“Yep.” Beau stretched a little. “Okay, Poot. C’mon.”
“Yep.” They had shit to do and a bullfighter to pray for.
“Well, come on. Oh, and someone needs to call Dillon.” Beau headed out.
“Uh-huh.” He stopped, blinked at Beau. “Nattie’s got my phone.”
“Oh.” Beau flipped his little phone open. “I don’t got Dillon’s number.”
“I’ll get it when we get up there. There ain’t that big of a hurry.”
“Yeah.” Coke was going to be in the hospital a bit. He still hated it, but it was what they did. All of them.
They hopped out of the truck and headed in.
Beau stretched,listening to his neck crack. His stomach was acidy from all the bad hospital coffee. Jesus.
He glanced at Sam, who was sitting with his head against the wall, hat in his lap. Snoring. Lord, the man seemed awful tired, with big, dark circles under his eyes even with his lashes resting there to hide the worst of them. Maybe it was time to go back to the hotel.
Sammy’d been running hard, running off nervous energy, but… Yeah. Real food. Real bed. A hot shower.
Beau couldn’t reach with his toes, so he had to get up and walk over. “Sammy.”
Those pretty, pretty blue eyes popped open, stared at him. “Boug. Coke?”
“Mmmhmm. Coke is the same. They’ll do the surgery tomorrow.” More joints popped. “I don’t think we can do much else tonight. He’s resting as much as he can, and visitor hours are over.”
“You want to head for the hotel?”
“I do.” They’d check in real quick with Balta, but there wasn’t nothin’ else to be done.
Sam blinked again. “You think I oughta stay or can I come, too?”
That had him cracking a smile. “I think you ought to get your lazy ass up and come with me, Poot.”
“Fuck you, Boug.” Sammy’s leg swept out, kicking him lazily.
Huh. He might find the energy to do that. “Okay.”
“Beau!” Sam sounded outraged and shit, but that grin was pure evil.
“What? I’m thinking we need to, you know, blow off steam.” Wasn’t no one listening.
“I got steam,cher.” That low, deep rumble and thecher? In public, like Sam was the Cajun instead of a pretty Texas transplant in bayou country? Jesus fuck—that was pure heat.
Beau shifted from boot to boot, his jeans getting tight. Tight-tight. Beau cleared his throat. “Let’s go say ‘night to Balta and Joa.”
“Sounds good.” Sam rolled up, lean and solid beside him.
They went, shoulder to shoulder, finding Joa feeding change into a Coke machine, Balta chattering into a cell phone in Portuguese. Man, they’d gotten bitched at for cell use. Baltamust be using the pretty card. It worked for the old man, not so much for him and Sam. Them Brazilians, though, they had pretty in spades.
“You two goin’?” Joa’s weird-assed accent always made him grin—mostly Texas, but just a little weird.
“Yeah.” He pointed his chin toward Balta. “He okay? Y’all need anything?”
“Nah. We got it. Nate’s stayin’. We’ll be back, first light.”
Beau jerked his head and Sam nodded. They both waved at Balta on the way by, but their shift was over for the day.
