The Heart of a Stranger (4 page)

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, inde
pendent 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.”

He merely nodded. Then followed her out the door and into the sweltering heat.

T
he tour ended at the stud barn. It was readily available to the public, but located upwind of the other horses and not close enough to the breeding operation that the stallions could hear and see what was happening.

“Painted Spirit was established in the seventies,” Lourdes said. “The house was already here, but my grandfather built the ranch.”

Painted Spirit was a good name for the place, Juan thought. The American Paint Horse possessed beauty and spirit. Lourdes had two stallions, both of superior quality and champion bloodlines.

The studs were able to see each other, but Juan knew they were easier to handle when exposed to the visual company of other horses. Their stalls were large, with spacious runs. A high fence with a wide
alleyway between paddocks kept the studs from fighting.

Juan was partial to Raven Wing, a black-and-white stallion that stood strong and muscular, with perfect legs, great feet and plenty of bone.

“He's a superb mover,” Lourdes remarked. “Light and responsive under the saddle.”

“He is exceptional.”

“Thank you.” She gave a proud smile. “I think so, too.”

“He's an overo, right?” Juan asked, referring to horse's color pattern.

She nodded. “When Cáco first came to the ranch, my grandfather owned a paint-style mustang. It was a Medicine Hat. That's a nearly all-white overo with a dark, bonnetlike marking over the head and ears and an equally dark shield over the chest.”

“Why was that important to Cáco?”

“It's extremely important because the Medicine Hat is revered in her culture. Only the most proven braves were allowed to ride them, and a Comanche who rode a Medicine Hat into battle considered himself invincible.”

“You have an interesting family, Lourdes.”

“You probably do, too.”

Juan shrugged. He didn't want to think about who his family might be. The idea made him edgy, giving him a dose of anxiety he couldn't explain.

Intent on ridding himself of the tension, he gazed at Lourdes, wishing he could lean into her again and inhale the soft, floral scent of her perfume.

She smoothed her unbound hair, drawing it away from her face, and a warm, sensual swirl pooled low in his belly.

“Tell me about the breeding procedure,” he said suddenly.

Taken aback, she gazed at him for a second. “Are you asking me to describe a stallion covering a mare?”

He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and tried for a casual stance, a pose that belied this insane game he was playing. This crazy need he couldn't seem to stop.

Was it wrong to want her to feed his libido? To drop some tidbits his way? “Do you mind?” he asked, keeping his voice as professional as he could. “I'd like to learn about the farm.”

She frowned a little. “You said you spent time at a breeding facility. Surely you're aware of the mating process.”

He knew what was what and how it was done, but he wasn't about to admit it. Not now. Not when he wanted her to explain how a stallion covered a mare. “You're not embarrassed to talk about this, are you?”

“Of course not. I was raised in this environment.”

“Then talk,” he urged, baiting her.

“Fine.” Sweet and stubborn, she lifted her chin. “I'll start with how feral horses mate, then work my way up to domestic methods.”

He moved closer, feeling naughty as hell. They remained in the stud barn, near Raven Wing's stall.

Lourdes smoothed her hair again. The honey-streaked stands framed her face, fanning across her shoulders. “A stallion knows when a mare is ready to mate by the pheromones she gives off and by her flirty behavior. She'll approach him with a submissive teeth-snapping gesture, letting him know she's interested.”

“And what does her mate do?” Juan prodded.

“The stallion sniffs and licks the mare's flanks, the root of her tail and her…”

“Her what?” he asked, although he knew. Shame on him.

“Vulva,” Lourdes provided.

“He tastes her?”

“Yes.” She drew an audible breath. “He savors her scent and flavor. It stimulates him.”

Yeah, Juan thought, and understandably so.

“From there they might groom each other, working their incisors up and down each other's necks, withers and backs.”

“Go on,” he said, picturing the image of courting she described. She was so sweet, so naive, explaining every detail to a man who already knew how a feral stallion covered his mate.

“The mare will show signs of being in full season, straddled legs, raised tail, winking vulva—”

“It winks?”

