Another Dawn

by Deb Stover

  No!

  He'd known leaving Redemption was the wisest course of action, but now he'd fiddle-farted around until he was trapped. He'd promised to protect Jenny until the circuit judge came to town.

  Yes, he was trapped all right. With Sofie.

  And with himself.

  "I heard some kind of wild animal," she said, standing. "But I don't think the sound came from outside."

  "It was Mr. Smith," Jenny said, taking Sofie's hand. "He came clear up off the bed and tried to attack Father Salazar."

  Sofie jerked her head up to stare at Luke. "What? Why would he do such a thing?"

  Luke shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll never forget the look in his eyes." Another chill rippled through him.

  "That man had murder in his eyes," Marshal Weathers said from behind Luke. "I've seen it before. Many times. Make no mistake."

  Luke met the marshal's gaze and nodded. "I won't."

  Marshal Weathers inclined his head toward Jenny. "I reckon it's dark enough now. You ready, young lady?"

  Jenny's eyes were large and trusting. Luke's gut clenched again. He'd promised to protect her, and to prevent Shane and Zeke from being hanged.

  A promise is a promise.

  "Can I go see Shane first?" Jenny asked. "Please?"

  Sam Weathers knelt in front of Jenny and patted her shoulder. "You gotta understand, Miss Jenny, that we're tryin' to protect you and your brother."

  "I know."

  "I'm powerful sorry, but the only place you're goin' is the parsonage," he continued, "'til you're ready to tell the bad man's name."

  Her lower lip trembled and Sofie put a hand on her shoulder. "You can send a message to your brother, though."

  "Sure, that'd be right fine, but first you gotta climb into this." The marshal aimed his thumb toward an oak barrel sitting near the back door. "Can you do that?"

  Jenny's eyes widened again, but she nodded and went to look inside. "Oh, it smells dreadful." She wrinkled her nose and turned to face them, a scandalized expression on her young face. "It smells of whiskey."

  Chuckling, Marshal Weathers lifted her and set her down inside the rancid-smelling barrel. "Well that's 'cuz it is a whiskey barrel. The storekeeper was clear outta empty cracker barrels."

  Luke shared a smile with Sofie, fighting the urge to take her hand. Soon they'd be at the parsonage with Jenny, and Mrs. Fleming and Dora would go home. The marshal would sleep at the jail to guard Shane. Then Jenny would go to sleep, and Sofie would be there with Luke.

  Alone.

  He shifted his weight, hoping to create more room in his jeans for his responsive body. This was getting old–he had to find relief soon. He'd hoped to avoid resorting to the only sexual solace he'd had in prison–what his grandfather had called "Rosie Palm and her five sisters."

  The marshal put the top on the barrel loosely. Several holes had been drilled in the sides for ventilation, and a rope fashioned a handle for both sides.

  "Pee-yew," came a muffled voice from deep in the barrel.

  They all chuckled, then the marshal said, "Quiet in there. Whiskey ain't supposed to talk." He grinned at Luke and Sofie. "Now if you'll grab one side, Father, I'll take the other."

  "Sure." Luke avoided looking at Sofie again as he followed the marshal's instructions.

  Sofie opened the door and stood back for them to exit. Luke brushed against her as he edged by with his half of the barrel. His gaze locked with hers and she licked her lips, her expression revealing the one thing he'd both feared and hoped to see.

  Desire.

  Carrying her carpetbag, Sofie followed the men, relieved that Jenny remained silent. Though Redemption's only street was deserted now, her wary gaze darted around to ensure no one was watching them make their way to the parsonage at the far edge of town.

  A town that had taken her in without knowing anything about her. They trusted her enough to charge her with the safety of one of their own.

  Could she make Redemption her permanent home, assuming, of course, she never regained her memory? Though the people here had been good to her, it still didn't feel like home. And there was still the issue of her bizarre memories of things which couldn't possibly exist.

  Eventually, she'd have to make some kind of decision about her future. But right now there were more pressing matters, like moving into a safe house with a little girl and a man of God.

  The man she loved.

  No, not a man–a priest. She had to keep reminding herself of that, and ignore the impudent voice of reason that insisted priests were men, after all. That was dangerous territory–no gray areas allowed here. She couldn't handle it right now.

