Another Dawn

by Deb Stover

  Breathing took every ounce of strength he could muster as he maintained his pace. The boom box pounding in his head rumbled through his bones, made his blood quiver like the lime Jell-O he'd learned to hate over the years.

  Anger aimed at himself–at the past and present, at his stupidity–fueled him until he flew down the dirt road. Working out in prison had been a balm, but now his endorphins failed. Hell, even Valium couldn't soothe his nerves at this point.

  He was screwed.

  He either had to commit the ultimate act of fraud, or run away from Redemption right now and never look back. His steps faltered and he staggered to a halt.

  Run, run, run. The word played over and over again in his head, and he looked around frantically, almost as if he expected to find another source for the voice. But there was no one.

  The jail was just ahead. He had to decide now. Would he listen to the voice of reason and run...or would he remain in this new prison he'd created for himself?

  A horse galloped toward him full-out, and he saw the flash of a gun before he heard it explode into the night. Rolling toward the nearest tree, Luke took cover and watched the rider roar past, still shooting into the night sky.

  Roman. Shane.

  He couldn't leave them like this, and–dammit–he couldn't leave Jenny and Sofie. His decision made, he bolted for the jail. Marshal Weathers stood on the porch, his still-smoking pistol clutched in his fist. Light from inside the jail flooded out around him, bathing his face in shadow.

  "Where's Dr. Wilson?" Luke asked, gasping for air. "Where–"

  "I'm right here." The doctor emerged from beside the building.

  Marshal Weathers was still staring in the direction the rider had taken. "That fella ain't comin' back tonight."

  "How can you be so sure?" Roman asked, following the lawman into the lighted jail.

  "My gut." Sam Weathers put the paper down on the small, battered desk in the corner, and read, "Get on with the hangin'."

  "Short and sweet." Dr. Wilson's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm glad he doesn't know where Jenny is."

  "Yeah." Luke mopped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. Despite the frosty night air, he felt as if he'd gone one-on-one against Michael Jordan.

  "I don't know what I thought to accomplish, running down here without a gun." Roman shook his head. "Is Shane all right?"

  Weathers quirked an eyebrow. "See for yourself."

  Roman went through the unlocked door into an area beyond the bars. "Shane," he called. "Father, bring the lamp in here."

  Luke couldn't move. The sight of those bars made him shudder. There was no way he was going into that cell. He'd rather die than set foot behind bars again.

  "You look like you seen a ghost," Marshal Weathers said, taking the lamp to the doctor. "Look all you want, Doc, but he ain't there."

  "Wha..."

  Luke stepped closer, watching as the marshal unlocked the cell and admitted the other man. Roman rushed to the bunk and threw back the blanket.

  Nothing but straw bunched into a mound occupied the bunk.

  "What–where?" Roman picked up the blanket with both hands and held it up to the light. "My God."

  The tattered wool blanket was full of holes. Bullet holes. "How...how did you know?" Luke whispered, more in awe of the lawman than before.

  "My gut again." Sam Weathers merely shrugged. "Pesky thing, but I reckon it's come in handy a time or two."

  "Where's Shane?" Roman dropped the blanket and approached Marshal Weathers.

  "I ain't sayin'."

  Luke moved closer to the bars, feeling their coldness even from a distance of several feet. "You trusted us with Jenny," he said. "Why not Shane?"

  "It ain't a matter of trust." The lawman moved back into the main room, taking the lamp with him.

  "We have a right to know where you've hidden–"

  "Nope."

  "But–"

  "Look, you can see here I was right about hidin' the boy," the marshal said. "You just gotta trust me and stop askin' so durn many questions."

  Roman looked at Luke, his eyes filled with questions. "I guess we don't have any other choice."

  "That's the way I see it." The lawman turned his gaze on Luke. "Father?"

  Luke sighed and shook his head. "Like the doctor said, we have no choice." When was the last time Luke had a choice about anything? He should've kept running. Yeah, right. Running would only add more guilt to his already overcrowded portfolio.

  "I trust y'all to keep Miss Jenny safe, and I'll keep her brother safe. Deal?"

