The Heart of a Stranger

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Fine. Then tell me the things you’ve been sensing about yourself. Tell me what kind of man you are.”

  Juan met her gaze, not knowing what to say. How could he tell her what was in his heart? The turmoil he faced? He knew he wasn’t happy in his life, and staying with Lourdes and her family made him feel as if he had a chance to start over.

  For a little while anyway. Until his memories came flooding back and he returned to the identity he’d lost.

  “Juan,” she pressed.

  “There was no contentment in my life,” he said, realizing he owed her an honest answer. “So I guess I’m hoping to find that here, at least for a short time. I know I have to go back eventually, to resume my old identity. I’m not hiding, Lourdes. I’m just taking a break.”

  She toyed with the belt on her robe. She looked soft and pretty. He could see the top of her nightgown, the pink ribbon woven through the neckline.

  She wasn’t a classic beauty. Her features struck him as unusual. Exotic, he decided. Almond-shaped eyes; full, lust-inspiring lips; long, straight hair that took its color from the sun.

  He liked the shape of her body, too. The way her waist indented, her hips flared. Women should have rounded hips, sexy curves for a man to hold on to when they made love.

  Strange, but he couldn’t remember making love. Couldn’t recall doing it with anyone. Yet he knew how incredible the final release was, the climax that kept couples literally coming back for more.

  He supposed that wasn’t something a guy could forget.

  And to prove his point, his body reacted.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Juan gave her a blank stare. His brain was still sending signals to his groin, reminding him that he was a hot-blooded American male obsessed with orgasms.

  “For what?” he managed to ask.

  “For talking about yourself. For letting me know how you feel.”

  Guilty, he shrugged off her praise. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Not now.

  “Do you have any experience, Juan?”

  He fought another blank stare. “Experience?”

  “Do you think you’ve ever worked on a ranch before?”

  “I’m pretty sure I spent some time on a breeding facility, but I don’t think I worked there.” He didn’t sense that his former job was ranch related. “Maybe a friend owned the place, and I just hung around.”

  He paused and tried to picture himself in his old life. But when a knot of turmoil crept in, he cleared his mind, pushing away the tension-laced vibes. “I have respect and affection for horses, and I ride. I know enough to help out in the barn.” Of that much he was certain. “I’ll work hard, Lourdes. I won’t be a burden to you.”

  “I do need a ranch hand.”

  “Then give me a chance to prove myself.”

  “I can’t let you work for free.”

  “So offer me a job. If you think I suck, you can always fire me.”

  She laughed. “Why not? You are accessible. Willing and eager.” Her robe slipped open a little, revealing another row of pink ribbon. “The position comes with a small salary, accommodations in the bunkhouse and meals with my family,” she added as an afterthought. “Since Cáco will insist on feeding you anyway.”

  It sounded perfect to him. Cozy. Homey. An emotional invitation he desperately needed.

  “Speaking of meals.” She sniffed the air. “I’ll bet our breakfast is almost ready.”

  “Yeah.” The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the room, and he pictured something sweet and doughy in the oven. “When can I start my new job?”

  Lourdes righted her robe. “When Cáco agrees to let you out of her sight.”

  “So we’re back to that.”

  “Yes, we are.” She rose, and the light from the window illuminated her in a soft glow. “I better get dressed before Cáco calls us to the table.”

  He watched her leave, thinking how pretty she was. A moment later, he followed his nose to the kitchen, anxious to taste something sweet and sugary, to allow the cinnamon treats to melt in his mouth.

  The following evening, Lourdes knocked on Juan’s bedroom door.

  “Come in,” he called out.

  She entered the room. He was relaxing on the bed with his back braced against the headboard and his knees drawn up. His chest was bare and broad, the lingering bruises on his stomach exposed.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said, noticing the magazine on his lap.

  “Are you kidding? I’m doing whatever I can to keep myself entertained.” He lifted the magazine to show her the cover.

  He read one of her subscriptions, a publication geared for women. She stifled a giggle. “Learn anything?”

  “Oh, sure. The hottest hairstyles. How to find Mr. Right. Fall makeup, the best and worst new colors.”

  “Is that all we had around here for you to read?”

  “No. Amy offered me a book about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

  Lourdes enjoyed the humor in his voice, the boyish smile tilting his lips. She sat on the edge of his bed and placed her shopping bags on the nightstand. “What an education you’re getting.”

  “Yeah. The twins took pity on me and handed over their Dr. Seuss collection. And now I’m dying for a plate of green eggs and ham.”

  “This is torture for you, isn’t it? Being under Cáco’s lock and key?”

  Juan tossed the magazine onto the bed. “She means well.” He motioned to the nightstand. “Looks like you went shopping.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any reading material in those packages? The latest issue of Sports Illustrated? Or maybe a nice, fresh copy of Playboy? Something a guy can sink his teeth into.”

  “Very funny. And Playboy isn’t reading material.”

  “It is, too.”

  “It is not.” She assessed his flirtatious smile, his waggling eyebrows. He looked downright dastardly, with his dark hair and dark bruises.

  Lourdes reached for the bags. “I bought you some clothes. Just a few things.”

