Another Dawn

by Deb Stover

  "No, of course he wouldn't." Dora stood and went to her mother, squeezing the older woman's hand. "Jenny will be safer there than anywhere for now."

  Mrs. Fleming nodded, but Luke just stared at the marshal. He shot Sofie a "save me" look, but she seemed in complete agreement with the plan.

  "Someone will have to go with the child to help take care of her, of course," Mrs. Fleming said. "I can–"

  "No, you cain't." Zeke stood and folded his arms. "Everybody in town'd notice you bein' gone."

  "True." Mrs. Fleming sighed. "Dora, then?"

  "Beg pardon, since I don't really know you folks," the marshal said quietly, "but seems to me, because of the epidemic, that lots of folks don't know about Miss Sofie." The lawman looked around the room, his expression solemn. "And it's clear Miss Jenny trusts her. She's the logical choice to go with the girl."

  A dull roar began in Luke's head and the skin around his mouth tingled. Slowly, he turned his head until he met Sofie's gaze. The marshal wanted him to hide Sofie and Jenny in the parsonage. All day. Every day.

  And night.

  "But that would be unseemly," Mrs. Fleming said, looking at the marshal as if she thought him insane.

  You tell them, Mrs. Fleming. Luke held his breath.

  Zeke slapped the table's surface and snorted. "Beg pardon again, ma'am, but the man's a priest."

  Oh, God.

  Mrs. Fleming's face reddened and she opened her mouth several times. Finally, she drew a deep breath and looked right at Luke. "Father, forgive me, but..." She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, then leveled her gaze on him. "I saw you coming out of Sofie's room the other night. Late."

  Sofie gasped, then a powerful silence filled the room; the temperature of Luke's face hit the flash point. He looked around the room. They were all staring at Mrs. Fleming as if she'd lost her mind. Relief struck in waves, though he didn't dare look at Sofie yet.

  So he'd been seen leaving her room that night. Did Sofie remember what happened? The fire from his face redirected itself along with his blood flow. He'd never forget her lips, her softness, her–

  "Well, Padre?" Zeke winked as Luke met his gaze.

  Drawing a deep breath, Luke faced his accuser. He knew Mrs. Fleming didn't mean to cast blame. In fact, she was closer to the truth than anyone.

  "I was checking on her after that fainting spell." He gave a nervous laugh and shrugged. "I guess I've felt sort of responsible for Sofie since that explosion." That's no lie.

  Mrs. Fleming's expression waffled from suspicion to self-condemnation. Good old guilt–Luke knew it well. As a matter of fact, watching Mrs. Fleming struggle with her own intensified his. She had no reason to feel guilty, but he couldn't help her without destroying everything. "But if Mrs. Fleming feels it isn't, uh, proper for–"

  "Tarnation, Padre," Zeke interrupted. "I reckon God's the only chaperon you and Miss Dr. Sofie needs."

  Luke looked at Mrs. Fleming again. She looked absolutely miserable and it was all his fault. Grandma would've put him in the corner for a week for this.

  The woman's eyes glittered with tears, then she threw her hands up in surrender. "You're right, of course. Forgive me, Father, Sofie."

  Oh, God.

  "Good, now we got that settled," the marshal continued, "I'll snoop around and drop a few hints that we got us a witness to the killin', and that young Latimer ain't gonna hang after all."

  "A trap?" Ab asked.

  "Somethin' like that." Marshal Weathers looked around the room. "I'll sleep in the jail 'til the judge comes 'round."

  "You reckon the killer'll make a move," Zeke said, rather than asked.

  "Yep." The marshal aimed his piercing gaze at Luke. "This all settin' right with you, Father?"

  Luke tried to ignore the conflicting voices in the back of his mind. He wanted Sofie. And now he was being asked to sleep under the same roof with her, albeit, for a good cause.

  Still, the thought of Sofie sleeping in another room of the same house, without Mrs. Fleming to play watchdog...

  "Yeah," Luke said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and felt someone's gaze on him. Instinctively, he met Mrs. Fleming's accusing glare. She still didn't completely buy his story. Smart woman.

  Perspiration trickled down the sides of his neck and into the open collar of his shirt. Did the woman know his secret? Did she know that he wanted Sofie with a fierceness that made him awaken every night, shaking and drenched with sweat?

