Another Dawn (17 page)

      
Chills gripped Sofie. She was burning hot one minute, then freezing the next, floating between a strange dream world and reality. The dream world was much more pleasant, and she welcomed its return.

      
A blurry shape formed beside her, and she blinked to focus on Dr. Wilson's white head. With his stethoscope, he listened to her chest, then he lifted the lids of her eyes and leaned very close.

      
"Can't rule out an infection with the fever, but I think she's just worn herself out," he said, then stood and moved away. "Keep her in bed the rest of the day. I'll check on her again later."

      
"Not smallpox?" Mrs. Fleming asked.

      
"Definitely not. Besides, she's been inoculated. This is
 
my fault. I shouldn't have put her to work right away after that nasty head wound."

      
"It isn't your fault, Roman."

      
"If you say so," he said uncertainly. "You're too good to me. I don't know what we'd do without you."

      
"This epidemic isn't your fault, and neither is Sofie's condition," Mrs. Fleming repeated, her tone adamant.

      
"I know better than to argue with you," he said. "Give her a dose of laudanum to help her sleep. I'm sure she'll be all right after a rest, Anna."
 

      
Sofie tried to concentrate on their conversation, but only parts of it penetrated the smothering gray veil. It was like being under water, struggling to reach the surface. Weird, staccato music played through her head and she saw an openmouthed shark coming toward her. A huge one.
 

      
The door opened and closed, then she heard Mrs. Fleming's soothing voice, blotting out the strange shark music. "There, there. We didn't let you mend long enough, child. I'm so sorry."

      
A cool rag soothed Sofie's burning forehead and something cold and metallic pressed against her lips. Too tired to fight, she took the bittersweet medicine and sighed.
 

      
And dreamed.

      
Bright lights and people rushing around her. Someone stopped and powdered her nose, then took her center stage, where a huge sign spelled out "This is Your Life" in glaring, neon lights.

      
A game show? Of course, a television game show. Scenes and images flew past. She saw birthday parties, family weddings, herself at various ages, and the dark-haired woman she knew was her mother. Daddy was there, too, and a little boy whose name she couldn't remember. He was bigger than Sofie–her older brother?

      
All the faces were nameless, though. Sofie wanted desperately to know their names. Were they really her family? Were they searching for her? Did they miss her? She saw a casket draped with flowers, and her mother standing there holding Sofie's hand and the little boy's. They all looked so sad and lost, but they were together. A family?

      
She had to remember. "Try, Sofie."
 
It was her mother's voice, soothing and pleading. "Come home soon."

      
Home. Ruby slippers, heels clicking together, and a soft voice saying, "There's no place like home...."

      
Coolness touched her cheek again and Sofie leaned into it. Gentle fingers brushed her hair away from her face, then something else touched her. Something soft and warm and wondrous. Lips? Yes, someone had kissed her forehead.

      
Fingertips brushed her cheek again and Sofie knew it was a man who touched her now. These rough but gentle fingers couldn't belong to Mrs. Fleming or even Dr. Wilson. Father Salazar?

      
"Just rest, Sofie," he said. "You scared the hell out of me–I mean us–today."

      
 
Yes, of course. Definitely Father Salazar. She'd know his voice anywhere, even under the influence of the potent drug Mrs. Fleming had given her. It didn't matter, because her weird hero was here to rescue her again.

      
She struggled to awaken completely, but her eyelids were too heavy. Everything felt heavy, and she was weak. So weak...

      
He touched her again and she managed to find his hand with her lips, and planted a kiss in his palm. He tasted of salt and man. She inhaled his scent and snuggled against his thigh, where he sat on the edge of her bed. His solid warmth reached something deep inside her, stirring sensations and thoughts probably better left buried.

      
Another
dream? Yes, it had to be. Surrendering to the power of her dream, warmth oozed through her and she kissed his palm again fiercely.

      
"Sofie," he said, his voice quiet but intense. "Sofie, don't."

      
Empowered, she nipped his hand playfully with her teeth. Dreams were safe. She wanted this dream to keep touching her forever, but in other, more intimate ways.
 

      
Everywhere.

      
She wanted him to kiss her again.
Really
kiss her. "Kiss me," she whispered, trying to reach out to him. "Please, dream man?"

      
A deep, nervous chuckle rumbled from him, and a smile tugged at her lips.
Only a dream...