  Roman extended his hand to the marshal and they shook on it. "Deal." The doctor looked toward Luke. "That reminds me, Marshal," he said, smiling. "How do you feel about weddings?"

  "As long as there ain't no shotgun involved, I'm in favor of 'em." The marshal chuckled. "Why you askin'?"

  "I'd like to invite you to one. Mine."

  "Well, I'll be." Marshal Weathers pumped Roman's hand again. "I reckon Mrs. Fleming's the bride."

  "Well, yes, how did you know?"

  "I'd have to be blind not to know that." Marshal Weathers chuckled.

  "Consider yourself invited, Marshal."

  "Call me Sam and I'll be there."

  "Fine, Sam it is, but only if you call me Roman."

  "When and where's the weddin'?"

  Roman looked at Luke with a baffled expression. "Tomorrow night after the town meeting?"

  "Town meeting?" Sam scratched his whiskery chin. "Reckon I'd best get me a bath and shave before then, even if it ain't Saturday."

  "Well, we'd better tell the bride, eh, Father?" Roman chuckled and slapped Luke on the back.

  God, why didn't I keep running?

  Sofie owed Dr. Wilson more than he would ever realize. His timely proposal had distracted Mrs. Fleming enough that she seemed to have forgotten all about Sofie and Father Salazar.

  Sofie and Luke...

  After tucking Jenny in bed upstairs, Sofie sat in the rocker vacated earlier by Luke, but she kept jumping up and pacing the room. Several times, she went to the door, itching to go find out what was happening. If only she could look out the window....

  "Sit down, Sofie," Mrs. Fleming urged. "They're fine."

  "How do you know?" Sofie raked her fingers through her hair, which had crawled free of the bun Mrs. Fleming had insisted she wear. "Aren't you worried?"

  "Of course, but I know in my heart that God will protect them." Mrs. Fleming's smile was downright sublime. "Sit."

  Dora flashed Sofie a grin and rolled her eyes. "Trust me, Sofie, Mother has a gift for knowing when to worry," she patted her mother's hand, "and when not to."

  "Thank you, dear." Mrs. Fleming gave her daughter's hand a squeeze, then pointed to the rocker. "This is not a time to worry, so sit. Trust me, there will be plenty of times in your life for real worry. It's woman's lot, you know."

  Sofie wanted to shout that everybody in Redemption was nuts, that the only way to make sure Luke and Dr. Wilson were all right was to go see for themselves, but she didn't. Instead, she returned to the rocking chair, surprised by the exhaustion that pressed down on her.

  Mrs. Fleming was a wise woman, and if she didn't see a need to worry, then Sofie wouldn't. Well, at least she'd try not to. Resigned, she pushed her feet against the floor, sending the old rocker into slow, silent motion. Mrs. Fleming and Dora sat a few feet away on something they called a settee, and Sofie wanted to call a loveseat. They were making plans to send out wedding announcements, and discussing how all their relatives would react to the news.

  Despite Mrs. Fleming's assurances, every few minutes, the older woman's gaze darted to the door, worry etched across her soft features. Then she would sigh and smile, and that infuriatingly serene expression would return.

  The woman obviously had a hotline straight to the Big Guy.

  All right, so Sofie would let Mrs. Fleming and God worry. Besides, she was so tired. So very, very tired...

  She closed her eyes and leaned in
to the afghan draped across the chair. The fire crackled nearby, and there hadn't been any additional gunshots since she'd heard a horse gallop through town almost an hour ago.

  Fatigue and the warmth of the fire made her drowsy. Though she tried to stay awake, the chair was too comfortable and the silence too seductive. Soon, she no longer heard the women's voices. All she heard was the rhythm of her breathing and the steady thud of her heart as sleep overtook her.

  Images filled her mind as her dream world beckoned and she fell willingly into a deeper slumber....

  The man stared at Sofie with an intensity that stole her breath. She was chest-deep in water–a pond?–looking up at the tall figure standing on the bank. Sunlight filtered through the trees, playing games of light and shadow across his familiar features.

