Chapter Six
The crowd buzzed with excitement, the energy strong enough to keep Baltazar Silva up, even though he was sore and tired. He reminded himself every day that the bull riding season was a marathon for avelholike him. An old one, at least as far as their sport was concerned. When a man began at eighteen, the events were like a series of sprints.
Once you passed thirty, you gritted your teeth and kept moving, even when your body wanted you to quit every day.
He’d made his ride, an eighty, just good enough that no one would ask him to make a re-ride. Now he could relax. No short go for him, no picking another bull. He could wait and watch Joaquim ride.
His Joa.
Joa was one of the few things that kept Balta on tour, instead of retiring to live half the year in Texas and half the year in Brazil as he’d always dreamed. He loved Joa more than was wise, far more than he could advertise, even to his best friends on the tour. Such a delicious mix of America and Brazil was Joa, so perfect for him.
Balta watched Joa bounce, warming up, and grinned wryly. So young and energetic. Still, Joa made the daily grind of event after event worth it.
Balta rolled his shoulder, wincing, and damned if Shaun didn’t see it. “Want some ice, Balta?” Shaun asked, and Balta gave in and nodded. “I will come once Joa rides.”
“Nah. I’ll bring a pack and some cling wrap out here. Be right back.” Sports medicine saw all, but sometimes that was a good thing, right? Better Shaun tending him out here than having to go behind the scenes where Doc would get a hold of him and never let him back out.
He watched Joa, who was riding well enough these days that he had five or six volunteers to pull his rope, his smile widening when Joa’s eyes sought him out.Yes. I’m right here,namorado. Look at me.He wanted Joa to want him just as much, wanted him to be eager.
Joa nodded at him, then strapped his vest tight and climbed over the rail to settle on his bull.
Excitement gripped Balta, just as it did when he was about to ride. He stared, making sure Eduardo kept a hand on Joa’s vest to protect him if the bull lunged or bucked in the chute. He saw Felicio talking, mouth moving around Portuguese syllables. Joa was just shoulders and a hat to Balta now, but he knew what expression Joa would wear. Serious. Tight with anticipation. Just as he seemed when Balta was about to enter him when they made love.
The thought made him clear his throat and glance about. No one watching him, which was a damned good thing.
Packer Stevens rode for an eighty-three, then Joa was up. It took him what seemed like forever to nod, but then the gate flew open and Gobstopper leaped out, spinning almost immediately. His back feet pushed up above the rail, so his buck was solid, and Joa clung to him like a goathead, long leg flashing out to spur.
Balta spent the last three seconds on his feet, screaming wordless encouragement, and he wasn’t the only one. All of the other Brazilians whooped and cheered, and when the buzzer sounded, Joa hopped off neat as could be, running toward him to leap on the fence.
Balta chuckled, because Joa’s shirt was untucked, his vest half torn off. Bull riding as strip tease.
“And that’s a ninety-two-point-five from the young man from Brazil!” David Donaldson shouted, and Balta waved Joa off the fence.
“Go celebrate,sim?”
Joa went to dance with the clown, and Balta grunted when Shaun slapped an ice pack on his shoulder. Just another day at work.
Good thing he had the best job on earth.
The moon glaredin at him, just staring in through the hotel room window, so Joaquim slipped on a pair of sweats and headed out to the hallway. He got a Coke and a chocolate bar and padded down the stairs to the parking lot.
Deus, it was colder than it seemed. Almost bitter. He found a ledge, sat and opened his soda.
Ninety-two point five points.
It had been something. Amazing.
The arena had gone wild and, when he had danced with Dillon, the cameras had been right there, showing him off to his folks back in Texas. His momma, hismae, had called to squeal at him.
Joaquim grinned, licking the mouth of the bottle, legs swinging against the retaining wall.
The side door of the hotel opened, a wide-shouldered form coming out, the ratty old bathrobe unmistakable. “You okay,Joaquim?” Baltazar Silva asked, coming to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Mmm.Sim, Balta. I was trying not to wake you.” That hand was heavy.
Warm.
Solid.
