“Me too.” He followed Doc, wanting to know what the prognosis was.
“Lafitte! I want you checked out!” Doc barreled through the automatic doors, leaving them to hurry along behind, and with every step Balta felt heavier, older. All that and it wasn’t anything compared to Lafitte, who looked like death itself kneeling by the emergency room doors, so tiny somehow without his hat.
“Beau.” Doc knelt down, the old man staring into Beau’s eyes. There was blood everywhere—from Beau, from Sam.Cristo. “You know where you are?”
“At the fucking hospital in Reno? They won’t tell me nothin’, Doc. You got to find out for me.” Lafitte grabbed Doc by his shirt and shook the old man a bit.
“Okay. You let them check you out, I’ll find out, okay?”
“I’ll let you check me over.”
“Okay. Up in a chair. Silva? Give him a hand?”
It was almost more frightening, the way that Beau didn’t argue.
He nodded and lifted Beau under his arms as if the man weighed nothing. “Sure. Come on, Beau, huh? Up.”
Doc poked and prodded, checked Beau’s eyes, the back of his head. “Gonna be sore as all get out in the morning and have one hell of a bruise. I don’t want you sleeping for a few hours, either. Balta, stay with him.”
Jesus, Doc was a pushy bastard.
Balta nodded, dark eyes serious and sure. “Sim. I’ll stay. Me and Joa.”
“Sam,” Beau said it firmly, pushing back.
“I’ll see what I can find out. Sit tight.” Doc met Balta’s eyes. “Get him coffee, clean him up.”
“Yeah.” Balta took Beau’s arm, his heart slamming his ribcage. “Joa brought your bags. Come change clothes.”
Beau followed, stumbling, nodding like a puppet. “What happened, Balta? What the hell was he doing?”
“You got thrown in the chute and were out.” Balta shrugged. “He was right there.” He would do the same for Joa. For many people. You protected what you loved.
Beau stared, his mouth hanging open. “Me? He was in there saving me?”
“You were out. Bullfighters were on the outside.” What else could he say? Beau needed to think, to breathe. He would understand.
Beau shook his head like a bull hearing the buzzer for the first time. Then he eyed Balta as if measuring how much of a fight they could have. As if he needed to beat something.
“Not here.” Balta got it. “Banheiro?” He pointed to the bathroom, willing to give his pound of flesh for Sammy.
Beau turned on his heel, shoulders up around his ears. Balta understood the cowboy way. He knew what Beau needed, so he barked at Joa to lock the door and stay on watch, never questioning that hisnamoradowould do as he asked. Then Balta stripped off his button-down and swelled up his chest with air to make a bigger target. “Come on.”
Wading in, Beau began swinging, head down, fighting like a man who might be losing his whole world and who was holding on for dear life.
Balta stepped into the blows, letting them glance off his body. He felt each one and he prayed that each pain was one that God Himself removed from Sam.
Beau sobbed, near screaming Sammy’s name over and over, the sound pure agony and it threatened to break him, but he couldn’t allow that. This was not about him. When Beau tried to back up, back off, Balta stepped forward, landing his own carefully placed blows. Not the face. Not the head. Beau’s bruise was so raw.
About the time Balta knew neither of them could take another single blow, Beau stumbled forward and slipped, landing with a thud in Balta’s arms. Balta caught him, held him, his pain huge. Sam was his good friend, the one that had been the first to walk up to him and talk to him. Beau stared up, but Balta couldn’t meet those desperate eyes. He could only keep Beau with him, tears streaming down Balta’s cheeks.
Please, he prayed.Please, for Beau. Please let him live.
Beau just held on tight, letting his head drop to Balta’s chest as he cried.
Balta cradled him for a good, long while, then Joa’s voice sounded, low and worried. “Balta. Doc’s back. Come on.”
Balta sighed and let Beau back away while he grabbed some paper towels. They cleaned up, Balta splashing water on his face to wash away the tears.
