The Heart of a Stranger by Sheri Whitefeather Page B

the cross with her, did she?”
    â€œNo. She left it with me. To keep me safe while she was gone.”
    Juan resisted the urge to take Lourdes in his arms and comfort her. “I’d like to see the replicas of the grotto. Maybe we could go to both of them, the way your mother used to.” He paused, took a breath. He wanted to visit the Texas shrines, to see if they seemed familiar, if he’d been to either location before. “We could bring the kids. Say a rosary for your parents.”
    She gave him a small smile. “A rosary? You must be Catholic, Juan.”
    He sat for a moment. And then a memory, a piece of his past swirled around him like a ghost. “Yes, I am.”
    He used to go to confession, recite his sins and accept his penance. He could see himself kneeling at the altar, bowing his head in prayer.
    And then an image of a church filled his head. A priest saying a special mass. People in dark clothes and solemn expressions.
    A casket. A funeral.
    His sister’s? His mother’s?
    Dear God. His mother was dead, too.
    â€œShe’s gone,” he said.
    Lourdes blinked. “What?”
    â€œMy mother. I can’t recall her face or remember her name, but I know she’s dead.” He could feel thepain, the loss, the tears he’d cried. “Do you think everyone in my family is dead?”
    â€œOh, Juan.”
    She leaned into him, and he put his arms around her, bringing her close.
    So close.
    They held each other, gently, quietly. And when she lifted her head to look at him, he kissed her.
    She tasted sweet and sensual, as incredible as he’d imagined, as delicate as his dream girl, as potent as the woman she truly was.
    Her lips parted beneath his, and he deepened the kiss. Just a little, just enough to make her sigh.
    He could feel the cross in her hand, pressed between their bodies as she clutched his shirt.
    His heart pounded against hers, like a raptor beating its wings.
    He took her tongue, and she took his. Warm and inviting. Heaven on earth. His angel. His Lourdes.
    â€œJuan.” She breathed his name, the name she’d given him.
    He drew back to savor the moment, to touch her cheek, to brand her image into his mind. “I want to remember you, just like this.”
    â€œMe, too.” She wet her lips, as if still tasting his kiss.
    A star winked in the sky, and he knew this was the first time he’d felt this attached, this complete with a woman.
    â€œWill you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” He motioned to the door. “Here. At the bunkhouse.”
    â€œJust the two of us?”
    He nodded, realizing he’d just asked her on a date.“A candlelit meal, a little wine, some quiet conversation.”
    She smiled. “That sounds nice.”
    He smiled, too. Then they stared at each other, at a sudden loss for words.
    A light breeze blew, teasing her hair. She looked mysterious in the moonlight, with her exotic-shaped eyes and long, sweeping lashes.
    â€œI better go,” she said finally. “It’s getting late.”
    He walked her to the burgundy-colored pickup truck she always drove. She set the necklace on the bench seat beside her.
    â€œAren’t you going to wear it?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “I’ve never worn it. I’ve always stored it in my jewelry box. Locked it away for safekeeping.”
    Juan merely nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder how he’d come by the cross and why he’d chosen to wear it.
    Had he purchased it from the pawnshop in Laredo?
    He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember ever being in Laredo. But Mission Creek didn’t seem familiar either.
    â€œThank you for returning my necklace, Juan.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    Lourdes started the engine, and he stood beneath a starry sky, watching her vehicle disappear.
    When the taillights faded into the dark, he went back to the porch and picked up the picture Paige had made for