Another Dawn

by Deb Stover

  Where'd that come from? Sensing his friend needed to talk, Luke merely nodded.

  "Smith, or whatever his name is, has recovered enough to get on with his life, such as it is." Roman shook his head and chuckled quietly. "I have a wife now, and having patients here longer than necessary is..."

  "Unnecessary," Luke finished with a grin. "Seriously, you have a right to your privacy, and the obvious solution is to find out who this guy is and send for his family."

  "What if he's wanted by the law?" Roman paced a few steps, then turned and repeated the process, stopping again in front of Luke. "What if he doesn't want to be found? Then what? I can't stand the thought of sending him to an institution, but I don't know what else to do."

  Luke had experienced more than his fill of institutions. "Yeah, I see your problem." He sighed and gave a shrug. "All we can do is try."

  "Thank you." Roman led him down a hall toward the back of the house, next to the office Luke had visited once before. "Anna went to see Dora," he said over his shoulder. "If I don't miss my guess, that young lady is in for another lecture–number ten or twenty, I'd say–about her conduct at our wedding reception."

  Luke cleared his throat. Laughing would be inappropriate, though that was precisely what he itched to do. "Yeah, I suppose so."

  "Anna planned on letting Dora stay on in their house, but that was when she thought Jenny would be staying there, too." Roman sighed again. "Now that Jenny and Shane have decided to return to Texas..."

  They paused before a closed door at the end of the hall. "Seems to me, Ab might be more than a little interested in Dora," Luke said thoughtfully. "Maybe they'll get married."

  "Now that's something I'd like to see."

  Luke grabbed the doctor's shoulder before he knocked. "Is he, uh, off the laudanum now?"

  "Completely."

  Luke needed to make sure he couldn't blame any bizarre behavior on drugs this time. "Good."

  Roman knocked, then pushed open the door. "Mr. Smith, Father Salazar is here to see you."

  Luke looked beyond the doctor, where the tall man stood before a curtained window. He wore the gray hood Dora had made for him, and a blue shirt and black slacks covered the rest of him. He was only slightly hunched now, and he took a few steps toward them without limping. Of course, the burns had been restricted to his upper body, and only one side of that.

  A bell sounded from somewhere nearby. "I have a patient," Roman announced. "I'll be back as quickly as possible. The slate's on the bureau."

  Before Luke could object, the doctor was hurrying down the hall. Resigned to face Mr. Smith alone, Luke summoned his priest persona and entered the room.

  "Do you think you can write your name for me?" Luke crossed the room and picked up the slate, then faced the hooded man.

  "No...slate." Mr. Smith's voice sounded hoarse and raspy, barely audible. He took another step toward Luke and paused.

  Luke couldn't be sure, but it looked as if the man was smiling beneath his hood. Why did he let Smith get to him this way? "You can talk. That's good."

  Smith took another step toward Luke, until he was only a few feet away. The sunlight flowing through the window illuminated the man's eyes. Frenzy gleamed from the twin slits, with nothing less than pure hatred.

  "What's your name?" Luke resisted the urge to run. He didn't want to face this guy, and he didn't even know why. "Dr. Wilson wants to notify your family."

  Smith made a cackling sound with his singed vocal chords that sounded demonic, though Luke recognized the rhythm as laughter.

  "Why won't you tell me your name?" Luke swallowed hard, trying not to look at the man's insidious eyes. They seemed to look through him.

  Knowingly.

  "You...know."

  Cold penetrated Luke's flesh and stole its way into his very soul. The man's eyes grew more fierce, though he didn't move.

  "You know," he repeated.

  "No...I don't know." Luke's pulse roared through his veins as memories assailed him, though he didn't understand why. The electric chair loomed in his mind, threatening and final.

  "My name," the man said, still not moving any closer. "Say it."

  "I don't know." Luke's voice grew louder, competing against the roar of his own blood.

  "I am...Justice."

