Another Dawn

by Deb Stover

  But she had looked, and the memory of the day he'd held her in his lap during that storm returned with a vengeance. Had his reaction to her that day been the catalyst for her dream?

  "Sofie?" He took a step toward her and reached out to touch her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his hands on her face in her dream. She shouldn't feel this way about a priest, but she couldn't help herself. Maybe it was because he'd saved her life.

  She had to get a grip on this rampant libido. Ladies didn't think these things, did they? Ladies shouldn't want these things, should they? And she was a lady, wasn't she?

  She opened her eyes and tried to smile. "I was just remembering the day we came here," she said–a lie of omission only.

  "Remembering?" His voice had a brittle edge to it. "How...how much have you remembered?"

  "About life before Redemption?" She sighed. "Nothing really." How could she ask him about her dream? There had to be a way. "Father, I was wondering..."

  He winced and dropped his hand to his side.

  "What's wrong?" Sofie reached for his hand, immediately regretting her impulsiveness. The warm, rough feel of his hand had the same impact as gasoline on a flame. She had to regain control of herself. This was crazy. "Are you ill?"

  "No, I just wish..." He smiled and shrugged, raking his other hand over his new growth of dark brown hair.

  "Wish what?" Was there a subliminal message beneath his words, or was it merely wishful thinking on her part? Gads, she was worse off than she'd realized.

  "Nothing important." He squeezed her hand, then released it, a mask falling into place over his handsome face.

  Handsome? Yes, now that his burn had faded and his hair was growing back, Father Salazar qualified as handsome. A lean, muscular body, soft gray eyes, dark hair, tall... Definitely hunk material in her book.

  Obviously. Grimacing, she wiped her sweaty palms on her apron and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

  "That's what you were doing the first time I saw you," he said, chuckling. "Tucking that wild hair behind your ears, as if that would make a difference." He reached toward her hair, then seemed to think better of it. "Forgive me."

  Forgive you? She was the one who needed forgiveness, but she also needed information. "Father, I need to hear everything you might know about me, about the explosions, and about whatever we were doing in that cave."

  "So you really haven't remembered anything else?"

  "No, but I want to." She stepped closer and gazed into his soft gray eyes. "I want to desperately," she whispered. "Please help me remember."

  αβ

  "Please help me remember..." Luke winced, torn between his own needs and hers. He cared about Sofie, and he was her only link to her life. But there was no way back–not that he knew of anyway–so maybe her amnesia really was for the best.

  She couldn't remember anyone to miss, or any burdens of guilt to fester in her gut. Luke knew all about that. Big time.

  "I..." He ached to touch her. The palm of his hand actually itched with the need to cup her soft cheek and tilt her chin upward to make her lips more accessible.

  Her lips... His groin tightened and throbbed, and he was grateful for the hat he'd positioned to hide his blatant desire. Yes, he wanted to kiss Sofie again and again and again. More than that, he wanted to touch her. All of her.

  Closing his eyes momentarily, he recalled their first night in Redemption, when he'd seen the tattoo on the side of her breast. He'd known then how much he wanted her, and he knew now that no other woman could satisfy his growing hunger.

  Only Sofie.

  It was much more than hunger that surged through him. Sofie had become an obsession, haunting every waking moment and taunting him in his dreams.

  "Please?" she repeated, jerking him back to the present.

  And the guilt. She was here in 1891 because of him. He was the only link to the life she'd left behind, and all she wanted was information that might lead her home.

  All she wanted was the one thing he couldn't give her.

  If he told her all he knew–which really wasn't much–that wouldn't really help her. He didn't know her last name or address, and he sure as hell couldn't undo their quantum leap.

  So get over it, Nolan. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her hand again. Wouldn't Father Salazar have held her hand? Such a soft hand, warm and small... Get a grip.

  Unfortunately, a grip was precisely what he'd like to get right now. Of her.

  "I wish I could help you," he said, justifying the lie with the reassurance that he really couldn't help her. "The first time I saw you was the morning of the explosions."

  Her blue eyes widened and she took a step closer. "Tell me about that place and those explosions, Father. Please?"

