Another Dawn (29 page)

      
The jail was just ahead. He had to decide now. Would he listen to the voice of reason and run...or would he remain in this new prison he'd created for himself?

      
A horse galloped toward him full-out, and he saw the flash of a gun before he heard it explode into the night. Rolling toward the nearest tree, Luke took cover and watched the rider roar past, still shooting into the night sky.

      
Roman. Shane.

      
He couldn't leave them like this, and–
dammit
–he couldn't leave Jenny and Sofie. His decision made, he bolted for the jail. Marshal Weathers stood on the porch, his still-smoking pistol clutched in his fist. Light from inside the jail flooded out around him, bathing his face in shadow.

      
"Where's Dr. Wilson?" Luke asked, gasping for air. "Where–"

      
"I'm right here."
 
The doctor emerged from beside the building.

      
Marshal Weathers was still staring in the direction the rider had taken. "That fella ain't comin' back tonight."

      
"How can you be so sure?" Roman asked, following the lawman into the lighted jail.

      
"My gut."
 
Sam Weathers put the paper down on the small, battered desk in the corner, and read,
"Get on with the hangin'."

      
"Short and sweet."
 
Dr. Wilson's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm glad he doesn't know where Jenny is."

      
"Yeah."
 
Luke mopped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. Despite the frosty night air, he felt as if he'd gone one-on-one against Michael Jordan.

      
 
"I don't know what I thought to accomplish, running down here without a gun."
 
Roman shook his head. "Is Shane all right?"

      
Weathers quirked an eyebrow. "See for yourself."

      
Roman went through the unlocked door into an area beyond the bars. "Shane," he called. "Father, bring the lamp in here."

      
Luke couldn't move. The sight of those bars made him shudder. There was no way he was going into that cell. He'd rather die than set foot behind bars again.

      
"You look like you seen a ghost," Marshal Weathers said, taking the lamp to the doctor. "Look all you want, Doc, but he ain't there."

      
"Wha..."

      
Luke stepped closer, watching as the marshal unlocked the cell and admitted the other man. Roman rushed to the bunk and threw back the blanket.
 

      
Nothing but straw bunched into a mound occupied the bunk.

      
"What–where?" Roman picked up the blanket with both hands and held it up to the light. "My God."

      
The tattered wool blanket was full of holes. Bullet holes. "How...how did you know?" Luke whispered, more in awe of the lawman than before.

      
"My gut again."
 
Sam Weathers merely shrugged. "Pesky thing, but I reckon it's come in handy a time or two."

      
"Where's Shane?" Roman dropped the blanket and approached Marshal Weathers.
 

      
"I ain't sayin'."
 

      
Luke moved closer to the bars, feeling their coldness even from a distance of several feet. "You trusted us with Jenny," he said. "Why not Shane?"

      
"It ain't a matter of trust."
 
The lawman moved back into the main room, taking the lamp with him.

      
"We have a right to know where you've hidden–"

      
"Nope."

      
"But–"

      
"Look, you can see here I was right about hidin' the boy," the marshal said. "You just gotta trust me and stop askin' so durn many questions."

      
Roman looked at Luke, his eyes filled with questions. "I guess we don't have any other choice."

      
"That's the way I see it."
 
The lawman turned his gaze on Luke. "Father?"

      
Luke sighed and shook his head. "Like the doctor said, we have no choice."
 
When was the last time Luke had a choice about anything? He should've kept running.
Yeah, right
. Running would only add more guilt to his already overcrowded portfolio.

      
"I trust y'all to keep Miss Jenny safe, and I'll keep her brother safe. Deal?"

      
Roman extended his hand to the marshal and they shook on it. "Deal."
 
The doctor looked toward Luke. "That reminds me, Marshal," he said, smiling. "How do you feel about weddings?"

      
"As long as there ain't no shotgun involved, I'm in favor of 'em."
 
The marshal chuckled. "Why you askin'?"

      
"I'd like to invite you to one. Mine."
 

      
"Well, I'll be."
 
Marshal Weathers pumped Roman's hand again. "I reckon Mrs. Fleming's the bride."

      
"Well, yes, how did you know?"

      
"I'd have to be blind not to know that."
 
Marshal Weathers chuckled.

      
"Consider yourself invited, Marshal."

      
"Call me Sam and I'll be there."

      
"Fine, Sam it is, but only if you call me Roman."

      
"When and where's the weddin'?"

      
Roman looked at Luke with a baffled expression. "Tomorrow night after the town meeting?"

      
"Town meeting?" Sam scratched his whiskery chin. "Reckon I'd best get me a bath and shave before then, even if it ain't Saturday."

      
"Well, we'd better tell the bride, eh, Father?" Roman chuckled and slapped Luke on the back.

      
God, why didn't I keep running
?
 