  Chapter 17

  Luke bolted. He ran like he should have the morning of his execution.

  For his life and from the same man.

  Smith was Warden Graham. God help me. Why else would the bastard have called himself Justice? No wonder those demented eyes had given him the creeps for weeks.

  Of course, Graham's definition of justice didn't come close to reality. The man was demented and obsessed.

  In any century.

  Ignoring the friendly greetings and curious stares of those he passed, Luke ran to the edge of town and stopped. What the hell was he doing?

  Sofie. He couldn't leave her here. More importantly, he didn't want to leave her.

  What a time to fall in love. Why here? Why now? He leaned against a tree, gasping for breath and reason. He had to think. Clearly. Carefully.

  His life depended on it.

  He doubled up his fist and punched the trunk of the pine that had been supporting him. "Shit." Stupid, Nolan. Flexing his bruised knuckles, he counted to ten and forced himself to regain control.

  Why should he be afraid of Warden Graham? That bastard couldn't do anything to him in 1891. Could he? No, Graham didn't have his precious prison system, or court orders for anybody's execution. He had nothing.

  He was powerless.

  A smug smile tugged at Luke's lips as he turned toward the parsonage. He would complete his plans to leave Redemption with the woman he loved, marry her, then take her away to live somewhere far from Colorado and the warden from hell.

  Maybe they'd go to Oregon and look up Zeke Judson again. Wouldn't that old fart be surprised to learn Father Salazar had hung up his collar? Or how about California? Even without Disneyland, it had the Pacific Ocean. That certainly held appeal. They could even invest in California real estate way ahead of the game. Beverly Hills, Rodeo Drive, Malibu.

  They could go west, but not until spring. Only a fool would take off across the mountains heading west this time of year. Denver had to come first. The sooner he and Sofie put some serious distance between them and Graham, the better. No, Graham couldn't hurt Luke here and now, unless...

  Sofie.

  She was the soft spot in his armor. His love for her made him vulnerable, just as his need for Grandpa's approval had. But this was worse. More power. More vulnerability.

  Warden Graham might not be able to fry Luke's gizzard in 1891, but he could still hurt him if he had the ammunition. Luke had to make sure the bastard didn't get his hands on that ammunition.

  On Sofie.

  Luke kept walking, not missing a step even when he realized exactly what Graham could do to him here and now.

  He could tell Sofie everything.

  Pausing outside the back door to the parsonage, Luke ran his fingers down his face, tugging at his lower eyelids as he contemplated this newest mess. Would he never have peace?

  Roman had said Sofie could travel any day. Now that Graham had played his hand, any day meant now. Today. Luke might not have a few days. He had to act fast, because it was already past noon.

  What if Graham told Roman Wilson who he was? Who Luke was? Still, even if he did, no one would believe him.

  No one but Sofie.

  Luke slipped quietly through the back door, hoping he would find her alone. What he had to say couldn't be said in front of an audience.

  The kitchen was empty, as was the parlor. Jenny must have gone somewhere with Shane. Slowly, Luke climbed the stairs, praying Sofie trusted him enough to leave without asking too many questions.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused and listened. The house was quiet. Now he was certain Jenny was either gone or asleep, and he definitely hadn't seen evidence that the girl was
a napper before. Allowing himself a smile, he proceeded to Sofie's bedroom door and knocked.

  "Come in."

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and opened the door. She sat in a chair near the window with a book in her lap, her hair loose and curling wildly as if she'd been asleep.

  "Luke." She closed her book and set it aside, then stood, smoothing her skirts. "I was just thinking about you–rather, about our trip to Denver."

  "Sofie, I..." Where should he start? How could he convince her to leave Redemption with him now?

  Today.

  "What is it?" She took a step toward him, frowning. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

  Luke gave a humorless laugh and shook his head. "I've seen something much worse than a ghost," he said, no longer laughing. Drawing a deep breath, he banished thoughts of what Mrs. Wilson would think and closed the door.