  "You're beautiful," Luke whispered, his voice flowing over her like warm honey.

  Hesitantly, she slid her hand down the curve of her hip, confirming her suspicion–skinny-dipping. Her gaze followed her hands downward, where her bare breasts seemed to float on the water's sparkling surface; her rigid nipples playing peek-a-boo as the ripples caressed her naked skin.

  He stepped closer, his gray eyes glittering in the dappled sunlight. Warmth swelled within Sofie, filling her with the heat of desire, contrasting brilliantly with the cool water. Deep inside, she throbbed and ached, barren and sobbing for... something.

  For him.

  God help her, but she wanted this man with a fierceness she couldn't deny. She was weak and her need powerful.

  "I want you," he said, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

  Those three simple words said it all. Sofie held her breath as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid it from his broad shoulders. He held her prisoner with his gaze, never releasing her for even a moment.

  Hungrily, her gaze drifted over his newly exposed skin. Well-defined muscles played across his chest and arms, and his abdomen was taut. Her hands tingled with the need to touch him as she looked lower, following his long, sensuous fingers to the fly of his jeans. She heard the snap's pop in the awesome silence, and she held her breath. Then he grasped the zipper with his thumb and forefinger.

  Liquid fire shot through her and she pulsed with life and longing. Every muscle in her contracted as she grew increasingly aware of her need. This man could fill the emptiness in her heart and soul, and only he could assuage her feminine longing.

  Never breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs inside his waistband and lowered his jeans. Inch by devastating inch, more bare flesh appeared, making her breathing quicken and her body tremble.

  She wanted him. Needed him. Loved him.

  Within moments, he stood before her naked, his magnificent form exposed to her greedy gaze. As he walked into the water, she took a wary step backward. Then another. His progress was slow, determined–her retreat feeble, halfhearted.

  Because running away from Luke would deny her heart.

  She stopped and waited, swallowing the lump in her throat as he came closer and closer. The water surrounding her seemed to warm with his approach, as did she.

  Her breasts grew heavy and her feminine core clenched into a coil of longing.

  "I want you," he whispered again, pausing less than a foot away.

  Sofie trembled and banished the voice at the back of her mind that tried to convince her this was wrong. What could be wrong with something she wanted this desperately?

  How could love be wrong?

  "I want you, too," she said, her voice quivering as she waited. And wanted.

  One step. That's all it took to bring him so close her nipples grazed the crisp dark hair on his chest. Something warm and hard brushed against her hip, sending her libido into overdrive.

  "Oh, yes," she whispered, dismissing all doubt as he moved closer still.

  "Sofie. My beautiful Sofie."

  His breath fanned her face and she moaned, her lips parting to breathe in his essence. She couldn't wait any longer, and as she brought her hand up to caress his face, his palm cupped the fullness of her breast, lifting it from the water.

  "Perfect." He brushed his thumb across her damp nipple, sending her spiraling higher. Then he lowered his face toward hers, his full lips seeking and taking hers in a kiss so exquisite, she thought she might die from the want of more.

  Much more.

  He placed his hands at her waist and lifted her up and against him. Sofie gasped at the intimate contact, but craved it even more than she feared it.

  His hard, pulsing maleness pressed against her tender woman's flesh. Hungry for all of him, she wrapped her legs around his waist, but he held her so his erection merely teased her.

  Sofie gasped as his lips left hers to kiss her throat and the curve of her shoulder. He lifted her higher and kissed the hollow between her breasts.

  "Sweet," he murmured. Tenderly, he brought his mouth to the peak of her breast, taking her with a savage gentleness that sent rivulets of desire cascading through her shocked and pliant body. She moaned, looking down between them to watch his tanned face against her milky-white breast.

  The sight of Luke's mouth devouring her was shocking at first, but as her pleasure mounted, Sofie found it...erotic. She locked her hands behind his neck, holding him against her, relishing every tug of his lips and brush of his tongue.

  She ached and throbbed, beyond ready for him to fill her so completely, she'd never want again. Though it seemed impossible that she'd never want him again after this.

