Читать книгу The Heart of a Stranger - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 10

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 kitchen 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.”

“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.”