The Heart of a Stranger Page 3

  Will you kiss me?

  Your lip is split.

  “Cáco is helping me raise my daughters,” she said, filling the awkward silence.

  “You have children?”

  “Yes. Twins. They’re four. Very smart and very pretty.”

  “You’re pretty,” he told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about a girl from France before.”

  “I’m not from France,” she reminded him again, flattered that he thought she was pretty and uncomfortable that he still considered her a dream.

  It seemed romantic somehow. Like a transposed fairy tale, where the princess awakens the handsome stranger with a warm, sensual kiss.

  “Why am I so confused?” He pushed the oatmeal away. “I don’t like being bumble-brained.”

  “Cáco says it will pass. It’s part of the concussion. Your head injury,” she clarified.

  He went after the peaches again, ignoring the oatmeal he’d discarded. He ate carefully, inserting the spoon in the side of his mouth that wasn’t swollen. “Your name is Lourdes, and you’re not from France.”

  “That’s right. What’s your name?” she asked, wondering why she hadn’t inquired before now.

  He gave her a panicked stare.

  Dear God, she thought. Dear, sweet God. He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He dropped his spoon, and it bounced against the tray, making a metallic hum. “I don’t know who the hell I am. Not my name. Where I live. Where I’m from.”

  “It’ll come back to you.”

  “When?”

  A few days? A few weeks? She had no idea. “I’ll ask Cáco. She understands more about head injuries than I do.”

  “Where’s my driver’s license?”

  “We think it was stolen. With your wallet.”

  “I don’t have a name. What kind of person doesn’t have a name?”

  She reached for his hand to stop the quaking. She would be afraid if she’d lost her identity, too. “I’ll give you one.”

  His chest rose and fell. He was a handsome stranger, she thought. A disoriented John Doe.

  John?

  No, that was too obvious. “Juan,” she said.

  “Juan,” he repeated, accepting her choice. “Juan what? I need a last name. People have last names.”

  A handsome stranger.

  “Guapo,” Lourdes decided.

  He merely blinked.

  “Is that all right?” she asked.

  Was it? he wondered. He knew what Guapo meant. Handsome in Spanish.

  Had she chosen that name purposely? Did she like the way he looked?

  How could she? He’d caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He’d seen the swelling and the bruising, the gash across his mouth.

  What was ugly in Spanish?

  Feo.

  Maybe she should have called him Juan Feo instead.

  “Is the name I gave you all right?” she asked again.

  A little embarrassed, he nodded. If the pretty woman in his dream thought he was handsome, what could he do?

  He cocked his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. This wasn’t a dream. She kept telling him that. This was real.

  But how was that possible? She seemed like an angel, with the honey-colored streaks in her hair and the gilded light in her chocolate-brown eyes.

  Angels only existed in dreams.

  A French angel who spoke Spanish. Surely, he was confused.

  He didn’t stop to think of why he spoke Spanish, too. He just knew that he did. Or that he understood enough of the language to get by.

  “I’m not very hungry anymore,” he said. His head hurt from all the confusion, and his eyelids had grown heavy.

  She took the tray away and placed it on top of a simple oak dresser. “You look sleepy.”

  “I am.” He wanted to ask her to lie down with him, but decided that wouldn’t be a very gentlemanly thing to do. Then he remembered that he’d already asked her, and she’d refused. Of course, she’d refused. They were strangers. And she had children with another man.

  “Where’s your husband, Lourdes?”

  She turned and fussed with the collar on her shirt. She was dressed like a cowgirl, with varying shades of denim hugging her curvaceous body. “I don’t have a husband. He died before I could divorce him.”

  He thought that was an odd thing for her to say, but he was glad she wasn’t married. He didn’t want her cuddling up to someone else at night.

  He had a right to covet his dream.

  “I should let you sleep. Besides, I still have to eat. And get my daughters up. And go to work.”

  “When will I see you again?” he asked, worried that she’d disappear, that he’d truly created her in his mind.

