Chapter Twenty-Two
Home.
Home, home, home.
Joaquim bounced as they turned off the Farm-to-Market, and onto the gravel road that led to his ranch. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t great. It was four miles off the road, fenced and gated, and miles away from everybody. Joaquim loved it.
Raul was in the back seat, leaning forward to talk with Balta, words flying fast and furious. They pulled up to the gate and he hopped out, grabbing the old ring of keys. Balta scooted over to pull the truck through for him, grinning and jabbering with Raul, his voice so much more musical in Portuguese.
He didn’t bother to get back in the cab when he locked up—Joa just jumped onto the tail gate, looking at the pastures, at everything that might have changed. They bounced along the rutted track, and he made a mental note that he needed to grade it again. Still, if that was the worst that he had to do, he was happy.
He’d called Papi and asked them to check the lights and water and put things in the kitchen—milk and beer and breadfor a couple days. His folks were going out of town, but Papi had been good, doing what he asked before going to Sao Paulo that very morning.
The green house looked whole, both his dogs waiting on the porch, wagging. “Maca! Mamao!”
The truck slid to a smooth stop, Balta not even jolting him, and the minute the engine cut off the dogs were on him, bouncing all over his legs. Balta laughed, swinging out of the cab and coming to help.
“They missed you, huh?”
“They do.” He’d had them both almost eight years, the silly hounds, and he missed them when they stayed with his folks.
“Oh, look at them!” Raul laughed, stepping down cautiously, making sure the dogs saw him coming. Good man.
Maca tackled Raul, wagging and panting, while Mamao headed for Balta, more shy.
“They don’t bite.”
Balta held one big, square hand, and Mamao wiggled right up, begging scritches. So sweet, the way she adored him. Balta laughed and laid into her ribs. “I bet there are treats inside, huh?”
“Sim, sim. Papi would bring them. He brought groceries, too, just like always.” His Papi was a fine, fine man.
“You’re lucky, Joa.” Raul smiled when he said it, not jealous or sad or anything. Just happy to be there with them.
“I am. You are, too, because we have three weeks.” Three weeks and the big TV and movies and the barrel hung outside and the horses to ride.
Raul bounced. “You said we could rope…”
“We have a pen that we all share. Me, my brother, my cousins.” A pen, a trailer, everything they needed.
“Oh, good.” Look at those pretty eyes shine. Raul had beautiful eyes, light like a hawk’s in the sun one second, dark the next.
He blinked, caught for a moment, then he blushed, smiled. He couldn’t. That was wrong. “Come in. Come in.” He unlocked the door.
Balta whistled up the dogs and followed, grabbing a duffel out of the truck. Raul grabbed the rest of their bags and trudged along behind, those eyes missing nothing.
The house was simple, heavy sturdy furniture, a big television, movies and books. It was a good place, a home. His. Joa couldn’t help but shimmy, ass wiggling back and forth. “Better than a hotel, sim?”
“Much better,” Raul agreed, setting down bags and stretching. Those tanned cheeks went dark. “Where is the bathroom?”
“Oh, here.” Joa took Raul’s elbow, showed him the guest room and the bathroom across the hall. “There’s another in the master bedroom,sim?”
“Obrigado…” Raul went in and closed the door.
Balta was on him almost right away, pushing him until his back hit the wall and kissing him hard, mouth hot and damp on his. He groaned and jerked, cock trying to drill out of his pants and into Balta’s thigh.
“Mmm. Good, huh? Want you,namorado.” God, Balta was hot against him.
“Sim. Sim,” he groaned, trying so hard to be quiet.