      
Sofie owed Dr. Wilson more than he would ever realize. His timely proposal had distracted Mrs. Fleming enough that she seemed to have forgotten all about Sofie and Father Salazar.

      
Sofie and Luke...

      
After tucking Jenny in bed upstairs, Sofie sat in the rocker vacated earlier by Luke, but she kept jumping up and pacing the room. Several times, she went to the door, itching to go find out what was happening. If only she could look out the window....

      
"Sit down, Sofie," Mrs. Fleming urged. "They're fine."

      
"How do you know?" Sofie raked her fingers through her hair, which had crawled free of the bun Mrs. Fleming had insisted she wear. "Aren't you worried?"

      
"Of course, but I know in my heart that God will protect them."
 
Mrs. Fleming's smile was downright sublime. "Sit."

      
Dora flashed Sofie a grin and rolled her eyes. "Trust me, Sofie, Mother has a gift for knowing when to worry," she patted her mother's hand, "and when not to."

      
"Thank you, dear."
 
Mrs. Fleming gave her daughter's hand a squeeze, then pointed to the rocker. "This is not a time to worry, so sit. Trust me, there will be plenty of times in your life for real worry. It's woman's lot, you know."

      
Sofie wanted to shout that everybody in Redemption was nuts, that the only way to make sure Luke and Dr. Wilson were all right was to go see for themselves, but she didn't. Instead, she returned to the rocking chair, surprised by the exhaustion that pressed down on her.
 

      
Mrs. Fleming was a wise woman, and if she didn't see a need to worry, then Sofie wouldn't. Well, at least she'd try not to. Resigned, she pushed her feet against the floor, sending the old rocker into slow, silent motion. Mrs. Fleming and Dora sat a few feet away on something they called a settee, and Sofie wanted to call a loveseat. They were making plans to send out wedding announcements, and discussing how all their relatives would react to the news.

      
Despite Mrs. Fleming's assurances, every few minutes, the older woman's gaze darted to the door, worry etched across her soft features. Then she would sigh and smile, and that infuriatingly serene expression would return.
 

      
The woman obviously had a hotline straight to the Big Guy.

      
All right, so Sofie would let Mrs. Fleming and God worry. Besides, she was so tired. So very, very tired...

      
She closed her eyes and leaned into the afghan draped across the chair. The fire crackled nearby, and there hadn't been any additional gunshots since she'd heard a horse gallop through town almost an hour ago.
 

      
Fatigue and the warmth of the fire made her drowsy. Though she tried to stay awake, the chair was too comfortable and the silence too seductive. Soon, she no longer heard the women's voices. All she heard was the rhythm of her breathing and the steady thud of her heart as sleep overtook her.

      
Images filled her mind as her dream world beckoned and she fell willingly into a deeper slumber....

      
The man stared at Sofie with an intensity that stole her breath. She was chest-deep in water–a pond?–looking up at the tall figure standing on the bank. Sunlight filtered through the trees, playing games of light and shadow across his familiar features.

      
"You're beautiful," Luke whispered, his voice flowing over her like warm honey.

      
Hesitantly, she slid her hand down the curve of her hip, confirming her suspicion–skinny-dipping. Her gaze followed her hands downward, where her bare breasts seemed to float on the water's sparkling surface; her rigid nipples playing peek-a-boo as the ripples caressed her naked skin.

      
He stepped closer, his gray eyes glittering in the dappled sunlight. Warmth swelled within Sofie, filling her with the heat of desire, contrasting brilliantly with the cool water. Deep inside, she throbbed and ached, barren and sobbing for... something.

      
For him.

      
God help her, but she wanted this man with a fierceness she couldn't deny. She was weak and her need powerful.

      
"I want you," he said, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

      
Those three simple words said it all. Sofie held her breath as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid it from his broad shoulders. He held her prisoner with his gaze, never releasing her for even a moment.

      
Hungrily, her gaze drifted over his newly exposed skin. Well-defined muscles played across his chest and arms, and his abdomen was taut. Her hands tingled with the need to touch him as she looked lower, following his long, sensuous fingers to the fly of his jeans. She heard the snap's pop in the awesome silence, and she held her breath. Then he grasped the zipper with his thumb and forefinger.

      
Liquid fire shot through her and she pulsed with life and longing. Every muscle in her contracted as she grew increasingly aware of her need. This man could fill the emptiness in her heart and soul, and only he could assuage her feminine longing.

      
Never breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs inside his waistband and lowered his jeans. Inch by devastating inch, more bare flesh appeared, making her breathing quicken and her body tremble.

      
She wanted him. Needed him. Loved him.

      
Within moments, he stood before her naked, his magnificent form exposed to her greedy gaze. As he walked into the water, she took a wary step backward. Then another. His progress was slow, determined–her retreat feeble, halfhearted.