  “Soon,” she said, reaching for the tray.

  He closed his eyes for what seemed like a second, but when he opened them, the room was empty.

  Juan Guapo’s angel was already gone.

  Three days went by, but Lourdes hadn’t seen much of Juan. She’d deliberately kept her distance. He was Cáco’s patient, after all. And Lourdes was busy with the ranch. A busy bee, trying to keep her mind off a man who might be married.

  She gazed at the horses in pasture. Her herd was small, but striking, a glorious sea of color, patches of chestnut, bay and black splashed against white. The paint horse was an eye-catching champion, praised in cultures all over the world.

  Their image appeared in cave drawings in south-central Europe and on tombs in ancient Egypt.

  Lourdes revered them with all her heart.

  The way she revered the silver cross Juan wore.

  Damn it. She ran her hands through her breeze-ravaged hair. Why did her thoughts always turn to him?

  Because she was a foolish woman behaving like a schoolgirl.

  She checked her watch and realized she was stalling, dragging her feet to go home for lunch.

  Cursing her growling stomach, she gave up the fight. Her temporary ranch hand had headed into town to meet his wife at the diner.

  And Juan—

  Would disappear from her life soon enough, she acknowledged as she drove to her destination with the windows down and the radio turned up.

  Two songs later, Lourdes entered the house and headed for the kitchen. After opening the refrigerator, she removed the covered containers Cáco had left for her. Beneath the lids, she found a ham and cheese sandwich, a pasta salad and an assortment of diced fruit.

  Where was Cáco? Lourdes glanced at the microwave clock. Ironing clothes in the laundry room, most likely. Finishing her chores so she could watch the two o’clock soap opera that entertained her for an hour each day.

  Lourdes made up a plate and went to the dining room, then stopped when she saw Juan sitting at the table with Amy, Nina and Paige.

  The twins occupied the chairs on either side of Juan, and Amy had taken up residence across from them.

  The teenager drew on a sophisticated sketchpad while the other three made haphazard art with crayons and coloring books.

  He was coloring with her daughters.

  Dressed in the jeans Cáco must have laundered for him, with no shirt and no shoes, he looked like a tenderhearted renegade. He’d shaved, showered and combed his damp hair away from his face. Lourdes knew Cáco had purchased a few simple toiletries for him at the market, adding an extra toothbrush, disposables razors and deodorant to the grocery list. He’d probably washed his hair with the no-more-tears baby shampoo already in the bathroom. But she supposed that was safer on his bruise-ringed eyes.

  Nina wiggled in her chair, turned and saw Lourdes. “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, baby.”

  “We’re coloring.”

  “So I see.”

  Paige wiggled a little, too. Then grinned at Lourdes.

  Her girls looked happy. Thrilled to have a big, brawny man beside them.

  Amy spared a friendly glance, and Juan worked his lips into a lopsided smile. The cut ha
d begun to heal, the swelling barely noticeable.

  Will you kiss me?

  Because Lourdes stood in the middle of the room with a plate of food, she moved forward and took a chair.

  “Look, Mama.” Nina pushed a coloring book toward her. “Juan made the lady’s hair green.”

  He defended himself with his crooked smile. “You told me to,” he said to the child. “And you, you little rascal.” He turned to the other twin. “You told me to color her hands purple and her feet pink.”

  Paige didn’t deny his claim. Instead she looked up at him with big doe eyes.

  Her quiet daughter had already developed a crush on him, Lourdes realized. Paige, the observer, was smitten.

  That made two of them. Only Paige’s crush didn’t seem nearly as consuming as the one Lourdes battled. But how could it? Paige was only four years old, with an attention span that flitted like a butterfly.

  “That’s quite a picture,” Lourdes told the three amigos who’d created it. “A true masterpiece. A collaboration worth framing.”

  “We think so.” Juan took the coloring book back. And for a moment their eyes met and held.

  “I’m surprised to see you up and about,” she said to him.

