Another Dawn (33 page)

      
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.

      
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."