Another Dawn by Deb Stover Page B

and been thrown back in time. Enough excitement for one day.
           The golden glow of the window next to the back door lured him, and Luke found himself peering between the ruffled lace curtains, even as he reached for the door handle.
           Sofie.
           Sleeping on her side, her dark hair made a dramatic contrast against the snowy sheet. She was so pale, nearly as white as the bedding. He'd noticed earlier how tiny she was, especially when he'd carried her through the raging storm to shelter.              
           The memory of how she'd felt in his arms then stole his breath now. He could almost feel her again, and he reached up to rub his palm against the rough door as if to remind himself he no longer held her softness in his lap.
           But his body responded as hungrily to the memory as it had to the real thing. He wanted to hold her again. Hell, he wanted to do much, much more....
           The heat of desire created a startling contrast with the brisk night air. Luke's breath came out in a white cloud as he stood there staring. And dreaming.
           He swallowed hard and pressed his fist into his palm. Eleven years in prison without a woman, and she'd been an inexperienced teenager like himself. Of course he wanted a woman. Any woman.
           No, not any woman. At least, not yet.
           As he watched her sleep, he recognized an invisible bond or force reaching out from Sofie and extending toward him. He wanted to deny it–he should deny it.
           But he couldn't.
           In that moment, Luke knew his path. Part of it anyway. He wouldn't leave town until he knew for certain Sofie was safe. Never again would he have guilt as his relentless companion. At least, he told himself that was the only reason he felt responsible for Sofie.
           She rolled onto her back and the quilt slipped from her shoulder.
           Her bare shoulder.
           His gaze drifted along the creamy curve of exposed skin to where the side of her breast rose. Tempting. The sheet draped over her nipple, catching and shielding that part of her from his hungry, all-consuming gaze.
           Get a grip, man . He closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself of his temporary role here in Redemption. Voyeur didn't fit his job description.
           When he reopened his eyes, he frowned, noticing her bruised temple and the jagged gash that had bled so copiously this morning. She'd almost died.
           He'd almost died.
           Yet here they both were, alive and in another century. Together. Why?
           Go with God, my son.
           "Damn."
     
     
     
     

 
    Chapter 5
     

     
           Sofie didn't care what kind of clothes Mrs. Fleming brought her to wear this morning. All she wanted was to remain submerged in the tub of warm water in the small room where she'd spent the night.
           Hiding from the big bad world.
           "Hiding is not allowed, Dr. Sofie."   She wrinkled her nose at the sound of her title and sighed, splashing warm water over her bare breasts and abdomen.  
           Despite the tiny metal tub, the warm water felt luxurious, even if filling it had been a real pain. Carrying hot water to the tub had seemed foreign to her. European maybe. Was it? Or was her loss of memory the only reason the chore seemed odd?  
           No, she remembered bathing, and showers, too. This was weird. She closed her eyes and pictured a large white tub, with shiny knobs that controlled the flow of water. In fact, as the water cooled, she had the urge to reach up and turn on the hot water with her toes, but there was nothing to turn.
           Something she'd done many times in her life. Hadn't she?
           Using an outhouse was the worst, though. She frowned, remembering the small building behind the schoolhouse, which Dora had pointed to when Sofie asked about the bathroom. A