  “Clothes?” He stared at her. “Why?”

  Good grief. “Because man does not live by muscles alone.” She grabbed the hem of his pants. “You only have one pair of jeans and a mended shirt. I think that warrants some new clothes.”

  “But you spent money on me. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “So we’ll pretend it’s your birthday.” She handed him the bags. “Just accept my gifts and say thanks.”

  “I’m paying you back.” He opened the packages and removed the blue jeans, shirts and socks she’d purchased. He studied the work boots with an appreciative eye, but the boxers had him grinning.

  That she hadn’t expected.

  And now she felt a little shy, a bit strange sitting across from him as he examined the underwear she’d chosen.

  “They have little swirls on them.”

  “That’s a paisley print.”

  “Is that a fancy name for little swirls?”

  Oh, never mind, she thought. “If you don’t like them, I’ll take them back.”

  “I like them. I was just kidding around.” His expression turned serious. “Thank you, Lourdes.”

  “You’re welcome.” Now she hated to point out that there was a purchase he’d missed.

  Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. Maybe—

  Too late. He discovered the item on his own.

  “You got me cologne, too?”

  It was her favorite male scent, a woodsy blend of smoke and spice. She thought it suited his dark, dangerous pheromones. “Yes, and I don’t expect you to pay me back. Not for the clothes and especially not for the cologne.”

  Juan didn’t know what to say. This felt personal, intimate, loverish. He’d made a joke about the boxers, but he couldn’t find it within himself to tease her about the cologne.

  Should he open the bottle? Take a whiff?

  He wondered what had inspired her to buy him a designer fragrance.

 
He knew she lived on a tight budget. Cáco had told him that the ranch was laden with debt.

  “Thanks,” he managed to say. “This is nice. All of it. Everything. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” She folded her hands on her lap, and their conversation slipped into an awkward lull.

  Now what?

  Diverting his gaze, he glanced at the pile of garments she’d given him, and for a second he wondered how she knew his size. Then he figured she must have noticed the labels on his old clothes when she’d peeled them off his body.

  Had he actually snapped at her yesterday about that? What kind of man in his right mind would give a woman hell about undressing him?

  He looked up and caught her watching him.

  Today she wore her hair in a single braid down her back, leaving the angles of her face unframed.

  Those stunning cheekbones, deep-set eyes, tempting mouth. Ah yes, that full—

  “I can give you a tour of the ranch tomorrow. As long as Cáco doesn’t complain about you leaving the house.”

  “I’d love to see the ranch. I’m not going to get dizzy just walking around. I’m perfectly fine. Right as rain.” Grateful she’d redirected his thoughts, he rose to put away his new wardrobe.

  She inclined her head. “I keep wondering about you.”

  He slipped a dark blue shirt over a hanger and waited for her to continue, hoping she wasn’t going to bring up his reluctance to go to the police again. He’d assumed that door was closed.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how you ended up in my barn. Why would you have gotten robbed out here? What were you doing? Simply walking down an isolated country road? That makes no sense.”

  “I know.” He’d thought about this, too.

  “They must have stolen your car.”

  “So it seems.” They’d probably beaten the crap out of him, then conked him on the head and dumped him somewhere near Lourdes’s ranch, leaving him for dead.

  In a way, he was dead. At least for now. He’d taken on a new name, leaving his other lonely self behind.

  The crooks had done him a favor.

  A temporary favor.

  A knot of guilt plagued him. What if they did the same thing to someone else? Contacting the police might prevent another assault in the area.

  God help him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t step forward and relinquish the identity Lourdes had given him. He liked being Juan.

  “I’ll remember everything soon enough.” And when he did, the shelter he’d found with Lourdes and her family would end.

  He hung up the last of his clothes and turned to face her. She gave him a soft, reassuring smile.

  Suddenly he missed her already.

  Juan rode beside Lourdes in her truck. In the distance he saw a vast horizon, flat and dotted with foliage.

  South Texas? Was this his home? Was he from this area? Or had he been passing through when he’d gotten robbed?

  Lourdes parked near the main barn, and his focus changed. They stepped out of the vehicle, and he drew in the sights and scents of the early September day.

  The afternoon proved hot, and the air smelled of hay and horses. Paddocks provided a communal yard for mares and foals to roam. Most took refuge in the shade, but one cute little youngster played with a horse-ball, nudging it with his nose. When the day cooled off, he suspected they’d all be romping about.

  The barn was a big, solid building battling the ravages of time. But nonetheless, the layout of the ranch impressed him.

  “My grandfather built this place,” Lourdes said. “He came to America from Ecuador to attend a university, then met my grandmother and decided to stay and make Texas his home.”

  “I didn’t know you had Ecuadorian roots.” There were a lot of things he didn’t know about her. But he was eager to learn, to absorb anything she was willing to share.

  “That’s where the name Quinterez comes from.”

  “That’s your maiden name?” Juan thought it had belonged to her husband. The guy who’d died before she could divorce him.

  “Cáco didn’t tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t. She doesn’t tell me everything.”