“That's what it's called when it opens and closes.”

“Really?” He hoped his boyish reaction wasn't giving him away. “Now that is flirty behavior.”

“This isn't supposed to be funny, Juan.”

“Sorry.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Couldn't help it.”

She straightened her spine and continued. “The stallion usually approaches the mare from the side to avoid getting kicked. If she's still cooperative, he works his way around the rear to mount and mate.”

“And then it's over?”

“Yes, within a matter of seconds. But the stallion will keep a close association with the mare until he's ready to mate her again.”

Smart guy, Juan thought. Lucky, too.

“The procedure isn't nearly as natural at breeding farms. Far from it,” Lourdes said. “Once it's decided a mare is ready to mate, she's taken to the covering yard. She's hobbled to prevent her from kicking the stallion. Her tail is bandaged. Often she wears a shield to protect her withers and neck in case the stallion bites.”

Juan glanced at Raven Wing. “Does he tend to bite?”

“Sometimes.”

He gave the horse a serious study. The flashy stud seemed to be listening, eavesdropping on the human conversation. “Can't blame him for being anxious, I guess.”

She went on. Bound and determined, it seemed, to finish this, to get past Juan's anecdotes. “Once the stallion is led in, they're not permitted to court. That would be too dangerous. The stallion is restrained by the handler and not allowed to mount until he's fully erect. The studman watches the stallion, making sure he ejaculates. If he doesn't, he'll be encouraged to mount the mare again.”

Dare he ask? Or should he let her off the hook?

Oh, what the hell. “How can you tell if he ejaculated?”

She stepped back a little. “His tail pumps when it happens.”

For a moment, they both fell silent. Lourdes twisted the collar on her blouse, and Juan removed his hands from his pockets.

“Do you ship semen?” he asked.

“Yes.” She glanced away. “You're not going to ask me to explain how it's collected, are you?”

“No.” He was already aroused, feeling hungry and
playful all at once. He wanted to pull her into his arms, nibble her neck, bump his fly against her hips. “We'll save that for another lesson. If that's all right with you.”

She didn't respond.

“Lourdes?”

“Yes. Another lesson,” she agreed, her voice suddenly soft and shy and much too alluring.

 

“Mama?”

Lourdes blinked and turned to the sound of Nina's voice. Her first-born twin sat at the dinner table with a perplexed expression.

“Yes?” Lourdes asked.

“How come you're staring at Juan?”

Lourdes's heart banged inside her chest. Juan sat across from her, taking man-size bites from his plate, scooping chunks of an enchilada casserole onto his fork.

He glanced up at the mention of his name, and her heart pounded even harder.

“I wasn't staring at him, honey.”

“Yes, you was, Mama. Just like this.” Nina trained her gaze on Juan and mimicked her mother in a dramatic, starry-eyed look.

Lourdes wanted to sink under the table. She had been staring. And now everyone—Cáco, Amy, Paige and Juan knew it. Thanks to Nina, the chatterbox.

Juan seemed flattered yet embarrassed. He smiled a little at Lourdes, then decided to shovel another forkful of meat, cheese and baked tortilla into his mouth.

“Cáco says people shouldn't stare. Didn't she teach you that when you was little, Mama?”

Wonderful. Now her precocious, pigtailed daughter
was giving her a lesson in etiquette. “Yes, of course, she did.”

“Then how come you did it anyway?”

Because he's gorgeous, Lourdes thought. Because the conversation I had with him earlier made me feel sexy.

Courting rituals, a stallion covering a mare, semen collection.

How could such clinical things affect a woman with a degree in animal science? A woman raised on a horse-breeding farm?

Of all people, Lourdes knew better.

“Mama?” Nina pressed, pestering for a response.

“I didn't know I was staring, sweetie.”

Cáco raised an eyebrow at that, but had the good sense to keep her opinion to herself.

No one else reacted. Amy didn't seem to care, Paige simply observed the entire scene and Juan continued eating.

Keeping her hands busy, Lourdes added more lettuce to her bowl, then doused it with too much dressing.

Nina chirped like a blue jay. “Juan?”

