Another Dawn (9 page)

      
"I...I really don't remember."
 
Sofie choked back a sob, wishing she could somehow resurrect her memory from the worthless black hole of her brain. "I'll try to help as best I can, but please–"

      
"I'm sorry. I forgot. Please forgive me."
 
Dr. Wilson appeared resigned. "Well, at least you've both been inoculated, as have I."

      
Sofie looked at Father Salazar, noting he appeared as confused as she. Tilting his head to one side, he said, "Dr. Wilson, I don't understand any of this. Smallpox has been nonexistent for so long they don't even require immunization anymore."

      
"Nonexistent?
Nonexistent
?" Dr. Wilson's nostrils flared and he shoved his glasses back onto his nose. "Allow me to show you nonexistent, Father."

      
Before either of them could protest, Dr. Wilson started weaving his way through the building, leading Sofie by the elbow. She had no choice but to follow, though she looked back several times to assure herself that Father Salazar still followed.

      
The stench of disease and death permeated the air and Sofie's stomach lurched again. They stopped beside a low cot, where a young man lay dying. Oozing sores covered his body and he thrashed around in obvious agony.

      
"Dear God," Sofie whispered. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. Maybe she didn't remember medical school, but something told her the stifling heat and foul air couldn't possibly be good for anyone. Without a word, she pulled her elbow from Dr. Wilson's grasp and marched to a nearby window. She released the latch and swung open the shutters partway.

      
"We must keep them warm," Dr. Wilson argued. "You'll kill them all."

      
Sofie put her fist on her hip, feeling stronger than she had all day. Maybe her medical training was surfacing at last, or it could be intuition or simple common sense. Either way, she knew without question that fresh air was better than foul. "No," she said quietly but firmly. "Every living thing needs fresh air to heal."

      
Dr. Wilson studied her in silence for a few minutes, then nodded in surrender. "Very well. At this point, I'm willing to try anything. We'll try it your way for a while and see if there's any change, either good or bad."

      
Sofie bit the inside of her lower lip and hoped she wasn't making a terrible mistake. Father Salazar's frantic look remained, and he looked toward the partly open window with a hunger that stunned her.

      
Still, he seemed to battle his internal demons and recognize her self-doubt. He came to her side, offering her his arm for support. His touch comforted her and she leaned against him, grateful for his continued presence.

      
"We'd better get some of that soup," he said quietly. "It looks like we have a lot of work here."

      
For the first time since this morning when she'd awakened battered and bruised, Father Salazar actually sounded like a priest. She met his gray gaze and blinked, wondering why that didn't exactly please her. His behavior throughout the day had been so unpriest-like, she'd forgotten for long stretches of time who and what he was.

      
Heat flooded her face as she also remembered the feel of his aroused male body pressing against her. Her pulse quickened and she struggled against the urge to throw her arms around him for support and comfort.

      
And something more?
 

      
Luke weighed his options. He could probably walk away while the doctor was busy talking to Sofie, but he couldn't bring himself to do it yet. Why?

      
Because he felt like hell? Because no matter what he'd thought earlier, he needed a hot meal and some cold water before he hit the road again? Because he was so exhausted from the longest day of his life he could crawl in a hole and sleep for a year?

      
Yes and no.

      
Sofie held him here as sure as Warden Graham had held him prisoner. For some stupid reason, he felt responsible for her. Hell, he'd brought her this far, it only made sense to ensure she'd be all right here before he left. Besides, he'd seen no evidence to indicate he was being hunted. Yet. Still, the thought of hanging around here didn't exactly give him a warm fuzzy.

      
And Sofie herself... Who was she? The way she'd rallied and thrown open those shutters had caught him by surprise. She had balls, so to speak. Dr. Sofie What's-Her-Name was a woman he would have liked to meet at another time and place.

      
In another life.

      
Regret slithered through him again, but he forcibly quelled it. No time for that. Of course, there would never be enough time for that in his life. The moment he'd decided to leave that execution chamber, his fate was determined.
 

      
Luke Nolan was a man on the run. A fugitive. A man on a life-or-death quest for freedom.

      
Focus
. He drew a deep breath of the fresh mountain air wafting through the partially open window.
Yeah, focus
. He could play this game until dark–he had no choice. Then he would run fast and hard.

      
To freedom.

      
When Sofie leaned into him for support, the urge to wrap his arms around her and cradle her against his chest hit him like a two-by-four between the eyes.
 

      
Her softness melded against him and, despite his fatigue and worry, his body responded with intrepid–and infuriating– enthusiasm. He winced, his burned flesh tugging and stretching where nature demanded. But pain did little to suppress his rampant libido.

      
Eleven celibate years did that to a man.

      
Dr. Wilson's voice dragged Luke from his half-stupor. "Well, let's get you both something to eat before we put you to work."