  Luke struggled against the memories. The pain. The terror. In many ways, Sofie was the lucky one. Without her memory, there was no pain to remember, and nothing to miss.

  What had he told her before? He had a vague memory of their conversation the morning of the explosions, when he'd made up some lame excuse for where they were and why. Damn. His lies were so numerous, he needed a guide to keep them straight. Sick, really sick.

  "I remembered my mother," Sofie said suddenly, her expression wistful. "And an older brother, I think."

  A chill rippled through Luke. "I...I thought you said you couldn't remember anything." His words sounded like an accusation even to him, but he had to know. Was she lying to him, too? If so, why?

  "Only that little bit." She sighed and tucked a curl behind her ear again. "I was there when Mrs. Fleming told Jenny about her mother. That's when I saw the woman in my mind. My mother."

  "You're sure it was your mother?" Luke swallowed the lump in his throat and dragged the toe of his boot along a seam in the floor. "How can you be so sure?"

  Sofie shrugged and looked away. Guiltily? "I just know somehow." After a moment, she locked her gaze on his. "And I know I need to go home to her."

  How could he tell her? She'd never believe they'd been thrown back in time together. Why should she? If the situation were reversed, he wouldn't believe it.

  "We were never even introduced, Sofie," he said truthfully, remembering when he'd first laid eyes on her. She'd cried for him. His pulse thundered through his veins. "We'd barely arrived when the explosions started."

  "Arrived where?" She took another step toward him, so close now he could smell her clean, soapy scent. "Where were we that morning? What were we doing?"

  He didn't want to think about that morning, about the horrendous pain or the fear. His fear. "I...I..."

  "Where were we, Father?" Her voice rose and tears glistened in her eyes; one trickled down her cheek. "Please?"

  Luke reached out to capture her tear on his fingertip, holding it out between them. It sparkled like a diamond dream in the early morning light spilling through the kitchen window.

  He wanted to bury his fingers in her shiny black curls, to cup her small face between his hands and cover her lips with his. She had such a beautiful mouth, full and tempting.

  "Please, Father?" she repeated.

  Luke resisted being dragged back to the topic. Instead, he focused on her lips, moist and slightly parted. Another tear slid down her cheek, and she reached up to wipe it away.

  Angry with himself, and with her for asking the impossible of him, he dropped her hand and watched her wipe tears from her face. He wanted to kiss away her tears, to touch every inch of her, to gaze on her naked flesh without shame.

  God help him, but he wanted to have sex with Sofie.

  Sex. Great sex. Lots of sex.

  His breathing became shallow and his body suffused with fire–a far more pleasant burning than that inflicted by the electric chair. Yes, he burned with need, with hunger, with desire.

  "You can't help me, Father?" she asked. "Or won't?"

  "Can't." And won't. Both were equally true. Luke licked his lips and wished the late Mr. Fl
eming's jeans were a bit roomier through the crotch about now. "I didn't know you before that morning, Sofie. Honest."

  "You're a priest," she whispered, "so you can't lie to me."

  Her words knifed through him and Luke tried to drag his guilty gaze from hers, but she held him prisoner with the intensity of her voice and eyes. "I'm not lying." He would avoid the truth at all costs, but he would try not to lie to her. "We were part of a team sent to a government site to witness an...an experiment." Since it was the first time the site had been put through its heinous paces, experiment seemed like the right word.

  "What kind of experiment?" She tilted her head to one side, her tongue slipping between her lips to moisten them, leaving a silken pink sheen behind.

  Fueled by his memory, Luke's need to kiss those lips skyrocketed. "It was, uh, top secret." He shrugged. "We were brought in from various places, and most of us didn't know each other before." True statement.

  She shook her head. "A government experiment?"

  "I really don't know anything more, except that you're a doctor, and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time." My life story.

  "Maybe we'll both remember more later."

  Good, she was dropping the subject. Luke resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

  "Remember when I was ill?" she continued, her nervous gaze darting to the door and back again.

  "Yes, but you're all right now." He would never forget that night. Never. So much for his short-lived relief.

