Another Dawn (26 page)

      
"Draw the killer out."
 
Marshal Weathers set down his cup and leaned back in his chair. "If he knows somebody saw him, then he'll panic. Panickin' makes a man careless."
 
He looked around the table, his expression ominous. "And I'll be waitin'."

      
A shudder rippled through Sofie. She knew one thing for certain. She'd hate to be on the other side of the law from Marshal Sam Weathers.

      
Time to change the subject. "Now that the epidemic is over,
 
this building will become a school again soon," she said.
 

      
"Yes, thank God."
 
Dr. Wilson raked his fingers through his thick, white hair.

      
"I was in a quarantine once, but it was for measles."
 
The marshal shook his head slowly. "Indian Territory, up near the Kansas border. Sorry business."

      
No one spoke for several minutes, then Sofie remembered the one remaining patient. "Did I hear Dora say you're taking Mr. Smith to your house, Dr. Wilson?"

      
"Yes, it's a miracle he's alive."
 
Dr. Wilson raised his coffee cup. "Here's to miracles."

      
"I'll drink to that."
 
Marshal Weathers raised his cup, too.

      
"Do you think he'll ever be able to talk?" Sofie asked. "Or maybe he'll be able to write."

      
Dr. Wilson drew a deep breath and said, "I don't think he'll ever regain full use of his right arm, but the left is in pretty good shape. Talking remains to be seen."

      
"Is this the fella you mentioned earlier?" Marshal Weathers asked. "With the burns?"

      
Nodding, Dr. Wilson set his cup aside. "He wandered into town during the epidemic. Miracle he didn't contract smallpox, too."

      
Sofie shuddered. The thought of anyone suffering smallpox in addition to such serious burns made her stomach lurch. "Maybe someone will come looking for him."

      
"Could even be wanted."
 
Marshal Weathers rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger, his whiskers making a rasping sound in the quiet room. "Just wandered in here from nowhere and all, eh?"

      
Dr. Wilson drummed his fingers on the table. "I suppose anything is possible, Marshal, but he's suffered enough for any crime he might have committed."

      
"Like they say, the Lord works in mysterious ways."

      
"Jenny seems to calm him," Sofie said. "For some reason, though, he doesn't like me."

      
"Well, I wouldn't say that," Dr. Wilson said, "but he does seem to get agitated whenever you're around."

      
"Probably 'cuz you're such a pretty gal," the Marshal said, grinning.

      
Sofie blushed, actually blushed. "Thank you, Marshal, but I hardly think Mr. Smith is in any shape to...to..."
 
Her cheeks blazed with fire and she averted her gaze.
This is ridiculous.

      
When she looked up, Father Salazar was standing in the doorway, twilight filling the sky at his back. Her gaze was drawn to his as if by homing device.

      
Even beside an impressive side of beef like Sam Weathers, she was drawn to Father Salazar. As the weeks went by, she'd realized more and more that her attraction was based on much more than merely the fact that he'd saved her life.

      
The memory of his lips on hers–dream lips, that is–confirmed her greatest fear.

      
Dr. Sofie was in love with a priest.

Chapter 10

      
A pretty gal
? What an incredible understatement.

      
Luke stood in the doorway without saying a word, just staring at Sofie. She was gorgeous. Only a pale scar remained as evidence of her injuries, and all the bruising had faded long ago.

      
Now in the soft glow of lamplight, her skin appeared flawless. Luminous.
I'm turning into a frigging poet
.
 

      
Still, it was true. Ebony curls framed her small face, contrasting dramatically against her fair skin. Her blue eyes were probably too large for the rest of her face, but to Luke they were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

      
Don't do this
. Why did he continue to torture himself this way? He wanted her, but he'd learned at an early age he couldn't have everything he wanted.
Get over it.

      
But he didn't want to get over it. He wanted to savor every glance, every accidental touch, and each and every one of his erotic fantasies.

      
About Sofie.

      
His gut clenched and his groin tightened, aching and demanding attention. If only it was just about sex. Only a fool could continue to ignore the other stuff–the ache in his heart and his very soul.

      
He couldn't admit it even to himself, because his feelings for Sofie were futile. Wasted energy. A dead-end, just like his appeal. His physical desire for her was much easier to consider, though also a waste of time.

      
The expression in her eyes didn't help matters. She looked at him the way he'd looked at age eight, staring through the toy store window at a train set. God, did that mean she wanted him that much?