  "Now, Luke," she whispered. "Now."

  A noise dragged Sofie from her exquisite dream. No, not yet, she pleaded, but the sound came again and her dream vanished as she opened her eyes.

  Startled, she looked around the room. Mrs. Fleming and Dora were gone, but the fire still crackled merrily. A grandfather clock ticked steadily from across the room, but not loudly enough to have disturbed her sleep.

  And destroyed her beautiful dream.

  Guilt rushed through her as she recalled that dream with a rush of fire to her cheeks...and lower regions. Talk about sexual frustration.

  Then she again heard the sound that must have awakened her–a man clearing his throat. Warily, Sofie shifted her gaze. Her skin prickled before she saw him, knowing she was being watched.

  By her dream lover.

  Luke didn't want to wake her, but watching and hearing her dream was driving him nuts. Her parted lips, flushed cheeks, and occasional moans made him wonder if she was dreaming about sex. Did women have wet dreams?

  He cleared his throat loudly, and she whispered, "Now, Luke. Now."

  Oh, God. A bolt of lightning struck right between his legs. Whatever she was dreaming, he wished he could join her. Was he the Luke in her dream? Oh, God.

  He cleared his throat again, and her eyes fluttered open. Silently, he watched her look around the room, until her gaze came to rest on him, seated at Reverend Bodine's desk. She blinked several times and her cheeks turned even redder than before.

  Yes, of course he'd been the Luke in her dream. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to control the insistent thrum through his veins. Every beat of his heart seemed to shout, "Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex!"

  He drew another deep breath, shifting his weight in the appropriately hard, wooden chair. The settee looked one hell of a lot more comfortable, but that was too close to Sofie.

  Yet not close enough.

  "Now, Luke?" he repeated, grinning. He simply couldn't resist the impulse to tease. She looked away, making him immediately regret his words. Just because he was hornier than a mutt after a French poodle in heat didn't mean he had to take it out on Sofie. "I'm sorry."

  She looked at him again and he saw tears glistening in the depths of her gorgeous blue eyes. How he ached to kiss away her tears, and to fulfill her every dream. Adjusting himself inside his jeans–discreetly, he hoped–Luke went to the ottoman in front of her rocker and straddled it.

  Big mistake.

  Winci
ng, he swung both legs in front of him and leaned toward her, taking her hand. Sofie's skin was so soft. He traced a line from her palm to her wrist, then he looked up to meet her gaze.

  Her cheeks still flushed, her breath shallow, she stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Scaring her was the last thing he wanted to do, but if she felt for him a fraction of what he felt for her, they were both in big trouble.

  "Did...did everybody leave?" she asked, her voice shaky.

  Luke nodded. "They didn't want to wake you, and it's awfully late."

  "The shooting." Sofie sat up straighter and gripped his hand. "What happened? Was anybody hurt?"

  "No, everything's fine now." He looked at their hands joined on the arm of the chair, their fingers intertwined.

  Intimately.

  If only it were their legs.

  Holy shit. He bolted off the ottoman and walked toward the fire. The flames danced and crackled, their warmth seeping through his bones. He drew a deep breath and looked upward at the ceiling.

  Something had to give soon. He couldn't take much more of this pretense. And tomorrow, to top it all off, he had to marry two people he respected and cared about.

  Illegally.

  Dr. Wilson and Mrs. Fleming would live in sin, but they wouldn't realize it. Did that make it all right? Not really, but at least they'd be together, and that made it sort of all right.

  Luke straightened and turned to face Sofie again. He wanted desperately to confide in her, to tell her he wasn't a priest, and that he wanted nothing more than to take her to bed and make mad, passionate love to her.

  All night. Every night.

  His gut clenched and burned. It was the every night part that worried him most. All night was perfectly understandable, after all, but every night was dangerous as hell.

  Terrifying.

  She rose from the chair and took a tentative step toward him, her heart shining in her eyes.

  Oh, God. She wanted every night, too. At least he knew he wasn't a priest, but she didn't. Having the hots for a supposed priest must be giving her a mountain of guilt.