Buffalo.
Deus.
“Huh.” The room was clean and did not smell like smoke. That was a plus. It had a little refrigerator, which would be good for the smoothies he wanted to try on Balta.
He threw his gear beside the far bed and went to turn the air conditioner up.
“Mmm. You want something from the cooler,doce?”
“Coke, please.” He needed a shower, possibly a nap.
“Sure.” Balta got him a Coke, wandering idly. He had to wonder what was going on behind those dark eyes.
He chewed his bottom lip as he sat to pull his boots off, then just asked. “You okay?”
“Hmm?” Balta turned, smiled for him. “Sim, sim. Claudia called.”
“Oh? Are the kids okay?”
“Mmm. She wants them to come up here and visit a few weeks, huh?”
He nodded. “That is good, sim? You haven’t been to see them in a while.”
“Sim, sim. I want to see them.” Balta’s forehead wrinkled up. “I just know how she is, huh? Plans will change a million times.”
“At least.” He tried to think of something comforting to say. “They can come ride horses at my ranch.”
“Obrigado, doce.” That got him a smile, Balta flopping down next to him on the bed.
He nodded, grinned. Balta didn’t have family here to take care of animals, of a ranch. Him? He’d made enough to buy his land, buy land for his parents.
“I am a little sad that we had to leave our cabin.” One of Balta’s hands slid over, casual as anything, and landed on Joa’s belly.
“Mmm. But the work needs you.” Hot. Balta’s hand was hot.
“I need it, too. So do you.”
They were both cowboys. They were.
He nodded. He loved his job. “Sim.”
“So.” Laughing, Balta sat up and tugged his hand. “Shower.”
“I stink?” He chuckled, stripped off his shirt, made sure the curtains were closed tight.
“No. I just want to be in the water with you.” Balta stripped down, too, looking good. Tanned and healthy.
He grinned, fingers reaching out for Balta’s belly. He’d almost touched when there was a knock on the door. “Silva? This your room?”
Coke Pharris.
Balta sighed, shaking his head. “Go get the water going, huh?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, heading for the bathroom without waiting to hear what the old bullfighter wanted.
He could hear the murmur of their voices, Balta’s sharper accent high against Coke’s deep Texas drawl. The words made no sense. They were just sound under the running water.
Joa stepped into the shower, washing, relaxing, letting the spray bash into him.
