Chapter Nine
Aside from the cold air, which was cold no matter what the others said, the event could have been in Brazil.
Raul glanced at the arena, the sun shining down hard, the haze of dust the bulls kicked up so familiar. The only difference was in Brazil he’d be surrounded by friends and family. Here he felt very alone.
He wasn’t one to dwell on bad things, but he—well, he would like to talk and laugh like the Americans. In this place especially, where there were few other people like him—few people who didn’t assume he was illegal or from Mexico or simply a ‘bean’.
Rolling his head on his neck, he went through the motions of a ride, free arm up, hips rocking back and forth.
One of the Americans, a bright red one with a terrible black eye, came up to him, smiled. “Raul, right? I’m Cotton.”
“Bom dia. Yes. Raul.” He winced because he knew his English was challenging. Still, it was nice for Cotton to come say hello.
“Cool. This one spins to the left, but he’s not mean. You get me?Compreender?”
The accent was awful, but it was Portuguese, not Spanish.
Raul beamed at Cotton, who deserved it for trying this hard. “Sim. Sim, I understand.” He nodded happily. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I know it’s hard, being the new guy.”
“You speak Portuguese better than I speak English.” He hoped Cotton understood him. He mixed the two languages as much as he could, spoke slowly.
“Joa and Eduardo help me learn. I want to be chute boss, someday.”
“Ah. Good man.” He could see it. Cotton had a kind way, and he seemed to know the animals, but that black eye spoke of toughness.
Cotton gave him a quick flash of a grin, just bright and happy. “Yessir.”
“If you need someone to pull your rope…” Raul held out a hand to shake.
“Sure. Yeah. That would work for me. You’re riding real good. You should be tickled.”
“I am happy.” He was. His riding never worried him. The bulls here were less wild than back home. Well, everywhere but Texas. In Texas, they were looking to kill Brazilians, he thought.
“Good ride, cowboy,” Cotton said, then clapped him on the shoulder before walking away.
Yes. Yes, he thought that this little bull would be a very good ride.
Balta madesure he had plenty of room around him before beginning to swing his arms, warming them up. His shoulders creaked, but started to loosen up well enough. He wasn’t feeling one hundred percent, but he was all right.
The event was going well. There had been some good rides, and the bulls were on their game.
Sam Bell was laughing, chasing Beau with a water gun. The day had been hot, brutally so, and Beau and Sam were both sunburned red.
Coke and Nate warmed up in the arena, but Coke was moving slow, like he was even older than normal. Balta knew how that felt. He and Coke were of an age, really.
There was something…off about the man, something broken and gray.
It had to be Dillon, the way Nate and Coke had been acting the night before. Balta knew something was off there. He’d seen the way their clown watched Coke, had known it before Dillon had, really.
Balta probably looked at Joa that way.
It would be a shame, should they have to smother Dillon in his sleep for Coke. Doable, but still, a shame. The man was talented.
His hand knocked into someone, sending the man staggering, and Balta turned, grabbing an arm. “Sorry! Oh, Raul.Desculpa.”
That was the name he could not remember the other day. Raul.
