Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
They pulled into the driveway of the hotel, close to the door so Balta could save the foot. There wasn’t a guy coming for the bags—the hotels out here in Montana tended to be simpler, the events more rodeo than most. “I’ll bring the bags in.”
Joa reckoned he’d park along the side.
“I’ll check in, huh?” Balta gave him a tired smile, the lines around his mouth standing out. Balta was always smiling, though, no matter what.
“Sim.” He parked, then called his momma. “Mae!”
“Joaquim! Onde esta?”
“Montana, Mae. At the big rodeo.”
“Sim? You like it?”
He nodded, grinning at himself. “Sim. Sim. It’s windy, though. How’re the dogs? My house?”
“Buon. Papai bought calves for you. For the land.”
His father, his sisters and their husbands were incredibly concerned about his land and the lack of livestock on it.
So far there had been goats.
Chickens.
Buffalo.
Llamas.
Ostriches.
“How are the horses?”
“Peru is having a baby.”
“Sim? I’ll have to come home to see. Have the vet come out for her, sim?”
“Sim, Joaquim.”
His father always wanted to handle the births himself, but Joa knew with the horses it was better to have the vet. Another pick-up pulled up next to his and parked, then Eduardo and Vittorio piling out.
He waved, grinned. “Bom dia. No. No, Mae. Just more bull riders.”
Vittorio ducked his head, but Eduardo waved and called a greeting. Vittorio was always so quiet.
They all headed in, Mae still jabbering in his ear about cats and babies and cell phones and calves. Balta met them in the back hallway, clapping Eduardo on the back when he passed by. The smile was just for Joa, though.
He handed over Balta’s bag. “Mae, I have to go. Kiss Papai for me. I’ll be home in two weeks.”
“Te amo.” She rang off with him, and Balta led him to their room.
“How’s your mama, huh?”
“Good. Good. They bought me cattle.”
“A long as it’s not alpaca.” Balta always laughed at his papai, buying him the weird animals.
“Beefmasters. Although I think there are more buffalo coming.”
Buffalo.
Deus.
“Huh.” The room was clean and did not smell like smoke. That was a plus. It had a little refrigerator, which would be good for the smoothies he wanted to try on Balta.
He threw his gear beside the far bed and went to turn the air conditioner up.
“Mmm. You want something from the cooler, doce?”
“Coke, please.” He needed a shower, possibly a nap.
“Sure.” Balta got him a Coke, wandering idly. He had to wonder what was going on behind those dark eyes.
He chewed his bottom lip as he sat to pull his boots off, then just asked. “You okay?”
“Hmm?” Balta turned, smiled for him. “Sim, sim. Claudia called.”
“Oh? Are the kids okay?”
“Mmm. She wants them to come up here and visit a few weeks, huh?”
He nodded. “That is good, sim? You haven’t been to see them in a while.”
“Sim, sim. I want to see them.” Balta’s forehead wrinkled up. “I just know how she is, huh? Plans will change a million times.”
“At least.” He tried to think of something comforting to say. “They can come ride horses at my ranch.”
“Obrigado, doce.” That got him a smile, Balta flopping down next to him on the bed.
He nodded, grinned. Balta didn’t have family here to take care of animals, of a ranch. Him? He’d made enough to buy his land, buy land for his parents.
“I am a little sad that we had to leave our cabin.” One of Balta’s hands slid over, casual as anything, and landed on Joa’s belly.
“Mmm. But the work needs you.” Hot. Balta’s hand was hot.
“I need it, too. So do you.”
They were both cowboys. They were.
He nodded. He loved his job. “Sim.”
“So.” Laughing, Balta sat up and tugged his hand. “Shower.”
“I stink?” He chuckled, stripped off his shirt, made sure the curtains were closed tight.
“No. I just want to be in the water with you.” Balta stripped down, too, looking good. Tanned and healthy.
He grinned, fingers reaching out for Balta’s belly. He’d almost touched when there was a knock on the door. “Silva? This your room?”
Coke Pharris.
Balta sighed, shaking his head. “Go get the water going, huh?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, heading for the bathroom without waiting to hear what the old bullfighter wanted.
He could hear the murmur of their voices, Balta’s sharper accent high against Coke’s deep Texas drawl. The words made no sense. They were just sound under the running water.
Joa stepped into the shower, washing, relaxing, letting the spray bash into him.
He waited, washed his hair, rinsed. Balta didn’t come, though. That wasn’t like Balta at all. There must have been trouble. Once he’d decided that, he turned the tap off, grabbed a towel and dried off, moving faster now.
Coke and Balta had gone, but he could hear voices outside the window. It sounded like Eduardo, shouting. It took ten seconds to pull his jeans on and grab a T-shirt and his key card. He just had to hope he wouldn’t need his boots.
When he finally got outside, Coke was holding back two cowboys, even with one black and busted hand, and Balta was wrestling Eduardo and Vittorio both, shouting in Portuguese.
Joa went running. “Hey! Hey, y’all! Stop it!”