  “Staying in bed all the time was making me stir-crazy. Besides, I’m feeling better. I’m not seeing double anymore.” He shifted to look at each twin. “Then again…”

  The girls giggled, and Lourdes admired his easy manner with her kids.

  Maybe he had a few little ones of his own.

  And a loyal wife who missed him terribly.

  Defending herself, she took a bite of her sandwich. So she was attracted to him? So what? Even if he were single, she wouldn’t get involved with him. Lourdes didn’t do affairs.

  She wouldn’t be doing Juan.

  Amy, who’d been silent up until now, closed her sketchbook and rose. “I’m going to get some pudding and watch TV.”

  “Can we get pudding and watch TV?” Nina chirped. She always spoke for her sister, making plans for both of them. Today they wore matching T-shirts and identical ponytails. They insisted on being groomed with the same clothes, the same shoes, the same accessories. If Nina sported a red hair ribbon, Paige did, too. If Paige picked a lavender dress from the mall, Nina decided lavender was her new favorite color, as well.

  Lourdes granted them permission to follow Amy, and the trio scattered, leaving her and Juan alone.

  Silence drifted between them.

  Awkward silence.

  Lourdes tasted the pasta salad, then wished she hadn’t. Suddenly she felt self-conscious chewing in front of him.

  He began gathering crayons and dumping them into the plastic container in which the twins kept them.

  She glanced at the cross around his neck. As usual, it dangled near his heart, shining like a memory.

  Should she say something? Tell him it had once belonged to her?

  No, she couldn’t. Not now. Not this soon. She wasn’t ready to spill her emotions. Or to explain that Cáco thought his arrival at the ranch was fate.

  “Have you had lunch?” she asked instead.

  “Cáco made soup and sandwiches. I ate with her and the girls.” He studied a broken crayon, a waxy, worn-down shade of blue. “I’m sorry if I said some strange things.”

  She tried for a casual air. “Strange things?”

  “When my brain was bumbled.”

  “You didn’t.” But he did, she thought. He’d said plenty of strange things. Sexy, she-was-his-dream things. “I mean, it’s okay. You were confused.” But he seemed focused today, completely aware of his surroundings. He still appeared tired, though, as if he needed a nap.

  “Are you ready to talk to the police?” she asked.

  He shuffled the broken pieces of the blue crayon. “To question them about missing persons in the area? No, I’m not. I’d prefer to regain my memory first. Cáco is convinced my amnesia is only temporary.”

  “Juan, someone is probably worried about you, wondering where you are. Surely you have family somewhere.” Dare she say it? “A wife. Children.”

  “I’m not married,” he responded quickly.

  Too quickly? she wondered.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I can feel things about myself. And I know I’m not married. There’s no one special in my life. Nor do I have children.”

  He made a troubled face, and she suspected some of the things he “felt” about himself made him uncomfortable.

  “Cáco says I need some time to adjust.”

  She picked at her sandwich. Was he avoiding his real identity on purpose? Hiding from mysterious shadows? From dimly lit corners? Or was he simply trying to make peace with his empty mind?

  Now wasn’t the time to ask.

  She would let him adjust, and then she would question him.

  Because Lourdes Quinterez had the right to know what kind of man Juan Guapo truly was.

  Three

  At the crack of dawn, Lourdes brushed her teeth. She turned off the faucet, then heard voices arguing—an annoyed masculine bass and a sharp feminine pitch—penetrating the oak walls.

  Juan and Cáco?

  What in heaven’s name was going on?

  She grabbed her robe and slipped it over her nightgown. With a quick hand, she smoothed her hair and headed to the living room, where the disagreement was taking place.

  Juan and Cáco faced each other. She huffed out an annoyed breath, and he jammed his hands in his pockets and frowned.

  He appeared to be dressed to go out, Lourdes noticed. He wore the clothes he’d arrived in, right down to the mended tear on his sleeve. The bloodstains had washed out, but not completely.

