Another Dawn (21 page)

      
"Well, Miss Uppity," Dora chided, pushing her way into the kitchen on Sofie's heels, "Mother says you'll be staying at our house until you can remember who you are, so I guess I'll see your brand for myself sooner or lat–"

      
"Brand?"

      
Father Salazar's voice startled Sofie and she juggled the stack of clean linens to keep them from falling to the floor. He rushed forward and grabbed for the stack, his hand brushing against her rib cage.

      
His innocent touch sent shockwaves through her and she froze, the linens safely clutched to her chest as he stepped away. Her breath caught as she struggled against the onslaught of desire.

      
Again, she remembered the night he'd come to her room and she'd kissed him. No, she'd dreamed the kiss.
Get it straight and don't forget it
. Even though Mrs. Fleming had confirmed Father Salazar's presence that night, Sofie had to believe the kiss had been a dream.
 

      
She
had
to.

      
"Thank you," she mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze as she hurried to the basket on the table and deposited the linens. The temperature in the room had skyrocketed the moment he'd touched her, deliberately or not.

      
Not.

      
"Well, this is a great day," Father Salazar said with a sigh. "The epidemic is really over."

      
"Yes, praise the Lord," Dora murmured.

      
Miraculously, Father Salazar's arrival had stopped Dora's whining. "Yes, it's finally over," Sofie said, not voicing her concerns regarding her own future.

      
Concern was a major understatement. Now what? That summed her situation up pretty well. She still couldn't remember her last name or where she was from, and every day that passed made her realize how different she was from the other women of Redemption. Where would she go, what would she do? Surely she fit in somewhere. Belonged somewhere... Besides, she couldn't very well mooch off Mrs. Fleming forever. Gads, she and Dora would be almost sisters.
Perish the thought.

      
She should talk to Father Salazar again, and insist he tell her everything he could possibly remember about the morning of the explosion. Maybe there was a clue somewhere that would lead her back to the life she'd left behind. Home. She wanted to go home. Didn't she? Yes, of course she did.

      
But the prospect of having a private conversation with him made her face flash with heat and her hands tremble. Perspiration trickled down her neck and between her breasts. She had to do this. Her future was at stake.

      
Nervously, she rearranged the linens in the basket. Twice. Her memory of that dream kiss was so vivid. So provocative. So...stimulating.
 

      
Deep in her core, she clenched and pulsed with life. It didn't take a medical degree or a memory to diagnose what ailed her. She was horny.
Horny
? Yet another word she felt certain would shock Mrs. Fleming and Dr. Wilson. To her it seemed a little naughty–as were her thoughts–but not scandalous or shocking.

      
Unlike that shockingly disturbing dream...

      
Mrs. Fleming's words returned to torment her:
"Late last night, I saw Father Salazar running out of your room...."

      
My God, her memory of that dream was so real, and he
had
been in her room. How could she face him alone without knowing the truth? Yet, if there was any chance he might be able to tell her something to help her determine her identity, how could she not?

      
"What were you saying when I came in?" Father Salazar asked quietly. "Something about a brand?"

      
Dora snickered and Sofie looked up sharply from the basket. Her face grew even hotter and her throat was so dry she couldn't swallow the lump threatening to choke her. Dora wouldn't...

      
"Well, Father Salazar, Sofie has some kind of mark with a butterfly on her...her..."
 

      
Sofie shot Dora a scathing look, somewhat comforted by the other woman's obvious distress.
Good, I hope she gets a ferocious case of heartburn
. "It's nothing," Sofie said. "Nothing at all."

      
"A mark? A butterfly, you said?" Father Salazar removed his hat and held it in front of him. "You mean a tattoo. Oh, uh..."

      
His gray eyes suddenly widened and a blush crept upward from his open collar. The sunburn he'd had when they first came to Redemption had faded to tan, but at this moment, he was almost as red as that first day.

      
Why?

      
No one had mentioned the location of Sofie's tattoo, so why was he blushing? Surely he hadn't...seen it?

      
He couldn't have. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the dream. Even if it had actually happened–which it hadn't–all she remembered was the kiss. Nothing else.

      
Nothing except red hot, molten desire...

      
Miss Dr. Sofie What's-Her-Name has a priest fetish.

      
Flustered, she reopened her eyes and met Father Salazar's gaze again. A mischievous twinkle danced in the gray depths and one corner of his mouth curved upward, just so.

      
The man was laughing at her.

      
Not a man–a priest.

      
"Well, since Sofie won't show me her brand, I'm going to check on Jenny and see if Mr. Smith needs anything," Dora announced.

      
"Mr. Smith?" Father Salazar echoed, looking beyond Sofie at the other woman. "Not another–"

      
"No, no."
 
Dora paused and shook her head, her hand resting on the swinging door. "There's no more smallpox, Father, but we needed to call the stranger something, so Jenny named him Mr. Smith."

      
"Oh, of course."
 
He sighed again. "And Jenny will go home with you and your mother today?"

      
"Absolutely."

      
Dora's adamancy on this topic almost made up for her shortcomings, Sofie decided. Almost.