  Did she know who he was?

  And wasn't?

  Sofie was going to shack up with the same man who'd haunted her dreams for weeks.

  A man of God.

  She gathered the few articles of clothing Dora had reluctantly given her, trying to control her breathing and her thoughts with every passing moment. Why couldn't she shake her foolish desire for Father Salazar?

  Sure, at first she'd blamed the fact that he'd saved her life. My weird hero. But that excuse didn't wash after all these weeks. If only he'd remained sunburned and bald, and, most importantly, garbed in attire befitting a priest.

  In jeans and an open-collared shirt, Redemption's only priest was a drop-dead gorgeous hunk of man who would turn any woman's head. More than her head, Sofie decided. Father Salazar was turning her hormones inside out and bass ackwards. In fact, mutation was an increasingly plausible possibility.

  "Mutation?" Her vocabulary amazed even her. If only her memory would follow.

  She finished packing and opened the door. Sadly, this room was the only home she could remember. How strange. With a sigh, she lifted the borrowed carpetbag and walked into the kitchen.

  Only Marshal Weathers and Dr. Wilson sat at the table now. She glanced toward the window. Within the hour, it would be totally dark.

  "Miss Sofie, there you are." Dr. Wilson stood along with Marshal Weathers.

  "Good evening." Sofie allowed Marshal Weathers to take her bag and place it near the back door. She murmured her gratitude, still surprised by the way men in Redemption treated women. Of course, the marshal wasn't from here, yet the same chivalry was part of his make-up as well. Somehow, she doubted such behavior had been a typical part of her life before now. It seemed...

  Old-fashioned. Yes, that was it. She paused to ponder that as Dr. Wilson pulled out a chair for her at the table. Was she regaining her memory at last? John Wayne this afternoon, and now realizing that these people were old-fashioned?

  "Miss Dora does know her way around the kitchen," Marshal Weathers said, returning to his chair. "That's the finest meal I've had since Ft. Smith."

  "Mrs. Fleming and her daughter are both fine cooks," Dr. Wilson agreed. "Best watch yourself though, Marshal. Dora can smell an eligible bachelor a mile away."

  Sofie remained silent while the men chuckled. Poor Dora. Though the young woman had pissed her off more than once, Sofie couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Not even twenty, and Dora considered herself a spinster. And a good cook? Well, yes, but only a man could truly appreciate several courses of fried everything.

  "Well, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid she'll have to keep sniffin'," Marshal Weathers said, smiling. "I got me a brand new bride at home in a family way."

  In a family way? Sofie cleared her throat daintily to avoid laughing out loud.

  "Congratulations." Dr. Wilson patted the marshal on the back. "I hope you make it home before the birth."

  "Without Zeke," Sofie added and smiled prettily, trying to play the role these men seemed to think she should.

  "Amen." Dr. Wilson lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

  "Trust me, Miss Sofie, I'd like nothin' better." The marshal took a sip of coffee, then met her gaze, his expression solemn. "Takin' Zeke Judson back to hang leaves a bad taste in my mouth that'll follow me to my grave."

  "Good." Sofie shifted her attention to Dr. Wilson. "Where is everyone?"

  "Gone to get the parsonage ready, and Jenny's reading to Mr. Smith again." The doctor covered Sofie's hand with his. "You're a good woman, Miss
Sofie. Thank you for doing this."

  "I want Jenny to be safe and happy."

  "We all do." The doctor faced Marshal Weathers again. "I sure hope your plan works."

  "Yep, so do I."

  "I'm still not real clear on this plan of yours," Sofie said, choosing her words carefully. "Just exactly what is it you hope to achieve by hiding Jenny?" Besides putting me into dangerous proximity with a man I have the hots for?

  Marshal Weathers took another sip of coffee, prolonging his answer. The guy was definitely prone to dramatics.

  "Draw the killer out." Marshal Weathers set down his cup and leaned back in his chair. "If he knows somebody saw him, then he'll panic. Panickin' makes a man careless." He looked around the table, his expression ominous. "And I'll be waitin'."

  A shudder rippled through Sofie. She knew one thing for certain. She'd hate to be on the other side of the law from Marshal Sam Weathers.

