by Deb Stover
Soon.
Instead, when he closed his eyes, he saw his hand against her bare breast, the peace sign tattoo winking at him. He tasted the petal-like nub of her nipple against his tongue. And he heard her moans of pleasure.
"Now, Luke. Now."
"I was naughty...skinny-dipping."
"Skinny-dipping..."
Fatigue won at last and he fell into a troubled sleep.
Sofie awakened early, determined to get her thoughts and her behavior back on track today. She'd lain awake for hours, considering what had almost happened with Father Salazar.
In the light of day, she knew one thing for certain. She would not be a party to any priest breaking his holy vows.
Even though he'd been a willing and very active participant in their tumble on the floor?
Yes, even so.
She pulled her wet hair back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, determined to make herself as unattractive as possible. Dora's baggy dress went a long way toward achieving that. Sofie's breasts were practically indiscernible beneath the loose fabric.
But as she buttoned the front of her dress, the inside of her wrist brushed against her nipple, reminding her of Luke's caresses. And his mouth. Oh, God, his mouth.
"No," she whispered, setting her lips in a thin line of determination. He wasn't Luke. She mustn't think of him as anyone other than Father Salazar–a Catholic priest who'd taken a vow of celibacy.
She paused to stare in the mirror, a question ricocheting around in her frazzled mind. Shaking her head, she decided it was a question better left unasked, even of herself.
However, it refused to remain silent. She had to wonder, though she doubted she'd ever know the answer.
Had Father Salazar broken his vows before?
She groaned and leaned on the nightstand with the palms of both hands, staring deeply into her own guilty gaze. Blinking, she jerked away from the mirror and smoothed her skirt.
It didn't matter whether or not he'd broken his vows before, because she wouldn't be a party to him breaking them again, even if it wasn't the first time. "So there."
As she opened her bedroom door and peered down the hall, she ignored the voice in the back of her mind reminding her of his kisses, his touch, the impressive and undeniable evidence of his desire at the front of his jeans....
A priest. He was a priest.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned her back on his bedroom door and went downstairs to start breakfast. Mrs. Fleming had left her something called sourdough, and it was time Sofie made friends with it.
At the bottom of the stairs, her gaze zeroed in on the square of carpet before the now cold hearth, where she'd lain in his arms. Her breath froze in her throat and she stood paralyzed, visualizing herself on the floor beneath Luke's passionate kisses.
She swallowed, trying to drag her gaze from that spot, and her thoughts from those memories. She had to stop thinking about him, and about that. Especially about that...
A tremor chased itself through her body and she drew a deep, fortifying breath. Determined, she marched into the kitchen.
Her heart leapt upward, pressing against her throat, and she swayed, grabbing the door frame for support. There stood Luke, an apron tied around his waist and singing a familiar tune–"Knights in White Satin"–as he kneaded dough.
"Good morning," he called over his shoulder. "I don't know what I'm doing in here, you know."
Sofie shook her head. "Neither do I." That was a major understatement.
"There was a cookbook, so I thought I'd try." He shrugged and gave her a boyish grin.
Her knees grew weak, but she quickly reminded herself what he was, and about his vows. She would not be a participant in breaking those vows. No way.
"I made coffee." He inclined his head toward a pot on the stove. "It isn't too bad."
Deciding to keep herself busy, she poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip. It was scalding hot, so she set it on the table to cool.
Sunlight streamed into the kitchen, triggering another memory of the dark-haired woman. Her mother. As the weeks went by, Sofie had become more and more convinced of the woman's identity.
She saw her mother hurrying around the kitchen, pushing buttons and flipping switches. They'd had a microwave oven, an electric range, and automatic everything. She remembered a well-stocked refrigerator, and she could see herself going there after school and getting a can of soda.
These memories were real, and those appliances existed. She looked around the kitchen again. Why was Redemption so backward?
And Luke–Father Salazar–had answers. He had to.
"Mrs. Fleming left a ham wrapped in a cloth here," he said, placing his biscuits in a baking pan. "I guess it's all right, though I'd feel better if it had come from the supermarket."
Yes, the supermarket. "Luke," she said, grateful to have something besides her hormones to occupy her thoughts. "I mean, Father Salazar..."
"Luke," he corrected, placing his pan of biscuits in the oven.
Deciding not to comment on his name, Sofie said, "I remember so many things that don't exist here."
He stared at her for several minutes, then turned his attention to the ham on the counter. He looked worried. "Like what?" he finally asked.
Sofie went to the table, where Luke sawed off thin slices of ham and placed them in an iron skillet. "Like electricity, telephones, TV, cars, airplanes, and all kinds of stuff. Music and movies, too. That song you were singing when I came in–I remember that, too. The Moody Blues. Right? An oldie."
He looked at her quickly, his mouth set in a thin line. Yes, he definitely looked worried, but why? "You remember those things, too," she stated, rather than asked. "Otherwise, how could you have been singing that song?"
Pausing, he stood there staring at the ham, then looked up at her with an unreadable expression. "I guess Redemption seems sort of...old-fashioned." He shrugged unconvincingly. "It's no biggie, though."