  Sofie arched a brow. "What's wrong?"

  "Do you trust me?"

  "You know I do. What is it?" She took a step toward him, open concern overshadowing any apprehension she may have had about his presence in her bedroom. "Tell me."

  He wanted to reach out and cup her cheek with his hand, to brush his thumb along her upper lip. He wanted to say, "I love you, Sofie."

  But he couldn't.

  "Sofie, go with me today. Now." He wanted to weave his fingers through her wild, rich curls, to lower his lips to hers. Not here. Not yet. They had to leave Redemption and Warden Graham first. Then and only then could he make her his in every sense of the word. He burned with need–physical and emotional–reserved for this woman alone.

  She stared at him in silence, worry and confusion furrowing her brow and darkening her eyes from blue to cobalt. "I don't understand," she finally said.

  "I need to leave today," he said.

  "Why?" She shook her head slowly. "Why, Luke?"

  "I have some crucial business to take care of," he said, grasping for any lie that came to mind. He hated lying to her. Desperately. Being vague was his best bet, but still a lie of omission. "The weather will turn on us soon, and if I get stranded here all winter..."

  I'm dead meat.

  "What about Jenny?" Sofie straightened, stiffening. "I need to tell Dr. and Mrs. Wilson bye. And what about Dora? I–"

  Luke chuckled, though he felt more like crying. "Hmm, what about Dora?"

  Sofie gave him an impish grin. "Well, she did loan me some clothes."

  "I know." He raked his fingers through his hair, praying he could convince her before Graham took action. "Jenny has Shane now. She'll be fine, thanks to all you've done for her already."

  "And you." Sofie gave him a quiet smile. "I couldn't have done any of this without you. You saved me. Without you, I would've died in that explosion."

  "The best day's work I've ever done," he whispered, and meant it. "They will all understand. They've always known we wouldn't stay."

  "Yes, but..."

  "Today, Sofie. Please?"

  "You're...sure about this?"

  "Yes." He needed more inducement on his side, but only more lies were available. Damn. "I talked to someone at Roman's earlier who convinced me we had to leave now." That was true.

  "I still don't..."

  "The weather, Sofie." He shrugged, hoping this one logical excuse–and the only one that was completely true–would suffice. "We have to be at least nine thousand feet here. It's going to snow, and some of the old-timers around here think that will happen very soon."

  She nodded. "Yes, that's probably true, but today?"

  He brought his hands to her upper arms, gently touching her before he noticed her sling was gone. "Your shoulder is much better, the weather will be turning any day now, and I have important reasons to go now."

  She sighed. "I just don't know."

  "Trust me, Sofie," he said. "Please, just trust me."

  "All right, Luke. I trust you more than anyone." The expression in her eyes softened, and she looked down at one of his hands on her arm. Pink crept into her cheeks, and when she met his gaze again, Luke saw what he'd prayed he would see.

  What he prayed he would always see in her eyes.

  Love.

  Luke went to buy horses and supplies, leaving Sofie to suffer her doubts and misgivings alone. She looked in the mirror above her dresser, wishing more than anything that she could come to terms with her feelings for that man.

  Later today, she would be alone in the wilderness with a man she loved and wanted desperately. A man who'd kissed her and touched her intimately.

  A priest.

  She could do this. She would do this. Within a matter of days, Luke would return to his church and his vows, and she would see a specialist who might be able to help her regain her memory and her life.

  Please, God.

  "Enough of this," she whispered. She had work to do.

  She couldn't leave without at least leaving a farewell note for Jenny and the Wilsons. It would be wrong. Yet Luke had been adamant about not wanting her to go near the Wilsons' house. She had no idea why.

  "Trust me, Sofie."

  She did trust him, and she loved him just as much. Lifting her fingertips to her lips, she remembered his passionate kisses and singular flavor. His forbidden touch... A man who should never have responded to her at all had displayed proof of his desire.

  And that memory was all she would ever have of him. She closed her eyes and prayed nothing would steal that precious memory.