  “She mentioned my financial troubles, didn’t she?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but not to any degree.” And he still intended to pay Lourdes back for the things she’d purchased for him, to insist she dock the expense from his wages.

  He assumed she would pay him in cash, an under-the-table deal. She couldn’t very well include him on her payroll. Juan Guapo didn’t have a social security number or a green card. He didn’t exist on paper.

  But that didn’t make him any less real. The heart beating in his chest gave him life.

  “I inherited the ranch from my grandfather,” Lourdes went on to say. “It was already in trouble then. But before mi abuelo died, I promised him I’d save what he’d worked so hard to build. I’d make this place a successful farm again.”

  “It’s a nice facility.”

  “Yes, it is. But things are run down, and the maintenance is overwhelming.”

  “So you’re lacking the capital to keep the ranch on its feet?”

  “Exactly.” She turned to watch the youngster with the ball. “Our stallions have always produced spectacular offspring. I’m extremely proud of my horses, and they receive the praise they deserve. But no matter how many yearlings I sell or how many breeding fees I acquire, it’s never enough. There’s always another unpaid bill around the corner. Another debt.”

  “I’m sorry, Lourdes,” was all he could think to say. He could see that this farm was her heart, her soul, the core her family history.

  If she lost it, she would lose a piece of herself.

  She sighed. “I do most of the work myself. I train the foals and yearlings, tend to the mares, balance the books, keep the supplies stocked and help the ranch hand with repairs when he gets behind on his chores. But there are still other professionals involved, independent contractors I pay every month. A studman, a farrier, a vet.”

  “You’re spreading yourself too thin, Lourdes.”

  “It’s my farm.”

  Maybe so. But he intended to work 24/7 if necessary to help her carry the load.

  She shifted to look at him. “Do you want to see where you’ll be living?”

  “Sure.”

  She took him to the bunkhouse, a triplex-style building with separate apartments.

  He studied the outside of the rustic dwelling. “Looks like you’ve got some extra accommodations.”

  She searched her pocket for her keys. “I used to have more barn help. Not that it matters now. The living quarters are getting rundown, too. I’ve got plumbing problems in the first two apartments.” She led him to the third. “I’ve done my best to keep this one up. It should suit your needs.”

  He agreed. The place was small but clean, with homespun furnishings that included a sofa bed and some attractively battered antiques. The tiny kitchen offered a modern stove and a full-size refrigerator. An oak table sat beside a paned window. He liked the Texas memorabilia on the walls, and the faded Indian blanket draped over a chair gave him a cozy feeling.

  “Hector isn’t staying here,” she said. “He lives at a neighboring farm.”

  “Hector? Is he the ranch hand who’s helping you out?”

  “Yes. I’ll introduce you as soon as we head over to the barn. He’ll be training you. Getting you acquainted with the routine.”

  “I wish I could start today.” He was eager to make himself useful, to help her with every chore he could.

  “Cáco hasn’t given you a clean bill of health yet. But she will.”

  “Yeah. She’s starting to bend.”

  When they both fell silent, Lourdes turned to look out the window. Juan took the opportunity to study her profile. French and Ecuadorian, he thought. No wonder her features were so exotic.

  Juan hooked his thumbs in his pockets. He wore the new jeans Lourdes had purchased for him. He hadn�
��t opened the cologne yet. He still wasn’t sure why she’d opted to buy him a designer fragrance. A guy mending fences and shoveling manure didn’t need to wear cologne to work.

  “Do you wear perfume?” he asked suddenly.

  She gave him a surprised look. He supposed his question had seemed out of the blue.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Every day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even when you work?”

  She nodded, and he moved closer. Lifting her wrist, he pressed it to his nose. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “I wear it here.” She touched the side of her neck.

  Without thinking, he leaned in and lowered his head. Her fragrance was soft and subtle, sweet and feminine.

  Like flowers and a hint of spun sugar.

  Hunger hit his stomach. An arousal tightened his groin.

  He lifted his head. Their faces were only inches apart. Close enough to kiss.

  Juan didn’t do it. He didn’t press his mouth to hers. He stepped back, cleared his throat. “You smell pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  She fidgeted with her collar, and he realized she fussed with her clothes whenever she got nervous.

  He imagined toying with her blouse, tracing the delicate stitches, loosening a button.

  “Why did you buy me cologne, Lourdes?”

  She lifted her shoulders in an evasive shrug, and he frowned.

  “I’m going to smell like dirt and sweat and manure most of the time. I don’t think an expensive cologne is going to help.”

  “I don’t expect you to wear it to work.”

  “I still don’t understand why you bought it.” To him, the fancy European fragrance didn’t seem like a necessity, and he knew Lourdes couldn’t afford to be frivolous.

  She glanced away. “It was an impulse. And it’s my favorite men’s cologne. I think it’s—”

  “What?” he prodded.

  “Sexy.”

  Another jolt rocked his groin. But Lourdes wasn’t looking at him. She still avoided his gaze.

  He shouldn’t have asked her to explain. He should have just worn the damned cologne and kept his mouth shut.

  Time stretched between them, dragging seconds to minutes.

  “We better go,” she finally said. “Finish the tour.”