      
"If that lowdown Frank Latimer so much as shows his face, I'll use Papa's shotgun on him. Both barrels."
 
In a flourish of ruffles and skirt, Dora left the kitchen.

      
Sofie stared at the door as it swung toward them, then back and forth twice more before coming to a stop. They were alone now. Completely alone. She licked her lips and turned to look at Father Salazar again.

      
He smiled openly this time, and she became acutely aware of his transformation. The sunburn and baldness had made him seem homely and undesirable, but that hadn't stopped her from dreaming about kissing him. His priest's robe and collar should have helped prevent her dreams and shameless desires, but they hadn't done the job either.

      
And now she didn't have even that flimsy deterrent to her apparently wanton nature. He didn't resemble a priest at all now, with a pair of worn jeans and a chambray shirt. A leather belt encircled his trim waist, where he held his hat in front of him right where she should never even think about looking.

      
But she had looked, and the memory of the day he'd held her in his lap during that storm returned with a vengeance. Had his reaction to her that day been the catalyst for her dream?

      
"Sofie?" He took a step toward her and reached out to touch her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

      
She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his hands on her face in her dream. She shouldn't feel this way about a priest, but she couldn't help herself. Maybe it was because he'd saved her life.

      
She had to get a grip on this rampant libido. Ladies didn't think these things, did they? Ladies shouldn't want these things, should they? And she
was
a lady, wasn't she?

      
She opened her eyes and tried to smile. "I was just remembering the day we came here," she said–a lie of omission only.

      
"Remembering?" His voice had a brittle edge to it. "How...how much have you remembered?"

      
"About life before Redemption?" She sighed. "Nothing really."
 
How could she ask him about her dream? There had to be a way. "Father, I was wondering..."

      
He winced and dropped his hand to his side.

      
"What's wrong?" Sofie reached for his hand, immediately regretting her impulsiveness. The warm, rough feel of his hand had the same impact as gasoline on a flame. She had to regain control of herself. This was crazy. "Are you ill?"

      
"No, I just wish..."
 
He smiled and shrugged, raking his other hand over his new growth of dark brown hair.
 

      
"Wish what?" Was there a subliminal message beneath his words, or was it merely wishful thinking on her part? Gads, she was worse off than she'd realized.

      
"Nothing important."
 
He squeezed her hand, then released it, a mask falling into place over his handsome face.

      
Handsome? Yes, now that his burn had faded and his hair was growing back, Father Salazar qualified as handsome. A lean, muscular body, soft gray eyes, dark hair, tall... Definitely hunk material in her book.
 

      
Obviously. Grimacing, she wiped her sweaty palms on her apron and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

      
"That's what you were doing the first time I saw you," he said, chuckling. "Tucking that wild hair behind your ears, as if that would make a difference."
 
He reached toward her hair, then seemed to think better of it. "Forgive me."

      
Forgive you? She was the one who needed forgiveness, but she also needed information. "Father, I need to hear everything you might know about me, about the explosions, and about whatever we were doing in that cave."
 

      
"So you really haven't remembered anything else?"

      
"No, but I want to."
 
She stepped closer and gazed into his soft gray eyes. "I want to desperately," she whispered. "Please help me remember."

αβ

      
"Please help me remember..."
 
Luke winced, torn between his own needs and hers. He cared about Sofie, and he was her only link to her life. But there was no way back–not that he knew of anyway–so maybe her amnesia really was for the best.

      
She couldn't remember anyone to miss, or any burdens of guilt to fester in her gut. Luke knew all about that. Big time.

      
"I..."
 
He ached to touch her. The palm of his hand actually itched with the need to cup her soft cheek and tilt her chin upward to make her lips more accessible.

      
Her lips... His groin tightened and throbbed, and he was grateful for the hat he'd positioned to hide his blatant desire. Yes, he wanted to kiss Sofie again and again and again. More than that, he wanted to touch her. All of her.

      
Closing his eyes momentarily, he recalled their first night in Redemption, when he'd seen the tattoo on the side of her breast. He'd known then how much he wanted her, and he knew now that no other woman could satisfy his growing hunger.

      
Only Sofie.

      
It was much more than hunger that surged through him. Sofie had become an obsession, haunting every waking moment and taunting him in his dreams.

      
"Please?" she repeated, jerking him back to the present.

      
And the guilt. She was here in 1891 because of him. He was the only link to the life she'd left behind, and all she wanted was information that might lead her home.

      
All she wanted was the one thing he couldn't give her.

      
If he told her all he knew–which really wasn't much–that wouldn't really help her. He didn't know her last name or address, and he sure as hell couldn't undo their quantum leap.

      
So get over it, Nolan. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her hand again. Wouldn't Father Salazar have held her hand? Such a soft hand, warm and small...
Get a grip
.
 

      
Unfortunately, a grip was precisely what he'd like to get right now. Of her.

      
"I wish I could help you," he said, justifying the lie with the reassurance that he really couldn't help her. "The first time I saw you was the morning of the explosions."