He stopped eating. “Yes?”

“Have you ever seen the
Little Mermaid?
”

“No. I can't say that I have.”

“It's me and Paige's favorite movie. We have it on tape and everything. Wanna watch it with us after dinner?”

“Sure.” He gave the child an easy smile, grateful, it seemed, with a new topic of conversation. “If that's okay with your mom.”

Lourdes spoke up quickly. “That's fine. But the girls will have to take their bath first. And put their
pajamas on.” She knew her kids would fall asleep in front of the TV before the movie ended.

Nina bubbled in her seat. “Can we make popcorn?”

“Yes, but after your bath.”

“You can watch the movie, too, Mama,” Nina invited graciously, letting Lourdes know her daughters didn't intend to keep Juan to themselves.

At least not completely. She suspected they would horde him a little. But she couldn't blame them. She knew their tiny hearts were starved for a masculine presence.

Ten minutes later, the meal ended.

Cáco volunteered to monitor the twins in the tub, and Juan offered to help Lourdes with the dishes. Amy behaved like a typical teenager and managed to dart off to her room to call a friend.

Alone in the kitchen, Lourdes and Juan worked as a team.

He stacked the dirty dishes, and she rinsed them. But when she opened the dishwasher, she saw the appliance was already full.

“I'll have to empty this first. I guess Cáco didn't have time to do it earlier.”

“No problem. I can help.”

He put away silverware and she went for odds and ends: a mixing bowl, a glass pitcher, two mismatched serving plates.

As Lourdes stood on her toes and attempted to open the cupboard above the stove, Juan came up behind her.

“Let me do that. You can barely reach it.”

“No, it's okay. I can—”

He leaned into her, and suddenly she couldn't talk. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

His fly brushed against her rear.

Juan froze, and Lourdes remained on her toes, poised like a plastic ballerina in a jewelry box, waiting for someone to turn the key.

To play a song. To make her dance.

He breathed against her ear, and her nipples went hard, almost as hard as the ridge beneath his zipper.

Neither said a word. They didn't dare.

Obviously he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

Finally he backed away, leaving her wobbling on her toes.

Now what?

Should she turn around? Act casual?

She steadied herself on her feet and faced him.

In the silence, they gazed at each other.

Will you lie down with me? Will you kiss me?

Yes, she thought. Yes.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, and she crossed her arms, pressing them against her breasts, shielding her distended nipples.

“We better finish cleaning the kitchen,” he said.

She nodded, then moistened her lips and tasted her own saliva.

Maybe it was safer that he was moving into the bunkhouse.

Much, much safer.

 

The twins padded the floor with a blanket and decided Juan had to lie directly in front of the TV with them, their faces practically pressed to the screen. Both girls wore pink pajamas, and their pigtails had been combed out, leaving waves in their hair. They smelled like buttered popcorn and apple-scented soap.

As the animated feature started, they snuggled closer, making him feel sort of dadlike.

Lourdes took a spot on the couch, and Juan glanced back at her. She'd probably seen the movie at least a hundred times, but she had her legs curled under her, ready to watch it again.

She smiled at him, and at that quiet, cozy moment, they seemed like a family.

But they weren't, he reminded himself. He was only a guest in their home.

He focused on the movie, on a romantic adventure with a redheaded mermaid and songs and dialogue the girls knew by heart.

Nina insisted on telling him everything before it happened, and Paige swooned over the dark-haired prince and shuddered every time the sea witch appeared.

It was a fairy tale on land and sea, a story Lourdes's little girls couldn't resist.

Juan suspected the movie ended with a happily ever after kiss, but he didn't get the opportunity to find out. Nina and Paige fell asleep before the love-and-marriage finale.

He figured it was just as well. He didn't need to get sappy over a cartoon.

He turned and looked at Lourdes. “I can help you get the girls into bed.”

“Thank you.” She rose and knelt to pick up Nina, leaving Paige in his care. The child stirred in his arms, but didn't waken. Nina flopped her head over her mom's shoulder, grinned groggily at Juan and went back to sleep.