  Time to change the subject. "Now that the epidemic is over, this building will become a school again soon," she said.

  "Yes, thank God." Dr. Wilson raked his fingers through his thick, white hair.

  "I was in a quarantine once, but it was for measles." The marshal shook his head slowly. "Indian Territory, up near the Kansas border. Sorry business."

  No one spoke for several minutes, then Sofie remembered the one remaining patient. "Did I hear Dora say you're taking Mr. Smith to your house, Dr. Wilson?"

  "Yes, it's a miracle he's alive." Dr. Wilson raised his coffee cup. "Here's to miracles."

  "I'll drink to that." Marshal Weathers raised his cup, too.

  "Do you think he'll ever be able to talk?" Sofie asked. "Or maybe he'll be able to write."

  Dr. Wilson drew a deep breath and said, "I don't think he'll ever regain full use of his right arm, but the left is in pretty good shape. Talking remains to be seen."

  "Is this the fella you mentioned earlier?" Marshal Weathers asked. "With the burns?"

  Nodding, Dr. Wilson set his cup aside. "He wandered into town during the epidemic. Miracle he didn't contract smallpox, too."

  Sofie shuddered. The thought of anyone suffering smallpox in addition to such serious burns made her stomach lurch. "Maybe someone will come looking for him."

  "Could even be wanted." Marshal Weathers rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger, his whiskers making a rasping sound in the quiet room. "Just wandered in here from nowhere and all, eh?"

  Dr. Wilson drummed his fingers on the table. "I suppose anything is possible, Marshal, but he's suffered enough for any crime he might have committed."

  "Like they say, the Lord works in mysterious ways."

  "Jenny seems to calm him," Sofie said. "For some reason, though, he doesn't like me."

  "Well, I wouldn't say that," Dr. Wilson said, "but he does seem to get agitated whenever you're around."

  "Probably 'cuz you're such a pretty gal," the Marshal said, grinning.

  Sofie blushed, actually blushed. "Thank you, Marshal, but I hardly think Mr. Smith is in any shape to...to..." Her cheeks blazed with fire and she averted her gaze. This is ridiculous.

  When she looked up, Father Salazar was standing in the doorway, twilight filling the sky at his back. Her gaze was drawn to his as if by homing device.

  Even beside an impressive side of beef like Sam Weathers, she was drawn to Father Salazar. As the weeks went by, she'd realized more and more that her attraction was based on much more than merely the fact that he'd saved her life.

  The memory of his lips on hers–dream lips, that is–confirmed her greatest fear.

  Dr. Sofie was in love with a priest.

  Chapter 10

  A pretty gal? What an incredible understatement.

  Luke stood in the doorway without saying a word, just staring at Sofie. She was gorgeous. Only a pale scar remained as evidence of her injuries, and all the bruising had faded long ago.

  Now in the soft glow of lamplight, her skin appeared flawless. Luminous. I'm turning into a frigging poet.

  Still, it was true. Ebony curls framed her small face, contrasting dramatically against her fair skin. Her blue eyes were probably too large for the rest of her face, but to Luke they were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

  Don't do this. Why did he continue to torture himself this way? He wanted her, but he'd learned at an early age he couldn't have everything he wanted. Get over it.

  But he didn't want to get over it. He wanted to savor every glance, every accidental touch, and each and every one of his erotic fantasies.

  About Sofie.

  His gut clenched and his groin tightened, aching and demanding attention. If only it was just about sex. Only a fool could continue to ignore the other stuff–the ache in his heart and his very soul.

  He couldn't admit it even to himself, because his feelings for Sofie were futile. Wasted energy. A dead-end, just like his appeal. His physical desire for her was much easier to consider, though also a waste of time.

  The expression in her eyes didn't help matters. She looked at him the way he'd looked at age eight, staring through the toy store window at a train set. God, did that mean she wanted him that much?

  Then he remembered that kiss. Of course, she did. At least sub-consciously.

  And she was moving in with him. Tonight.

  He was in deep shit. Really deep shit.

  Yes, she wanted him as much as he'd wanted that toy train. He'd been afraid to ask Santa for that train set, believing he didn't deserve anything nearly that cool. Only the very rich and the very good received toys as awesome as that train.