  The stone and log parsonage looked warm and friendly, drawing Sofie's thoughts away from Father Salazar and her irrational feelings. She had to concentrate on protecting Jenny. Nothing else mattered now.

  Mrs. Fleming opened the door and within a few minutes, they were all inside, the shutters closed against the chilly night and prying eyes. A warm fire blazed in the hearth, making Sofie's heart ache. It was cozy and inviting, like a real home.

  Like the home she couldn't remember?

  She blinked back her scalding tears, determined not to dwell on anything else this evening that would make her cry.

  Once the door was closed and bolted, Marshal Weathers lifted the lid off the barrel and peered inside. "Whooee. You been drinkin' whiskey in there, Miss Jenny?"

  A little girl giggle wafted up from the barrel, followed by the top of Jenny's head as she popped up like a Jack-in-the-box and waited for Sam Weathers to lift her out.

  Mrs. Fleming rushed forward and wrinkled her nose. "Couldn't you have found something that didn't reek of spirits, Marshal?" She sniffed the top of Jenny's head. "The child smells like a saloon."

  "With all due respect, ma'am, I'd be willing to bet you ain't never smelled a saloon." The marshal's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Besides, she'll wash."

  Sofie hid a smile behind her hand, though she noticed Father Salazar didn't bother hiding his. Even Dora's lips twitched.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Mrs. Fleming laughed quietly. "Yes, she'll wash, Marshal."

  "Thank you for thinking of this," Dora said, stroking Jenny's hair. "I'll be glad when this is all over and Jenny can come home with us."

  "You're welcome, ma'am." Marshal Weathers gave Jenny a patient look that was all business. "As soon as Miss Jenny understands we ain't gonna let nobody hurt her, she'll tell us what needs tellin'."

  Jenny looked down and Mrs. Fleming cleared her throat. "Yes, well..." She turned to Sofie. "I brought you some of my sourdough starter, and a few other things I thought you might need."

  Sourdough starter? Sofie'd gone from incompetent physician to Martha Stewart. Who's Martha Stewart, and why did I think of her now? And if she could remember this Martha Stewart, why couldn't she remember her own last name?

  "Thank you," she murmured, realizing she had to say something.

  "Well, I reckon we'd best be goin', before the whole town knows we're here and wonders why." The marshal tweaked Jenny's nose. "You be good."

  "I will." Jenny looked up–way up–at the marshal, hero-worship shining in her eyes.

  Who could blame her? Marshal Weathers sounded like Sam Elliot, looked like Tommy Lee Jones–though Sofie couldn't remember exactly who either of those men were, she had no difficulty hearing or picturing them–and he acted like John Wayne. She was practically a trivia queen of nonsensical factoids.

  But what about the important things? With a sigh, she felt someone watching her, and she looked around to find Father Salazar's gaze fixed on her. Intense.

  Hungry?

  She warmed from deep in her core, and her limbs felt loose and languid beneath his scrutiny. Priest or no priest, Father Salazar had noticed her as a woman.

  She should feel shame–in fact, did to some extent–but she couldn't deny the surge of joy in her heart. And that, she reminded herself, should make her even more ashamed.

>   With great effort, she looked away from his intense gray eyes and right into a pair of equally intense ones. Disapproving ones.

  Mrs. Fleming's lips were pinched and her eyes narrowed as she stared at Sofie. The woman was like a saint, and disapproval displayed itself plainly on her face right now. And it was all for Sofie.

  That shame she'd been unable to summon a few moments ago now surfaced with a vengeance. Only a harlot–wasn't that what Mrs. Fleming had called Miss Lottie's girls?–would harbor sexual fantasies about a priest. It didn't matter that Sofie's feelings for Father Salazar were more than merely sexual. All that mattered was that her obsession was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Marshal Weathers strolled toward the door, his spurs jingling with every step. He paused and looked back over his shoulder. "I think it's best we all go, ma'am." His comment was directed at Mrs. Fleming, who hadn't budged, even though Dora was tying her bonnet beneath her chin and pulling her shawl around her shoulders. "So no one wonders what's goin' on here," he added.