  "Yes, I'm fine now, but...but something bothers me about that night."

  "Bothers you?" he repeated, finding that word choice far short of accurate.

  "Y-yes." Again, she looked nervously toward the door, then back. With a sigh, she lifted her chin a notch and met his gaze steadily. "Mrs. Fleming said she saw you coming out of my room that night."

  A roar echoed through Luke's brain as he tried to read her tone. Accusation, curiosity or something else? "Yes, I, uh..." He hesitated, wondering how much of that night she remembered. She'd been pretty out of it. "I stopped to check on you."

  Her cheeks reddened, but her steady stare held. "Did you...did I..." She sighed again and held her hands out to her sides in a gesture of helplessness. "Father, did I–"

  The back door swung open and the jingle of spurs made them both look that way. Saved by the bell, Luke thought, though he knew Sofie would question him again, and he knew exactly what she wanted to know. Had she really kissed him?

  And had he kissed her back?

  Oh, yeah, I sure as hell did.

  Ab came through the door, removing his battered hat and looking down at the floor. A taller man loomed in the doorway behind him, drawing Luke's attention.

  "Doc Wilson here?" Ab asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the stranger. "United States Marshal's here, and he wants to see the mayor."

  Marshal? Luke stared long and hard at the lawman, the epitome of every John Wayne western he'd ever seen. The man's weathered face was tanned, his eyes narrowed as if still squinting into the sun. Dark hair curled around his collar, where a bandanna sat off-kilter, and his faded jeans and shirt were coated with a fine layer of dust. A pair of guns hung in a leather holster at the man's narrow hips, and a silver star twinkled through the dust on his chest.

  "Sam Weathers," the man said in a voice that could've been the biological equivalent to subwoofers. "United States Marshal out of Ft. Smith."

  Ft. Smith? Where had Luke heard that before, and why was it important?

  "Dr. Wilson should return shortly." Sofie moved away from Luke and turned her attention on the newcomer.

  A surge of jealousy swept through Luke as he watched her give the Marshal the once over. Did Sofie find the lawman attractive? Of course, if she fell in love and forgot about Luke, that would be for the best. Wouldn't it?

  Damn straight. Luke jerked his attention back to the marshal. "You may have heard about our epidemic."

  The stranger nodded once and removed his leather cowboy hat. "Need to speak to the mayor–Doc Wilson?–right away."

  Ab shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with the hat clutched in both hands. "What for?" he asked. "You didn't say."

  "I'm lookin' for a man by the name of Zeke Judson."

  Yes, that was where Luke had heard of Ft. Smith. How could he have forgotten Zeke's confession? Some priest. Of course, his shortcomings in that department had been well established by now.

  Ab's face reddened and sweat coated his brow. "What do you want Zeke for?"

  Luke knew Ab was fully aware of why his friend was a wanted man.

  "Judge Parker sentenced Judson to hang, and I'm here to take him back."

  "Zeke's wife just died of smallpox," Sofie said, taking a step toward the marshal.

  "Well, I'm right sorry to hear that, ma'am," the marshal said, "but I'm only here to see justice done."

  Justice? The scorch of anger crept through Luke as he remembered Warden Graham's countless taunts about seeing his brand of justice done.

  "Zeke was the one carrying out justice." Luke's voice trembled with barely controlled rage. "Are you familiar with the case, Marshal?"

  The man's eyes narrowed even more as he studied Luke with an intensity that rivaled an MRI. "You been hidin' Judson here? That makes you as guilty as him."

  Luke straightened, praying his uncertainty didn't show. Maybe he didn't know much about the Code of the West or anything like that, but he knew a little something about truth and honor. Not that it had ever done him much good...

  "Zeke confessed to me."

  "Confessed?"

  "He's a priest," Ab interjected.

  The lawman's gaze raked Luke, then shot to Sofie. "My mama raised me to believe a man of the cloth." He shrugged and gave her a crooked grin that made Luke's blood run Vulcan green. "He tellin' the truth, ma'am?"

  Sofie nodded. "Yes, this is Father Salazar, and I'm Sofie."