      
Then he remembered that kiss. Of course, she did. At least sub-consciously.
 

      
And she was moving in with him. Tonight.

      
He was in deep shit. Really deep shit.

      
Yes, she wanted him as much as he'd wanted that toy train. He'd been afraid to ask Santa for that train set, believing he didn't deserve anything nearly that cool. Only the very rich and the very good received toys as awesome as that train.

      
But on Christmas morning... Luke's eyes burned as he remembered the thrill of finding that very same train circling their Christmas tree, his grandparents looking on, their faces glowing with pride.

      
Pride, dammit. For him.

      
No, not now, Nolan
. Not yet.

      
Drawing a deep breath, he cleared his throat to alert the others of his presence, before he made love to Sofie with his eyes. Right here. Right now. She must've sensed his thoughts, because her cheeks reddened and she looked quickly away, down at her small hands clasped on the table before her.
 

      
"Evenin', Father."
 
Sam Weathers stood and indicated a chair at the table. "Soon as it gets a bit darker, we'll mosey over to the parsonage. I gotta relieve Ab at the jail soon, too."

      
Mosey
? Luke suppressed a smile and took a seat at the table. "Where's Jenny?"

      
"With Mr. Smith." Dr. Wilson rose and pushed in his chair. "Which is where I should be. It's time to change his dressings."

      
"How's he doing?" Luke hadn't seen the burned stranger for over a week.
 

      
"It's a miracle he's alive at all. In fact, he's doing so well, I've eliminated some of his bandages," Dr. Wilson said. "Though I doubt even his own mother would recognize him now."

      
"Sad."
 
Luke raked his fingers across his new growth of hair.

 
      
"Would you mind trying to talk to him, Father?" Dr. Wilson asked, pausing near the kitchen door. "It might help. I'm hoping he'll find a way to communicate, to tell us who he is, so we can contact his next of kin."

      
Luke shrugged. "I'm willing to try."
 
He didn't feel like playing priest tonight, but maybe that would take his mind off toy trains and Sofie. And sex.

      
Keeping his gaze away from her, Luke followed Dr. Wilson through the kitchen door. Sam Weathers followed them, making Luke more than a little uncomfortable. After eleven years in prison, it was hard to feel comfortable with a lawman. Any lawman.

      
Jenny looked up from the book in her lap as they approached. "Are you going to change his bandages again?" she asked, looking at Dr. Wilson.

      
"Yes, it's time."
 
Dr. Wilson sat on the stool near the man's cot, beside a basket of clean bandages. "How are you feeling this evening, Mr. Smith?"

      
The man's eyes seemed more alert now than when Luke had last seen him. He looked at Dr. Wilson and Jenny, then his gaze came to rest on Luke.

      
Mr. Smith's expression shifted during one blink to the next, from placid acceptance to some kind of mania. He came off the bed like a man who'd suffered no injury, like a mummy from a low grade horror flick. He lunged toward his intended victim–in this case, Luke. Lurching and staggering, Mr. Smith charged, his outstretched hands falling short of their target.
 

      
Luke's blood turned to ice water.

      
"My
God."
 
Dr. Wilson and Marshal Weathers both grabbed the man before he fell and subdued him.
 

      
A roar erupted from the stranger's throat as they eased him back onto the bed, his lips unmoving. The hatred in his eyes and the rage in his voice made Luke cringe. He put a protective arm around Jenny's shoulders and the child buried her face against his side.

      
"What's all this about?" the marshal asked after they had the man quieted.

      
"I have no idea."
 
Dr. Wilson gave his patient a dose of laudanum. He examined the man's eyes and listened carefully to his chest, then shook his head. "Everything seems all right, though."

      
Marshal Weathers straightened and faced Luke. "You know him?"

      
"No, I don't know anyone from around here."
 
That was the truth.

      
"Mighty peculiar."

      
Dr. Wilson shook his head and rose. "He's dozing off now. His behavior could be from all the medication, though I've been reducing it little by little."

      
Luke nodded, though he couldn't shake the image of the stranger's eyes when he'd locked gazes with him. Disturbing? Yes, but much more than that. Almost fanatical.

      
Anytime his grandma had been frightened, she'd claimed someone had walked over her grave. That was precisely how Luke felt right now. Despite the warmth radiating from the potbellied stove in the center of the room, a chill raced through him.

      
"I think you'd all better leave while I change his dressings."