His phone rang and Joa grabbed it. “Sim, Balta?”
“Come to the hotel and get me. He’s awake.”
“Oh, thank God. I’ll be there in a few.” Joa sent up a prayer that Sam was awake and well, but he’d take awake right now.
“Hurry.” He hadn’t heard Balta so excited in days and he welcomed the energy. God knew he wanted to go home, to curl up in his bed and put up his Christmas lights.
Joa hung up and hurried. He added peanuts and a Butterfinger for Beau and did the self-check so he could run to the truck.
All he had to do was get to the hospital and hope. He wanted to go home. He wanted to bring Balta home, dammit. They needed rest. The new season began at the end of January, and Joa wanted?—
His cheeks heated with what he wanted.
He reached the hotel in only moments, honking once at the window to their room.
Balta came out the door with a bright grin on his face. Oh, he hadn’t seen that expression in too long. Yes, that meant Sam was awake and that the news was better than Balta expected.
“I got you a Fanta,” he said, handing Balta a drink when he vaulted into the truck.
“You are good to me.” Balta offered him a smile that made promises that he could only hope were real.
“I love you.” The words popped out at the strangest times. They were true, so he wasn’t ashamed.
“I know,namorado. I know.”
Joa chuckled. Balta always said that. It had hurt his feelings back when he first said it, but now Joa understood.
“Go now. Let’s go see Sammy.”
“I am! Impatient man.” Joa started back to the hospital, hoping he didn’t have to go too many times more. The smell…
“Me? Nonsense, I am the image of patience.”
“Oh, sure. You are in the dictionary next to the word.”
“Balta Silva. Patience. I like that.”
“Mm-hmm. Under antonyms.” Antonyms. He felt smart.
“That’s opposites, yes?” Balta hooted and slapped the dash. “He’s awake, Joa. Aware.”
He said a prayer, his smile growing without a bit of trouble. “Sim?”
“That’s what Beau says. He’s having trouble with speech, but he’s never been a big talker, huh?”
“Like he cain’t talk anymore?”
Balta snorted. “So Texas sometimes. I think he will talk, but his head is scrambled in that place. They say he knows where he is, who he is. A bull rider can learn anything again, even talking,nao?”
“Sim. We are scrambled more than not.”
Balta nodded, then began to sing with the radio, a joyful noise. It settled in his heart, warming him where he’d been freezing—outside and inside. Reno was cold at this time of year. They needed to go home to Texas.
Soon.
This wasn’t a place to spend Christmas.
Balta put a hand on his leg. “I know this has not been easy,namorado. I’m sorry.”