  Sofie suspected that what might go on here was exactly what was playing through Mrs. Fleming's mind right now. And it had nothing to do with protecting Jenny.

  "I..." Mrs. Fleming shook her head and reached for her cape, shooting glances in Sofie's direction every few seconds. "I'm worried about–"

  A quiet knock at the front door silenced Mrs. Fleming's words and prompted her to usher Jenny into the kitchen. Dora followed, pulling the door closed behind them. Then Marshal Weathers stepped back and allowed Father Salazar to open it just a crack.

  Sofie noticed the lawman's hand poised above one of his guns, and her heart lurched. There was danger here. Danger for Jenny. She had to stop thinking of Father Salazar and her stupid infatuation.

  "Dr. Wilson." Father Salazar opened the door wide, admitting the doctor. The physician stepped through, removing his hat while his host closed and latched the door.

  "Everything all right?" the doctor asked, looking around the room. "I don't see Jenny."

  "In the kitchen," Marshal Weathers said. "Can't be too careful."

  "Of course. Please, forgive me for calling so late." Dr. Wilson actually appeared nervous. "Father Salazar, do you have a moment?"

  "Sure, have a seat."

  "Well, I'm gonna mosey on over to the jail now." Marshal Weathers nodded. "You know to keep the front and back doors bolted."

  Father Salazar threw the bolt home after Marshal Weathers had disappeared into the night, then turned his attention to Dr. Wilson. He returned to the fire and sat in a straight-backed chair, facing the doctor.

  Sofie admired Luke's profile, firelight bathing his face in light and shadow. He had strong features, accentuated by his extremely short hair. Again, the only word that came to her mind to describe him was magnificent.

  "The epidemic has made me come to a decision, Father," Dr. Wilson began, holding his hat in his lap.

  He glanced at Sofie, who suddenly realized she was just standing there like a piece of furniture. "Oh, forgive me, I'll just go see Jen–"

  "No, stay." Dr. Wilson gave a nervous chuckle. "I might need a witness later, in case I turn chicken."

  "Witness?" Father Salazar leaned back in his chair. "This sounds serious."

  "It is." Dr. Wilson cleared his throat. "And please call me Roman. After all we've been through, formalities seem ridiculous."

  "I agree." Father Salazar smiled. "My first name is Luke."

  Luke. She hadn't known, but now she realized the name suited him well. Much better than Father Salazar. Of course, she had other reasons for disliking his formal title.

  Dr. Wilson arched a brow. "Is it permitted?" Chuckling, he shrugged. "I've never addressed a priest by his first name before."

  "Sure, why not?" Father Salazar laughed, too. "Now what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "All right, Luke." Dr. Wilson steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "During the war, I was very young, and even with all the dying around me, I couldn't see then what this epidemic has taught me now."

  "Go on," Father Salazar–Luke–urged.

  "Life is too short and too precious to waste."

  "Amen," Father Salazar said in a fierce whisper, his expression fervent.

  "So I've come to a decision I should've made over a year ago." The doctor raked his fingers through his thick, white hair and sighed. "In the morning, I'm going to ask Anna Fleming to marry me, and–"

  A gasp sounded from the kitchen and Dr. Wilson shot to his feet. Father Salazar joined him and they all stared at the woman none of them had heard open the kitchen door.

  "Anna," Dr. Wilson said, his face reddening. After a moment, he smiled. "I meant this to be more romantic, but..."

  "Roman Wilson, it's the most romantic thing I've ever heard." Mrs. Fleming walked slowly toward him and took his hands in hers. "But before I give you my answer, I have a question for you."

  Dr. Wilson's face paled several shades and he cleared his throat again. "What...what is it?"

  Sofie saw Dora and Jenny peeking through the kitchen door, and she raised her finger to her lips. They both nodded and slipped into the room.

  "What in heaven's name took you so long?" Mrs. Fleming's face crumpled and she burst into tears as Dr. Wilson caught her in his embrace.

  "God only knows, Anna," he whispered fiercely. "All I know is I love you more than life itself."

  Sofie stared openmouthed, tolerating Dora's impromptu embrace, and Jenny's jumping up and down. The child kept saying, "A wedding, a wedding," over and over again.