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sofie." The marshal inclined his head politely, then faced Luke again. "Father, you know where I can find Zeke Judson now?"

  Helplessly, Luke shot Ab a questioning glance. The last thing Luke wanted was to betray Zeke, yet the Marshal's presence in Redemption pretty well settled things once and for all. "I'm not sure," Luke said truthfully.

  "Well, I'll call at the mayor's house again then."

  "No need."

  The figure looming in the doorway behind Marshal Weathers stood tall and proud.

  "Zeke, no..." Ab's voice broke as he faced his old friend. "I won't let–"

  "Too late, Ab." Zeke didn't even flinch while the marshal stared at him. "I figgered you'd catch up with me sooner or later, Sam. Well, here I be."

  "Zeke, it's been a few years." The marshal had his back to Luke and Sofie now, but he was still an imposing figure, especially with those guns strapped to his hips. "I'm sorry I have to do this, but..."

  "Yep, I know." Zeke gave the marshal a sad smile. "Like I done told the Padre, I'm ready to turn myself in now anyway, with the missus gone."

  The lawman nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss, Zeke."

  "When do we leave?"

  Silence filled the room until the swinging door signaled Dora's return. To her credit, the woman waited quietly.

  "Breakin' in a new mount, and he bruised a hoof comin' up the pass," Marshal Weathers said in a slow drawl. "Lucifer's gonna need a few days, maybe a week, to mend."

  "Fair 'nuff."

  "You ain't gonna run this time," the marshal stated, rather than asked.

  "Nope."

  "Why?"

  Luke held his breath. Zeke didn't deserve this.

  "I seen justice done to them two killers, and now that Fanny's gone, I just got no cause to run."

  "But this isn't justice." Luke couldn't keep quiet a minute longer, even when the lawman turned to stare at him again. "You call it justice when a man is sentenced to hang for avenging the deaths of his own mother and sister?"

  Or wrongfully convicted of killing
a liquor store clerk?

  "A jury and Judge Parker saw it otherwise." The marshal's voice was low, ominous. "Ain't my job to say, and it ain't yours either."

  "How can you call this justice?" Luke's voice rose and he clenched his fists at his sides. "Turn your back and let Zeke walk away. That would be justice."

  "No, not entirely." They all turned to face Mrs. Fleming, who'd come in behind Dora from the front of the building. "That will only be justice if Shane Latimer walks away, too."

  "Now that's a fact." Zeke nodded, a sly twinkle showing in his faded eyes. "I reckon there might be another job here for you, Marshal."

  "Well, I ain't goin' nowhere until Lucifer's rested good." Marshal Weathers pulled a chair out from the table and looked around the room at them all, his gaze coming to rest on Mrs. Fleming. "Speak your piece, ma'am."

  Chapter 9

  Who is this guy? Sofie was more than a little impressed with Marshal Sam Weathers. He had man written all over him. Virile, fearless, larger than life.

  "Your timing couldn't be better, Marshal," Dora said, urging her mother to take a chair at the table. "There's a town meeting tomorrow evening. We're going to elect a new sheriff."

  Sofie couldn't stop staring at him. He was easily the tallest man she'd ever seen–at least, that she remembered seeing. His badge, his hat, his guns...

  "John Wayne," she said. What? Movies. Television. Westerns. Things that didn't exist here, yet she remembered them with a sort of vague certainty that made her question her sanity daily.

  "Can't say I ever met up with this John Wayne fella." Marshal Weathers pulled out a chair for her. "Is he a lawman, too?"

  Father Salazar's chuckle dragged Sofie's attention from the marshal. His eyes twinkled with a mixture of wry amusement and something totally opposite. Anger? Resentment? Then he arched one brow questioningly, as if expecting Sofie to understand his laughter.

  "John Wayne is just a name I remembered from...somewhere," she explained, flustered and more confused than ever. Why did she remember that name so clearly, when she couldn't remember her own last name? John Wayne must have been someone important. She could see him in her mind, on the big screen. Though in Redemption there were no such things as movies and television.