  But on Christmas morning... Luke's eyes burned as he remembered the thrill of finding that very same train circling their Christmas tree, his grandparents looking on, their faces glowing with pride.

  Pride, dammit. For him.

  No, not now, Nolan. Not yet.

  Drawing a deep breath, he cleared his throat to alert the others of his presence, before he made love to Sofie with his eyes. Right here. Right now. She must've sensed his thoughts, because her cheeks reddened and she looked quickly away, down at her small hands clasped on the table before her.

  "Evenin', Father." Sam Weathers stood and indicated a chair at the table. "Soon as it gets a bit darker, we'll mosey over to the parsonage. I gotta relieve Ab at the jail soon, too."

  Mosey? Luke suppressed a smile and took a seat at the table. "Where's Jenny?"

  "With Mr. Smith." Dr. Wilson rose and pushed in his chair. "Which is where I should be. It's time to change his dressings."

  "How's he doing?" Luke hadn't seen the burned stranger for over a week.

  "It's a miracle he's alive at all. In fact, he's doing so well, I've eliminated some of his bandages," Dr. Wilson said. "Though I doubt even his own mother would recognize him now."

  "Sad." Luke raked his fingers across his new growth of hair.

  "Would you mind trying to talk to him, Father?" Dr. Wilson asked, pausing near the kitchen door. "It might help. I'm hoping he'll find a way to communicate, to tell us who he is, so we can contact his next of kin."

  Luke shrugged. "I'm willing to try." He didn't feel like playing priest tonight, but maybe that would take his mind off toy trains and Sofie. And sex.

  Keeping his gaze away from her, Luke followed Dr. Wilson through the kitchen door. Sam Weathers followed them, making Luke more than a little uncomfortable. After eleven years in prison, it was hard to feel comfortable with a lawman. Any lawman.

  Jenny looked up from the book in her lap as they approached. "Are you going to change his bandages again?" she asked, looking at Dr. Wilson.

  "Yes, it's time." Dr. Wilson sat on the stool near the man's cot, beside a basket of clean bandages. "How are you feeling this evening, Mr. Smith?"

  The man's eyes seemed more alert now than when Luke had last seen him. He looked at Dr. Wilson and Jenny, then his gaze came to rest on Luke.

  Mr. Smith's expression shifted during one blink to the next, from placid acceptance to some kind of mania. He came o
ff the bed like a man who'd suffered no injury, like a mummy from a low grade horror flick. He lunged toward his intended victim–in this case, Luke. Lurching and staggering, Mr. Smith charged, his outstretched hands falling short of their target.

  Luke's blood turned to ice water.

  "My God." Dr. Wilson and Marshal Weathers both grabbed the man before he fell and subdued him.

  A roar erupted from the stranger's throat as they eased him back onto the bed, his lips unmoving. The hatred in his eyes and the rage in his voice made Luke cringe. He put a protective arm around Jenny's shoulders and the child buried her face against his side.

  "What's all this about?" the marshal asked after they had the man quieted.

  "I have no idea." Dr. Wilson gave his patient a dose of laudanum. He examined the man's eyes and listened carefully to his chest, then shook his head. "Everything seems all right, though."

  Marshal Weathers straightened and faced Luke. "You know him?"

  "No, I don't know anyone from around here." That was the truth.

  "Mighty peculiar."

  Dr. Wilson shook his head and rose. "He's dozing off now. His behavior could be from all the medication, though I've been reducing it little by little."

  Luke nodded, though he couldn't shake the image of the stranger's eyes when he'd locked gazes with him. Disturbing? Yes, but much more than that. Almost fanatical.

  Anytime his grandma had been frightened, she'd claimed someone had walked over her grave. That was precisely how Luke felt right now. Despite the warmth radiating from the potbellied stove in the center of the room, a chill raced through him.

  "I think you'd all better leave while I change his dressings."

  That sounded like the best idea Luke had heard today. He guided Jenny through the kitchen door, sensing that Marshal Weathers was right behind them.

  Sofie stood in the center of the kitchen, staring toward the door. He wanted her, but he also feared her. Maybe the stranger's reaction to him had triggered that reminder. Luke's future–the future he wanted for himself–could be destroyed by this woman who made his libido spring to life every time he saw or thought about her.

  More than his libido, dammit. She made his heart swell with–