  After a few moments, Dora and Jenny rushed over to congratulate the newly-engaged couple. Sofie moved toward them slowly, hanging back while they celebrated. This was, after all, a moment for family, and she was an outsider.

  She felt Father Salazar's gaze on her and looked up–a mistake. The naked emotion blazing in his gray eyes stole her breath. It took several minutes for her to recover, drawing deep breaths into her oxygen-starved lungs.

  "Wait, wait," Dr. Wilson said, laughing joyously with his bride-to-be. "There's more, if it's all right with you, Anna?" The doctor looked lovingly into Mrs. Fleming's eyes.

  "What is it, Roman?"

  "I know neither of us is Catholic, but I'd like very much for Father Salazar to perform the ceremony."

  "I think that's a splendid idea," Mrs. Fleming agreed.

  "Yes, so do I," Dora said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "It seems just perfect, after all we've been through together."

  "Yes, and it also means we don't have to wait for the judge," Dr. Wilson added, his eyes twinkling when he winked at Mrs. Fleming. "I'm finished waiting."

  Mrs. Fleming blushed and nodded. "Yes, please, Father?"

  Like the others, Sofie turned her attention to Father Salazar, stunned by the panic in his eyes. He reached up to loosen another button on his already open-collared shirt. Perspiration trickled down the sides of his face, and his eyes were wide.

  "Why, Father," Dora said, laughing, "you look as if you've never performed a wedding before."

  Father Salazar tried to smile, but failed. After a moment, he shrugged and said, "Actually, I haven't." He chuckled, his face turning crimson. "I'm sort of new at this. Maybe you should wait for–"

  "Nonsense, Father." Dr. Wilson clapped him on the back, beaming. "I've never been married before, so the two of us will learn together. Besides," the doctor's voice grew serious, "even if there were someone else here to perform the ceremony, I'd still want you to do it."

  "As would I." Mrs. Fleming moved closer and kissed Father Salazar on the cheek. "Please, Father?"

  "I guess I don't have any choice." Father Salazar smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

  He looked over Mrs. Fleming's head and met Sofie's gaze. What she detected in his eyes made her shudder. Fear. He was terrified of something.

  And, just for a moment, she saw an image of him with that same look in his eyes, but it was from before, when he'd had no hair. A wave of dizziness shot through her and she gripp
ed the back of a chair for support as the image became clearer.

  They were in a stark, cold room with several other men, all murmuring in low voices and moving around performing various tasks. Some of them wore uniforms. There was a priest, too, but this one was much older. He was talking in earnest with Father Salazar, who was wearing something that looked like a hospital gown.

  A hospital? Cold steel, low voices, a priest, the hospital gown, and Sofie a doctor... An operating room?

  And her patient had been Father Salazar himself.

  A loud explosion sounded and Sofie's daydream vanished like a popping soap bubble. Explosions like the morning she'd been hurt and Father Salazar brought her here?

  Then another explosion sounded, and Dr. Wilson rushed toward the door.

  "Gunshots."

  Chapter 11

  Luke stood frozen, listening to the staccato echo of the gunshots. Vaguely aware of Dr. Wilson rushing out the door, he didn't stir from his state of shock until Sofie grabbed his arm and shook him back to reality.

  "Father Salazar, are you all right?" She shook him again.

  He was far from all right, but he nodded. "Gunshots," he said, then he looked into her eyes. Big mistake. He wasn't even close to all right. "I'd better go help."

  The gunshots gave him an excuse to run away, a handy escape hatch from an impossible situation. Coward.

  "Stay with them?" he asked Mrs. Fleming, and she nodded.

  Running into the dark night to discern the source of gunshots could hardly be considered cowardly behavior, but in this instance, it was just that. He heard the bolt slide into place behind him as he darted into the cold and raced toward the jail. Somehow, he knew that's where he'd find trouble.

  Of course, he had far more serious trouble back at the parsonage.

  Spurred to action, he ran like he should have that first morning. Alone and free–his heart pounded the words over and over in his head.

  But he wasn't free.

  Comprehension dawned with all the pH balance of drain cleaner. Right in his gut.

  Despite everything, he wasn't free at all. Now he was trapped by circumstances of his own creation. Damn. He ran faster, not caring whether he fell on his face or ran into a tree in the darkness.