Another Dawn by Deb Stover

Shaking her head, she went to the mirror to stare at herself. Maybe she couldn't remember what kind of panties were in her dresser drawer at home–wherever home was–but she knew they wouldn't even begin to resemble these.
           Resigned, she returned for the slip and stepped into it, tying yet another drawstring at her waist. Glancing down, she found what she'd been dreading.
           Rows of ruffles and flounces edged the cotton slip. A petticoat? Yes, that was the word.
           "No way."   She picked up the gray dress and held it up to the morning light spilling through the lace curtains. If she couldn't see through the dress, she didn't need a slip, let alone a petticoat.
           Satisfied no one would be able to see through her dress–and even if they did, all they'd find would be her baggy bloomers–Sofie finished dressing. However, she was relieved to discover Mrs. Fleming had failed to bring shoes along with the black wool stockings. At least Sofie knew her hiking boots would fit, and they were comfortable, even if they probably weren't intended to be worn with a dress.
           And no ruffles.

           Luke watched Dora move around the kitchen preparing breakfast, her generous backside bumping into everything in her path of destruction. She placed thick slabs of bacon in an iron skillet, and the savory aroma soon filled the room.
           He closed his eyes as a pang of remembrance stabbed through him. His grandmother had prepared bacon almost every morning, until Grandpa's doctor had put them on low fat diets. Luke's childhood memories were filled with the scents and sounds of his grandparents' old house near Capital Hill, and the shoe repair shop his grandfather had owned in an historic part of downtown Denver.
           Blinking several times, he cleared his throat and rose from his seat at the round table near the back door. The few hours he'd slept had been fraught with nightmares of running for his life until he couldn't take another step. And the ending was always the same.
           The electric chair.
           After thrashing around until he'd awakened drenched with perspiration, he abandoned all hope of real rest. Besides, since he'd been trying to sleep in the front room with the patients, he'd heard Dr. Wilson informing more than one family that their loved ones had died during the night. That dedicated man never seemed to sleep.
           Father Salazar had done his duty, performing last rites for one young man, while praying over half a dozen who were beyond that. Luke was repaying the dead priest's kindness to him with interest.
           No, not really. Father Salazar had believed in Luke's innocence, and nothing could repay that.
           "Careful you don't break the yolks this time, Dora," Mrs. Fleming said as she came back through the kitchen door.
           She paused and shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Oh, Father, I just can't believe we lost so many more patients in one night."
           "Yeah, I know."   Luke reached up to rake his fingers through his non-existent hair, grimacing from the pain of his fried scalp instead. What the hell was he doing here?
           Then the door opened to the room off the kitchen and Sofie paused in the doorway, staring at him. She looked beautiful. Luke's breath froze as his gaze drifted down the length of her and back again. Shiny black hair curled in spirals around her small face, and her eyes seemed even larger and bluer than–
           The bruise on her temple had spread, and now included half her face, including one eye. Regret slashed through him, as he remembered those blue eyes looking up at him yesterday, begging for help.  
           He'd almost left her to die.
           Swallowing the lump in his throat, he remembered that he was free, that they were stranded together in another century, and that she had no memory of the past. She was