Chapter Fifteen
Balta left Sam’s hospital room, pleased that his friend was out of ICU and had finally agreed to see him.
What did not please him was how small and frail Sam looked, how gray and tired. Sam Bell should be tanned and laughing, should be planning his next practical joke. His hands clenched and unclenched, because he wanted to hit something.
Balta thought maybe it was time to go home.
Joa sat in the waiting room, talking on his phone in Portuguese, just jabbering ninety to nothing, all the while scribbling on a notebook.
Shopping list, maybe? Joa’s mother could rattle off a list like no one else on earth. Oh, he could eat a real meal soon.
He moved closer, listening now, and Joa was obviously talking to one of the newer riders about his visa, explaining who to call, what happened next, who could help in the organization.
Balta slid into the seat next to Joa, listening to his oddly formal Portuguese. Fluent, of course, but not the speech of someone who’d grown up in Sao Paulo or Rio. His lover was pure Texas, an American citizen, home here like he never would be.
Still, Joa would never be only like the Texans, never be at home in Brazil, so it was a fair trade.
Balta nudged Joa’s knee with his, smiling when those stunning, dark eyes turned his way.
He got a tired smile, a wink. “Nao. Nao. Escute-me…”
Listen to him. So forceful.
Balta grinned. His Joa was going to be a force to reckon with once they retired. He would bet Joa became an ambassador for the Brazilian riders, or maybe went to work with the league as a translator.
Joa put his phone in his pocket and sighed. “Sorry, Balta. One of the new boys—Kaique—needed help. Are you ready to go back now?”
“I’m ready to go home.”
Joa stared at him, not blinking, barely breathing, and Balta hated how selfish that hope made him feel.
“Sim?” The word held a wealth of desire, of need, of pure want. “Home?”
“Your mama wants to cook,nao? I think I could eat my weight in rice and beans.” He patted his belly. He could also use plenty of nights in Joa’s very firm bed.
“Sim. Sim, I will get the truck.” Joa didn’t even wait for another word—he simply took off running for the doors, boot heels clicking on the tile.
Balta glanced around the waiting room, but no one was there. The cowboys had been clearing out one by one over the last week as Sam got stronger. He did text Coke Pharris, telling him he’d said his goodbyes for the moment, and that he would see them after Christmas.
Coke answered almost immediately with “Take care, Silva. Merry Christmas.”
Coke made him smile. The man had to make Dillon crazed, the way he was always available to the riders. The clown liked to be the center of attention, after all.
Sort of like he did.
He began to walk out of the hospital, his bones telling him that this snowy weather was ridiculous and not for a Brazilian bull rider with pins in his back, hips and thigh.
Joa waited for him, the big black truck humming and, when he climbed inside, he found the heater blazing, warm air already pouring from the vents.
“Oh, that’s good,doce. Why is Reno so cold, huh?” He held his hands out to the louvres, letting his fingertips wake back up.
“It’s high, Balta. We’ll spend the night here, yes? Sleep before heading out?”
“Sim, but you know what? I want to go to another hotel. One of the fancy ones. Just for tonight.” Maybe someplace with a hot tub. He tugged out his phone and started scrolling through a hotel booking site.
Joa offered him a curious glance, but the smile he got was pleased, and he realized he hadn’t touched hisnamoradoin days. Not a kiss, not a random caress or a hug.
Nothing.