  Had he changed his mind? Had he called the sheriff’s station? Was a deputy due to arrive to take Juan into town?

  “What’s going on?” Lourdes asked. Juan and Cáco had grown silent, neither arguing their case in front of her.

  The old woman spoke up. “He thinks he’s well enough to go work with you today.”

  To work? With her? What in the world had brought that on?

  “I am well enough.” His scowl remained firmly in place. “And it’s time for me to earn my keep around here. To repay what’s been done for me.” He shifted to look at Lourdes. “Cáco told me you’re short-staffed. That you had to borrow a ranch hand.”

  Lourdes didn’t get the opportunity to respond. Cáco jumped in, addressing Juan with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t tell you that so you could run off and play hero. Big, tough warrior. You’re still light-headed.”

  “I am not.”

  “You stagger when you move too fast, or when you bend to retrieve something. What will happen when you’re lifting bales of hay?”

  He clammed up, saying nothing in his own defense.

  So, it was true, Lourdes thought. He wasn’t fully recovered. Dizziness from the concussion still lingered.

  Cáco pointed her finger at him. “Who’s supposed to drag you back into the house if you pass out from the heat? Lourdes? Me? You’re not ready to work in the sun all day. You’ll be more of a hindrance than help if you get sick again.”

  Still silent, Juan blew out a defeated breath. The fight was over, Lourdes noticed, and the old woman had won.

  Making the most of her victory, she struck an authoritative pose, crossing her arms and jutting her chin. Her smug face bore weathered lines, each crease strong and defiant, depicting her identity—the grandmother who kept a watchful, bossy eye on her brood.

  Juan was one of them now. One of her charges. A big, tough warrior who would learn his place among them.

  “So when will I be allowed to work?” he asked his keeper. “I can’t sit around and be babied forever.”

  “No one is babying you.”

  “Like hell.”

  “We’ll discuss this again in a few days,” Cáco said, laying down her law. “But until then, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  She stalked off to the k
itchen and made plenty of noise once she got there, rattling pots and pans. Soon the aroma of breakfast would fill the air. Cáco wouldn’t dream of depriving her charges of food. She fed you, whether you were hungry or not.

  Lourdes wanted to laugh. Then she decided there wasn’t anything funny about Juan’s wounded pride.

  “Maybe you and I should talk,” she said.

  “Why? So you can jump all over my ass, too?”

  How typical of his gender. To blame the entire female population for not getting his way. “It is my ranch you intend to work at. Is it not?”

  He slumped onto the couch. “I’m not helpless. I don’t need women feeding me strained carrots or bathing me or telling me when I’m strong enough to lift a bale of hay.”

  “No one fed you strained carrots,” she pointed out.

  “You bathed me,” he countered. “Stripped my damned clothes off.”

  A tingle crept up her spine. She could still recall her fingers on his fly, unzipping his pants. “You had a fever. And you were dirty and sweaty. What were we supposed to do?”

  He shrugged, and she noticed his bruises had started to change color.

  “Do you have a problem with me working on your ranch?” he asked.

  Did she? “Maybe. But not because you’re not strong enough.” Lord knew he had plenty of muscle.

  “Then what are you concerned about?”

  “Your reluctance to contact the police.”

  “I already explained why I’m holding off. And what does that have to do with me working for you? Repaying your kindness? I’m not expecting a salary. I’m offering to work for free.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m confusing the issue.”

  “What issue? Explain yourself, Lourdes.”

  She sat next to him, wishing she’d thought to dress before she’d rushed out of her room in her nightgown. Granted, she wore a robe, but suddenly her attire didn’t seem proper.

  Why? Because this was what she’d been wearing when he’d asked her to lie down with him? To kiss him?

  “I hadn’t intended to bring this up so soon, but you seemed troubled yesterday, Juan. Disturbed about your life.”

  “You think I’m hiding something from you? Being deliberately evasive?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He pulled a hand through his hair. The dark strands curled at his nape. “No.”