He grabbed one man’s collar from Coke, yanking him back. Eduardo and Vittorio wouldn’t hurt Balta.
“He started it.” The cowboy who snarled at him wasn’t one he knew. The big rodeo was always full of new faces.
“Bullshit.” He knew better.
“I don’t give a fuck who started what, asshole.” Coke puffed up like a short, broad toad. “I’m standing here to say I’ll finish it.”
Balta was talking rapidly, one hand on each of the Brazilian riders’ chests. He was telling them it was no good to fight. It would get them suspended.
“Fucking wetbacks. Taking good men’s money!”
“‘ey, Cu? You watch it.” He could hold his own with these fuckers.
“Keep your shit together, Muscles.” Coke was grinning, though, the devil in his eyes.
“What the fuck did you call me, Beaner?”
He shook the asshole in his head. “Cu. I called you a cu. An asshole.”
Balta turned on the American cowboys, Eduardo and Vittorio fading back into the hotel. “You want me to talk to Ace, Vainery? Huh? I know you. You’re on the little tour. You too, Callahan.”
Balta knew everyone.
“No. No, just…keep a handle on your boys.”
Coke let the one he was holding onto go, and Joa was about to do the same when the man muttered. “Fucking monkeys.”
Joa slammed him into the side of the hotel, easy as you please.
The other American put an arm between them. “Hey, now. Come on, Stef. Let’s just go get that hamburger.”
‘Stef’ looked at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t care what the man picked, he’d go in or fight. He was easy.
It was Balta who finally decided them all, pulling him back about six inches. “Go,” Balta said, and the two boys went.
Coke hooted after they left, clapped Joa hard enough he stumbled forward a few steps. “Not bad, Muscles.”
“Thank you, Coke. For coming to get me.” Balta grinned, shaking out his arms and hands. “It could have been bad.”
“Anytime, son. Any time at all.” Coke smiled back. “I’m hungry. Y’all want to go eat?”
Balta glanced at him sideways, checking to be sure, he’d bet. At his smile, Balta nodded. “Sim, sim. We have not, how do you say? Hung out. In a while, huh?”
“Cool.” Those weirdly pale gray eyes stared at him. “Go put some boots on, son, and get a hat. You need a haircut.”
“Yeah, Gramps.”
Ass.
Balta laughed. “I need my hat, too. We’ll meet you out front, huh? Your truck is bigger.”
“Sure. I’ll grab Nattie.”
“Good, good. Give us five.” Balta grabbed Joa’s arm and steered him back inside. “We’ll have to watch Eduardo. He’s feeling very upset since he lost out in Amarillo.”
“Okay. Sure. Yes. What happened to Coke’s hand?”
“Hmm? Oh, when he tied it up with the bull the other day, sim? Uh, when Coop got hurt.”
“Ah.” He didn’t remember. They got hurt. All of them.
They got back to the room, changing shirts, finding their good hats. “You know, when Dillon got his shoulder out.”
Oh, sim. Everyone remembered that. He nodded, then shook his head. “The clown is not a bull fighter. Not like some.”
Of course, those other clowns couldn’t bring the crowds Dillon could, and without the crowds, they got less money…
“He is no coward, though, huh?” Balta was fine in his clean, starched shirt. Yellow looked good on him.
“No. No, not a coward.” Perhaps a fool, but the man was a cowboy.
“You were very sexy, doce,” Balta said when they slipped out the door and headed to the front desk. “I like when you are forceful.”
“I won’t let them say those things about us.” He was an American, but he was Brazilian, too.
“No. You did well.” Nodding, Balta steered him to the vending machine, pulling out quarters and getting M&Ms.
“We’re about to eat, Balta.” The man was the worst snacker.
“So? I’ve been running around for weeks at thousands of feet above sea level.”
Wait. What did that have to do with it?
Coke was waiting, Nate standing there like a thundercloud was over his head.
Balta smiled, clapping Nate on the arm. “You not wanting us to go, Nate?”
“No. No, Balta. I’m worried about Hoss’ damn hand.”
“Oh, hush, Nattie.”
“Coke is a big, strong man. Forte. He will let you know when to worry.” Look at Balta grin. “You want me to drive, Coke?”
“Sure, son.” Coke tossed the keys over. “I want noodles.”
‘Son’. Joa didn’t bother to hide his smile. Fearless Pharris was the only man who could call Balta ‘son’.
“Oh, I like noodles. And meatballs, huh?”
“You’re awful quiet, Muscles,” Coke said. “You like Italian?”
“I do. I like lasagna and anything stuffed with cheese.” Joa climbed into the back with Nate, the red-headed bullfighter, the bullfighter finally relaxing.
“Hey.” Nate gave him a rueful kind of grin. “Looks like you had a good break.”
“We did. Went up to the mountains, missed the last event.”
“Well, it was a doozie.” Nate laughed, shook his head. “It’s good of y’all to keep Coke company. He’s hurtin’.”
Joa nodded, but really, it wasn’t good. Coke was…legendary.
Almost as much as Balta.