      
Clearing his throat, Luke kept his arm around Sofie for support and followed the doctor through a door at the back of the building. The kitchen, at least, harbored no beds for the sick and dying.

      
The real Father Salazar wouldn't have thought such a thing. Guilt pressed down on Luke. That old man probably would have been out there praying over each and every patient before allowing himself a bite.

      
But I'm no priest.

      
Did it matter? Luke had been raised Catholic, and he knew the routine, so to speak. With Father Salazar's Bible and other paraphernalia, he could manage this gig until he disappeared into the night.

      
So what if he was a fraud? The people of Redemption needed a priest for comfort. It was the least Luke could do to repay them for a hot meal.

      
And the very least he could do for Father Salazar.

      
After a bowl of Irish stew as good as any Luke had ever tasted, he felt almost human again. The Widow Fleming he and Sofie'd already heard so much about looked like Betty Crocker, only older. Dressed in black from chin to foot, she was a tiny but imposing white-haired figure who ran the kitchen–and everyone in the makeshift hospital–with a firm hand.

      
Dr. Wilson returned to the kitchen with Zeke just as Luke finished the best piece of apple pie he'd had in exactly eleven years. His grandmother and Mrs. Fleming would've enjoyed exchanging recipes.

      
No, he mustn't think about his grandmother, because she wouldn't want to know her grandson was an escaped convict, rather than an executed murderer.

      
When Luke saw the expression on Zeke's face, he knew the time had come for him to play priest for real. His captor's long face looked even longer now, and he kept his eyes lowered.

      
"We've lost Mrs. Judson," Dr. Wilson said quietly, placing his hand on Zeke's shoulder. "But Zeke was at her side when she left us."
 
The doctor heaved a heavy sigh.

      
Luke pushed away from the table and stood, as did Sofie. She put her hand on Zeke's shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry."

      
What would Father Salazar say? Luke swallowed the lump of cold hard fear in his throat and imitated Sofie's behavior. Even with amnesia, her manners were considerably better than his. Of course, prison hadn't required manners.

      
"I'm sorry," Luke said, feeling his face grow hot; his words seemed so damned inadequate. Zeke had said he and his wife were Baptists, so maybe the new widower wouldn't find fault with Luke's shortcomings as a priest.
I can't believe I'm doing this.

      
Zeke nodded, then met Luke's gaze. "Like I done told you,
Padre,
the missus ain't–weren't–Catholic, but I know she'd like for you to speak a few words over her."
 

      
"If...if you'll show me what you want me to do, and where we need to do it, I'll try my best," Luke said, and meant it. His memory of Father Salazar backing away from him in the execution chamber this morning returned, along with a flash of fire to Luke's gut.
 

      
"Go with God, my son,"
the priest had said.

      
So far, so good
. Luke reached up to drag his fingers through his hair, surprised to find his bald scalp instead. He'd almost forgotten....

      
"Should I go with you?" Sofie asked quietly, meeting Luke's gaze.

      
They hadn't been separated all day, except for those few terrifying moments after she'd fallen during the storm. "If you want–"

      
"No, please," Dr. Wilson interrupted. "I'm sorry, but I really need Dr. Sofie here to help."
 
He shot her a pleading look. "Please?"

      
"Dr. Sofie?" Her face reddened and she turned her gaze on Luke. "Of course, I'll do what I can. If only I could remember..."

      
"I understand."
 
Dr. Wilson faced Zeke. "I'm sorry I can't go with you to the cemetery, but..."

      
"It's okay, Doc. I understand better'n most, I reckon."

      
Luke gave Sofie's hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping he could pull off this priest thing to Zeke's satisfaction. The old boy might have brought Luke and Sofie here against their will, but he was grieving and deserved whatever comfort any of them could offer.

      
Then Luke could run for his life.

      
He faced the grieving man, resigned to do whatever he could. "Let's go."

      
Without looking back at Sofie, he followed Zeke through the back door. "They took the missus over to the pastor's house for washin' and layin' out."

      
Luke's blood turned icy. "Zeke, if you have a pastor, and you aren't Catholic, then why do you want me to perform your wife's funeral?"

      
Zeke paused and shoved his hands into his pockets. Without looking at Luke, he gazed toward the mountains and said, "Pastor died last week,
Padre,
and his wife the next day."

      
What the hell kind of epidemic was this? Luke remained silent as they started walking again, angry with himself for not demanding more information before endangering Sofie and himself this way. If this was something other than smallpox, entering Redemption could prove as big a mistake as following that punk into a liquor store eleven years ago. Almost.

      
But Sofie...

      
Dammit, forget Sofie.

      
When Zeke started walking again, Luke followed in silence. This man's wife was dead, and all he wanted was a few moments of Father Salazar's time. So be it.

      
But once the funeral was over and darkness fell, all bets were off. Luke Nolan would hit the road again. Fast.