“We’re always gonna be different. Always.” Again, his Joa simply said the truth. “We ain’t like them. We’re Brazilians.”
Except that Balta knew that wasn’t even true, not for Joa.Cristo. What a fucking mess.
Balta took a deep breath and unclenched his hands. “I told them I would help.”
Joa chuckled dryly. “Of course you did. You love them, one and all. And you are a nosy man, Balta. You want to be involved.”
“I should beat you.”
“Let’s go have a beer, instead. Shoot some pool. Then we’ll go back and start again.”
He stared at hisdoce. “When did you become wise,namorado?”
“Last Tuesday.Maigave it as a Christmas gift.” Joa winked at him. “You’re tired, Balta, that’s all.”
Sim, he was. In his soul. “I am. You make it better. Every day.”
“Good.” Joa leaned over and kissed him, so daring. “God will decide about Jason Scott, Balta, not you, not Andy Baxter, not even Gramps. God will decide.”
That he could believe in, and Balta nodded, feeling his shoulders ease down from around his neck, even if relaxing made his kidneys hurt. “Pool, then beer.”
“Sim. If I win, you pay.”
“I’ll pay, anyway. You provided the smarts.” Balta winked, still reeling, but feeling less like the walking wounded. “Who would have thought, huh?”
“It happens.Maisays a stopped clock is right twice a day.”
Then there was hope for Coke Pharris and his crazy plan, wasn’t there?
Of course, it would only work if Balta helped. That was the truth of things.
The cowboys needed a Brazilian to charm thechefe, the boss, to distract.
That he was good at.