"We're different." She grabbed his wrist, already breaking her promise not to touch him. "We talk different, act different, think different. Why?"
He sliced more ham–enough to feed several grown men. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize he was avoiding her question.
"Answer me," she whispered, now completely convinced he was hiding something. "You know more about me than you've admitted. Don't you?"
Still not looking at her, he asked, "What have you remembered?"
"Not much." She released his wrist and sat at the table, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup. "My mother, I think, and like I told you before, music and things that seem so...so normal. Kitchen things. Appliances. Light switches."
He looked at her, and she saw his Adam's apple travel the length of his throat. "That's all?"
"And you," she admitted, her voice growing husky. "I saw an image of you in a cold place, with steel and lots of people rushing around."
His face blanched, and his knuckles turned white from his death grip on the knife.
"I was there, too," she continued, though he stared past her at something she suspected only he could see. "I think you were a patient and I was your doctor. Is that true?"
His eyes widened and he met her gaze. "What gave you that idea?"
"The place I remembered was so sterile and cold, and you were wearing what I think was a hospital gown." She shook her head in frustration. "If only I could remember more."
"Trust me, Sofie, you don't want to remember."
An intense undercurrent flowed through his words, enough to make her decide to temporarily postpone her interrogation. She would save her questions for now, but she would ask them later.
And somehow, she knew this man–this priest–had all the answers. Including the solution to her sexual frustration.
Why couldn't she get it through her head that he was off-limits as a lover? Simple. Because last night he'd taken her in his arms and treated her the way a man treats a woman he wants to know in the biblical sense.
<
br /> Willingly.
"I think we need to talk about last night," he said, setting his knife aside and carrying the heavy skillet to the hot stove. "About what happened."
Heat flashed in her face and she clenched her fists in her lap. Staying here in this house with him would be the death of her yet. If only Jenny would tell Marshal Weathers the killer's name. "No, I don't want to talk about...that."
He wrapped the ham in a cloth, then took it to the pantry at the far end of the room, away from the stove's heat. When he returned, he slipped off the apron and hung it over the back of a chair before taking a seat at the table.
"What happened between us last night," he began, avoiding her gaze as he spoke, "mustn't happen again."
Sofie stared at him in shock. Though she agreed with him, she hadn't expected to hear him say it. "I...I know." Her stomach lurched and she took a sip of the bitter coffee, trying not to swallow any grounds. "And it won't happen again."
"No, it won't."
He sounded disappointed, and Sofie looked directly at him, stunned to find him watching her now. His expression was sincere, and regret showed itself plainly across his handsome face.
Even though they were both determined to deny themselves, knowing he regretted that sent a thrill through Sofie. She really was bad. Well, that was something she would change. The new Dr. Sofie What's-Her-Name would be good, even by Mrs. Fleming's standards.
She swallowed hard and looked at his hands, resting on the table. Those same hands had touched her last night and made her want him.
But the new Dr. Sofie What's-Her-Name would be good.
Even if it killed her.
Chapter 13
Luke needed to keep as much distance from Sofie as possible. Not an easy task, considering they were living together. Jenny Latimer didn't make much of a chaperon, though her nightmare had been perfectly timed. Another few minutes...
Damn. He had to stop thinking about what had almost happened. But they'd come so close. Cut the crap, Nolan.
Sweat trickled down the sides of his face as he made his way through town. The weather was unseasonably mild for early October at this altitude, but he knew winter would soon arrive in earnest. The few morning snows they'd seen so far were nothing compared to what nature could bring in the coming weeks.
And Luke had to get the hell out of town before he found himself snowed in for the longest winter of his life.
Last night's near miss with Sofie had convinced him that his days as a priest were numbered. The sooner he could leave and resume life as a red-blooded male unfettered by vows of celibacy, the better. He'd forgotten how soft a woman's skin could–
"Jeez, Nolan." He kicked at a rock alongside the road, banishing the image of Sofie and her soft skin from his mind. He had to.
Besides, he had a wedding to postpone.
He'd never visited Dr. Wilson at his office before, which was located in the rear of his small house in the center of town. Luke paused near the sign at the back door, indicating the doctor was in.
He knocked lightly and the door swung open. Roman's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his thick white hair stood on end. He looked like the crazy "Doc" from Back To The Future.
"Come in." Roman stepped aside and started to roll down his sleeves. "I don't know what's come over me this morning. I overslept for the first time in years, and I can't seem to keep my mind on anything at all."
Pre-wedding jitters, Luke decided. Well, as far as he was concerned, there would be no wedding in Redemption today. That would put an end to the groom's anxiety.
"Nervous?" he asked, then smiled when the doctor rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
"Nervous?" Roman dropped his comb, then bent to retrieve it. He dropped it twice more before managing to run it through his hair. "Beyond nervous. I'm more terrified today than I ever was during the war."
Luke grew solemn, considering the impact of his decision not to perform the ceremony. Would Roman change his mind completely? Would he and Mrs. Fleming ever marry if Luke refused to do the deed?
Just what he needed–more guilt. Dr. Wilson and Mrs. Fleming belonged together, and Luke really saw nothing wrong with people who loved each other living as man and wife, legally or not. Of course, he also realized that Roman Wilson and Anna Fleming would never willingly "live in sin."
