself anymore, but for the children. Stop this senseless hunting of yours. "

  "It's what I enjoy. There are few pleasures left to me, " he stated.

  "That's a dig at me, I suppose. Have I made your life miserable Fletcher? I hope so, because mine has been hell since I married you!"

  "Liv, why do we have to argue? Why can't we discuss this rationally?" He tiredly ran his hand over the graying hair above his ear.

  "Why can't you give up hunting?"

  "You don't know anything about hunting. You think it's a sport of killing. It's the thrill of the chase, Livvie. It's pitting your skills and knowledge against another. It's the hunt, not the kill. Come with us next weekend and find out for yourself. "

  "After all these years that I've stayed home alone, you are finally asking me to come with you. It's too late. " Her husky voice throbbed with emotion. "You have never been here when I've needed you, Fletcher. You've been off on some safari or in some godforsaken place where I couldn't reach you. You have shut me out. Is it any wonder that I've turned to others? Yet you blame me for it. Now you expect me to go with you when you haven't made a single concession to me. "

  "What do you think this apartment is? I hate New York. This is where you want to live, not me. It isn't a fit place to raise children, not that you give a damn. All you care about is shopping and parties and the theater. " For the first time, there was a thread of angry exasperation in his voice. "I don't understand why you are so upset that I want to take Jordanna and Kit both with me next weekend. You would have a whole two days to spend with whomever your latest lover is!"

  "What a pity I didn't think of that!" she laughed, but it was a brittle, false sound.

  "Damn you, Livvie!" He crushed her stiff shoulders in his grip as if he wanted to shake her. "You are my wife. "

  She held herself rigid in his arms, not yielding to his attempted domination or his angry declaration. "I stopped loving you a long time ago, Fletcher. " Slowly, she was released as Fletcher Smith collected himself, to regard her agai
n with his former composure. It was Olivia who turned away. "As for Jordanna, you can take her with you next weekend. A couple of days to myself just might be what I need. You've won, Fletcher—but then, you always do. "

  "I give you my word, Livvie, that she won't do any shooting. She'll just tag along with Kit and me. That's all, " he stated.

  Jordanna had her answer. She was going on the hunting trip after all. But she couldn't find any elation at the news. Tears were streaming down her face. There was a sickening lump churning about in her stomach as she slowly made her way down the hallway to her room.

  The first light of dawn was beginning to filter into the Vermont woods. The air was still and quiet except for the twitter of birds in the treetops. A man, a boy, and a young girl were stationed next to a fallen tree. The man was crouched, not moving, his rifle nestled in the crook of his arm, the muzzle pointed away from the children. The boy was sitting on his knees, the barrel of his rifle resting on the dead trunk of the tree. Dressed in a brand new hunting jacket of red plaid, he watched the deer trail that wound closely past their hiding position.

  The girl was sitting cross-legged on the ground, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parka and the collar turned up around her neck. A white wool scarf was wound around her head, covering most of her copper-red hair, and knotted at the throat. It was chilly in tie dawn hours of the autumn day, but Jordanna was afraid to shiver. She Was afraid to blink. Her father's instructions had been very precise. They mustn't move or make a single sound. He had scouted the area before the hunting season had opened and assured them a big whitetail buck would come by this very spot

  Very carefully and quietly, Kit sat back on his heels and without turning his head, slid a questioning glance at his father. The anxiety of waiting was written on his face. Fletcher Smith gave him an encouraging smile and, with a movement of his eyes, directed his son's attention to the trail.

  Jordanna saw Kit's eyes light up with excitement She followed the direction of his gaze, but found nothing. She stared until her eyes hurt, then remembered her father's admonition to keep her gaze moving. Seconds later, she saw a flicker of movement, concentrated on it, and recognized the object. It was a doe, a small, delicate-looking creature no higher than the belt buckle on her father's pants.