  A wave of dizziness punched her in the gut and she grabbed the edge of her dresser to steady herself. Pain stabbed through her temple and into her skull as the dizziness worsened. Her stomach heaved and she broke into a cold sweat.

  Shivering, she took two staggering steps to the bed and fell onto it. The room continued to spin and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the vertigo to pass.

  Gradually, the whirling slowed, but she dared not open her eyes. Pressing her hands to both temples, she drew deep breaths until the pain and nausea subsided.

  Images floated through her mind, like a slide show against a background of darkness. She saw her mother's face, and the boy who must be her brother again, but older than before.

  The dizziness gripped her again and the images rushed by faster, like a tornado with her trapped in its vicious vortex. She wanted to scream, but couldn't summon the strength.

  Then the spinning ceased and only blackness remained. She pressed against her temples again, hoping when she opened her eyes the vertigo and pain wouldn't return. But another image stayed her.

  Luke. Again they were in that cold, sterile room, with metallic objects and instruments. She saw him with his shaved head, a gray hospital gown covering him only to mid-thigh.

  And she was there, wearing the same white lab coat and jeans she'd worn the day of the explosion. She must be remembering the same morning.

  Some men led Luke toward a large metal object. She couldn't see all of it, because the men blocked her view. Somehow, she sensed the need to identify the metal thing.

  The old priest was there as he had been in her earlier memory, and another man wearing a dark suit she didn't remember from before. Who was he?

  His eyes glittered with excitement and determination, and he paced the cold room in agitation. She was trying to tell him something important, but he wouldn't listen. She needed to stop him.

  Stop what? What had she been trying to tell him?

  Sofie pressed harder against her temples, but the image vanished, leaving only a misty cloud in its wake. Slowly, she opened her eyes. That mist represented her memory, and she knew now that clearing that mist was the key.

  The scene that kept replaying in her mind was important. Critical. She had to remember.

  And now, more than ever, she knew Luke had been lying to her. The man she loved and trusted had lied to her. He was keeping knowledge and information from her deliberately.

  Why?

  He'd asked her to trust him unconditionally, to follow him into the wilderness, to believe h
e would deliver her safely to Denver....

  And she did.

  Yes, despite all the evidence that he was keeping big secrets, she still believed in him and trusted him. The man had saved her life, and he looked at her with adoration. Whatever his secrets, she had to trust him to tell her when the time was right.

  She had to.

  "Get your butt in gear, Sofie," she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed as she eased herself into a sitting position. No dizziness. Whatever had caused the problem seemed to have passed.

  Then she recalled the flying images and hope surged through her. Was this a sign that her memory would fully return? If the pain and dizziness came with every new memory, she welcomed it. Something a little less dramatic would've been equally welcome, but whatever it took.

  If the episode signaled a serious medical condition, then she'd deal with that in Denver, too. Right now she had a trip to prepare for and good-bye notes to write.

  As she reached for the door knob, the dizziness assailed her again. Sofie dropped to the floor and closed her eyes, waiting to see what secrets would reveal themselves this time.

  The livery was near Miss Lottie's, meaning Luke had to walk right past the Wilson house on his way. He passed by the front, knowing Graham's room was at the rear. Still, seeing the place reminded him he had to hurry.

  He hadn't ridden a horse since age eleven, when he'd spent the summer at camp. Still, he remembered enough about the basics to believe he could pull this off, and he'd lead Sofie's if necessary. Gentle and dependable would meet their needs well.

  He pulled open the door and entered the dim interior, noting a set of wide double doors open at the rear, where the old man who ran the livery was mucking out stalls. Luke zeroed in on him and headed in that direction.

  "Well, Lucifer, you're actin' like a colt again."

  The sound of Sam's voice brought Luke to a halt halfway down the row of stalls. Though Luke didn't want a witness to his travel plans, he reminded himself that in this time, he wasn't an escaped convict.