"It's a good thing you're here now," Roman said, fumbling with some instruments on a tray near the window. "If I had too much time to think about this, I'm afraid I'd turn yellow and run for the hills."
Talk about twisting the knife. "No, you wouldn't." If Dr. Wilson had been able to read Luke's mind, he couldn't have done any better at echoing his thoughts. "You love Mrs. Fleming."
"More than my own life." Dr. Wilson dropped an instrument and stooped to retrieve it. "But I've been single all my life, Luke. The thought of getting married at my age..."
Luke swallowed the lump in his throat, mentally watching his arguments against the wedding crumble. If he didn't marry Roman and Anna tonight, they might never go through with it.
And if ever two people belonged together...
Like me and Sofie?
No, that was dangerous territory. Shoving thoughts of Sofie from his mind, Luke crossed the room and placed his hand on the doctor's shoulder. A sense of defeat washed through him, and he sighed. "You're doing the right thing."
And I'm screwed.
"Thanks. I really needed that reassurance." Roman gave him a weak smile.
"No problem." Luke had enough problems for the whole frigging town.
Dr. Wilson visibly relaxed and finished arranging his instruments. "I've been wondering about your plans, now that the epidemic is over."
"Plans?" Luke wasn't sure he wanted to go there.
"Well, surely you and Sofie were going somewhere else originally."
Flustered, Luke ran his hand across his hair and searched his mind for answers. For lies, rather. "Right, of course. I was due in Denver weeks ago."
"Ah, Denver." Roman looked in a small book and frowned. "Winter will be here before we know it. I suppose you'll want to be on your way before then."
"Yes, that's true." Luke sat in a chair beside the doctor's desk, trying to ignore the burning in his gut.
"And what about Sofie?" Dr. Wilson sat down at his desk and leaned back, tapping a pencil against his knuckles. "What do you know about her, other than her profession?"
"Not much." Except that she had the most perfect breasts Luke had ever seen, and her skin was as soft and smooth as–
He swallowed hard and mentally kicked himself. "We were in an explosion, which is how she got her head injury." That was no lie.
"And her memory loss," Dr. Wilson added.
Yes, thank God. Guilt pressed down on Luke again. All these weeks of feeling thankful for Sofie's amnesia were wearing. Even so, he was still relieved she hadn't remembered who or what he was.
Though this morning she'd mentioned a scrap of memory that could build into something much more significant. The cold, sterile room she'd described could only have been the execution chamber.
With the electric chair.
A chill swept through him and Luke suppressed a shiver. However, remembering the electric chair always helped him get his priorities straight. Freedom. He didn't dare let anything matter more than that.
Yet he had. Repeatedly. The town, the people, his new friends...and Sofie. They all mattered.
Damn.
"That explosion," the doctor said thoughtfully, "must've been a mining accident of some kind."
Luke shrugged, definitely not wanting to go there.
"I appreciate you and Sofie staying on until this matter with Jenny and Shane is settled." The doctor shook his head and sighed. "Between the quarantine and this mess, I think Anna may be right about you both being sent here by God Himself. And what about Sam Weathers? Amazing, him showing up when he did."
Luke nodded. "Yeah." His voice sounded strained, even to him. Time for him to make som
e sort of announcement, rather than leave things indefinite, as they had been. After all, Dr. Wilson had already given him an opening. "As soon as this is resolved, though, I have to get to Denver."
"Of course, I understand." Roman appeared thoughtful. "We'll miss you and Sofie."
Me and Sofie?
"And I know a doctor in Denver who might be able to help her."
"But...why would she want to go with me?" Luke gave a nervous laugh. Too nervous?
Roman arched a bushy white eyebrow. "I just assumed, since you arrived together, that you'd leave together."
"Oh, well, that would be her decision." Liar. Luke had no intention of taking Sofie with him when he left. And after last night, chances were she wouldn't want to go anywhere with him anyway.
After all, he was nothing more than a libidinous priest.
"I have to check Mr. Smith's wounds." Roman stood and grabbed a small box off a shelf. "Dora made a soft hood for him. I'm not sure how he'll feel about wearing it, but I imagine once he gets a look at himself...."
Luke grimaced. "You mean he hasn't seen himself yet?"
"No." The doctor sighed and lifted the gray hood from the box. "He's healed enough to discontinue the dressings, but I doubt he'll want anyone to see his face."
Luke had to agree. He'd seen enough of Mr. Smith's burns to realize how hideous his scars were. "Has he given you any information yet?"
"He tried to talk some last night."
"And?"
"Nothing I could understand, but I'm going to see if he can write something now."
"Good idea."
Dr. Wilson tucked a small slate under his arm and dropped a piece of chalk into his pocket. "Business is slow this morning, thank God."
"No kidding." Luke stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, concerned that he'd left too much unresolved with Dr. Wilson. "Like you said before, once things are settled with Shane and Jenny, I'll be on my way."
"I hope Sofie will want to see Dr. Bowen in Denver." Roman walked across the room, toward an adjoining doorway. "He's the only man I know who might be able to help her."
