The Heart of a Stranger by Sheri Whitefeather

not even when he showered.
    Lourdes lifted the manila envelope. “Paige made this for you. She asked me to bring it by.”
    He took the envelope and opened it.
    As he studied the drawing beneath the porch light, the lines around his mouth softened, and he pressed the picture against his chest.
    Against his heart, Lourdes noticed. Against the cross.
    She could see the emotion in his eyes, the tenderness her daughter had touched.
    â€œMay I come by in the morning to thank her?” he asked.
    â€œOf course, you can. And you’re welcome to stay for breakfast. Nothing has changed.” He had a standing invitation for every meal, but she knew he didn’t feel as if he belonged at her table anymore. “My family adores you, Juan.”
    â€œI adore them, too.” He slipped the drawing back into the envelope, protecting it carefully. “I’ll hang it on my wall.”
    Lourdes smiled. “Paige will be thrilled.”
    He smiled, as well.
    But a moment later, their smiles faded, and they stood awkwardly on the weather-beaten porch.
    She moved toward the steps, encouraging Juan to sit beside her. The space on the stairway was tight, so he shifted closer to the rail.
    â€œI’m sorry I took advantage of you,” he said.
    â€œI’m sorry, too. For making you uncomfortable today.”
    â€œI had it coming. I deserved it.”
    Lourdes sighed. The night air offered a soothing temperature, cool and sweetly scented. She could see the outline of the barn, the corrals in the distance. “I didn’t mean to drive you away, Juan. It wasn’t deliberate.”
    He turned to look at her. “I know. But something is happening, and I’m not sure how safe it is. For either of us.”
    Lourdes held his gaze. She didn’t need to ask him to expound. He spoke of their attraction, of the sexual awareness between them.
    â€œI want to be near you,” she told him. She couldn’t bear to lose the connection they shared—the friendship, the heat, the emotion.
    The cross.
    â€œAre you sure?” he asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI want that, too. It was all I could do tonight to stay away, to not see you. To not spend time with your family.”
    Because you’re part of us, she thought. “Juan, there’s something I need to tell you. About the necklace you wear.”
    He made a puzzled expression. “I don’t understand.”
    Neither did she. But somehow she had to explain. “That cross used to belong to me. I inherited it from my mother, but Gunther pawned it, along with some of my other jewelry.” She paused. “By the time I found what he’d done, it was too late to get it back. The pawnshop had already sold it.”
    Juan flinched. How could this be? How was this possible? “What pawnshop? Where’s it located?”
    â€œIn Laredo. It’s called Jack’s Gems and Loan. Does it ring a bell?”
    â€œNo.” He reached for the religious symbol, the only possession that hadn’t been stolen from him, and closed his hand over it. “Are you certain this is the same necklace?”
    â€œYes. The design is identical to the one I owned. And the inscription on the back is the same, too.”
    To keep you safe. Juan knew those words well. He’d assumed they’d been inscribed for him, that the cross had been given to him. By someone who’d loved him. Someone who’d cared.
    â€œThere’s a tiny chip in the silver, near the inscription.” Lourdes pointed out. “It’s the same necklace.”
    He didn’t know what to do, what to say. So he merely stared at her, stunned and confused.
    â€œDo you remember how you acquired the necklace?” she asked.
    He shook his head. Suddenly his heart ached. The cross wasn’t his. Someone hadn’t inscribed those tender, loving words for him.
    They belonged to Lourdes.
    He removed the necklace and handed it to her.