      
"Kiss me," she repeated.

      
"Then will you go back to sleep?" His whisper was hoarse, strained.

      
"Yes," she promised, even though she was already very much asleep.

      
She felt the warmth of his body as he bent toward her. His broad chest brushed against her nipples and she moaned. Her breasts grew heavy and hard, aching for his touch.

      
Summoning every ounce of strength she could manage, she lifted her arms and slipped her hands behind his neck, locking her fingers together. Anything to prolong this delicious dream...

      
His mouth was soft and warm on her cheek, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. She turned her face to capture his lips with hers. He tensed, but didn't pull away. Empowered, she drew him closer, her lips parting in invitation.

      
"Sofie," he whispered against her lips.

      
She traced the shape of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. He moaned, and the sound rumbled through her, enticing and inciting.

      
Closer now, his lips finally formed a seal with hers. Liquid warmth surged through her. She was floating, swelling upward, eagerly seeking his hard maleness to complement her own softness.

      
He tried again to pull away, but she held fast. And when he tried to speak, she took advantage of his parted lips to explore the warmth of his mouth.

      
Moaning again, he returned her kiss. His hands cupped her face as he tasted her thoroughly. Deeply. Hungrily.

      
Hot. Sofie was so hot. She wanted to shed her clothing, to press her naked flesh against his, to feel his desire in turn.

      
But suddenly, he broke their kiss and wrenched himself from her embrace. "No, I can't," he whispered fiercely. "This is wrong.
Wrong."

      
"No, don't leave me."
 
If only she could open her eyes and see him, then, maybe, she could make him stay.
I'll just dream him back
. "Love me."

      
"God help me."

      
She heard the door open and close, but before she could protest her dream lover's sudden departure, she slipped into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 7

      
Behind the schoolhouse, Luke gulped frosty night air into his lungs, struggling to regain control. Mrs. Fleming had warned him earlier that she'd dosed Sofie with laudanum–probably not the best treatment for someone with a head injury, now that he thought about it. Modern medicine, such as it was...

      
Sofie's behavior had been a result of her injury and a dose of opium. Not any latent, ardent desire for a sunburned, bald-headed priest.

      
Yeah, get real.

      
Luke, on the other hand, had no potent narcotic flowing through his veins as a handy excuse for his behavior. His instantaneous red-hot response to her guileless–and highly effective–attempt at seduction had been totally natural. Unenhanced.

      
Volatile.

      
Hell, even a
real
priest would have had trouble walking away from her soft lips, firm breasts, and blatant eagerness.
Yeah, eagerness.

      
"Man, I'm in sad shape."
 
He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his robe and yanked the stiff collar from around his neck. As a kid, he'd heard some refer to it as a dog collar. He hadn't understood it then, but it made a lot of sense now. Dogs were neutered, and he just as well be at this point.
 

      
Merciful and humane? And permanent. No, not for Luke Nolan. Playing priest could be the death of him yet, but at least it was temporary.

      
Being so close to a woman like Sofie without being able to...to...

      
"No."
 
He wouldn't–couldn't. Mopping perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand, he looked up at the sky. Last night's stars were totally absent this evening. Only a sliver of moonlight penetrated the total blackness shrouding the mountain town.
 

      
Screw the stars.

      
He was harder than the iron bars on any jail cell. Pacing in the darkness, he punched the palm of his left hand with his right fist. Repeatedly. Rhythmically.

      
Reminding him of something else. An activity he hadn't experienced nearly enough in his twenty-nine years. Bumping and grinding. Yes, that's what his teenaged mentality would've called what he wanted to do right now.

      
"Shit."
 
Finding no relief from beating his palm black and blue like his balls, he stopped and stared at the collar still clutched in his fist. Damn that collar. One way or another, he'd have some different clothes by morning. Besides, these were filthy. Good excuse to shed his sheep's clothing, especially since he felt a lot more like a wolf....

      
He drew more cold air into his lungs and closed his eyes. Perspiration trickled down his face and neck, despite the chilly night air. He was on fire, and this time he couldn't blame the electric chair. All the heat came from the inside.

      
Straight from his groin.

      
"Damn, damn, damn."
 
He needed a woman. Eleven years of celibacy had caught up with him in a big way. How did priests do it? Sure, he'd heard stories about those who'd strayed, but in his heart, he believed most people who took vows of celibacy kept them. Didn't they?