Almost as much as Balta.
Balta and Coke chattered away in the front, though, like nothing was wrong at all. They always put a good face on.
“Has Doc seen his hand?” That color of black couldn’t be healthy.
“Not yet. Coop is out for a good bit, and I can’t do this one alone.”
He nodded, winced some. The bullfighters, they were crazy. High-dollar crazy. Of course, the others thought he was crazy, too. Too Texan, they said. Too many chances.
The Italian restaurant smelled good from the outside, spicy and red.
There were a lot of pick-ups here—some he recognized, most he didn’t. The big rodeo—there were ropers and roughstock riders, trick riders. Everything. He’d won the event—two years in a row. Well, his event. He’d tried roping, but… No. Only on the ranch, where only his sisters laughed at him.
Everyone nodded at Coke and Balta, him and Nate getting less attention. The newest kid, Bonner, smiled at him, waved.
He nodded, grinned, and stopped at Bonner’s table. “You eating alone?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s cool.” Bonner’s cheeks went red. The kid was nice, but the other cowboys avoided him because his father was famous.
“Well, come on. There’s room.” Eating alone sucked.
“Huh? Oh, no. I mean…” Bonner lowered his voice. “That’s Coke. And Baltazar Silva.”
“Yeah. And me and Nate. Come on, we gotta talk aboutsomethingwhile Gramps and Balta chaw over old times, eh?”
“O-okay.” Bonner glanced at Nate. “Sure.”
“Cool.”
Coke and Nate both nodded and smiled, the expressions almost friendly. He took the seat beside Balta.
Bonner settled in just as Balta’s boot bumped his under the table. “Ola.”
“Hey. Joa said it was cool to join y’all…”
Joa nodded. He remembered being new, being nervous.
“It’s fine, huh?” Balta smiled, nudging Coke with his elbow.
“Sure, son. Eating alone ain’t good for you. You competing in broncs or just bulls?”
“Broncs, too. I need the money.” Bonner could ride, for sure.
“You got some good ones here. Nattie and me been down to look already.”
“Yeah? Well, cool.” The kid ducked his head, seeming like he might explode.
The waitress came by and Balta ordered a round of beer. Joa thought he saw Balta slip Coke something across the table, which Coke took with a grimace and a nod. Poor Coke. At least Balta was always good for the pain pills.
Bonner stared at Coke’s hand, mouth opening and closing like a trout’s.
“Bonner, son. Relax. We ain’t fixin’ to start biting you.” Coke winked. “Well, Nattie might. He’s grumpy.”
“I ain’t. Well, no more than usual. Who wants a fried cheese thing?”
Joa smiled. Nate snarled a lot, but he was a good man. “I want some. And a salad. A big one.”
“Mmm. I want meatballs,” Balta said, making them all laugh. Balta could fixate on meatballs.
