Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Raul waited behind the gate for them to call his name. The show was over, and Beau Lafitte had won the title. Now all that was left was awards, and Eduardo had told him he’d won rookie of the year. Rookie…
As if he hadn’t been riding since he was five.
Joa stood there with Eduardo, hooting and catcalling when his name was called, and that didn’t make it any easier for his nerves.
He walked past Joa, giving his friend, because he thought they were friends now, a panicked glance. Balta was not there. Who would translate for him?
Joa nodded once and stepped right up, a warm smile on his face. Oh, blessed Cristo.
“Obrigado, Joa,” Raul murmured, then grinned for the camera.
Donald Donaldson spoke so quickly that it sounded like a blur, but Joa was right there, helping him follow along. That way he knew when to step up and take the trophy they offered him, when to show off the belt buckle. Best man for his first year on tour. That was all they meant by Rookie.
That, then, wasn’t a slam. This was an honor that he could wear easily.
Raul waved to the crowd, then walked away when Joa touched his arm and indicated he was done. His skin tingled from the touch, which he told himself was stupid.
Eduardo lifted him up and a chorus of Brazilian voices congratulated him and for a moment, he felt at home. Raul laughed, letting go of everything for a moment and pumping his arms up over his head.
He was doing it. He had come to America to make money, have a place, a ranch, maybe. He was doing it. His earnings this year had mostly gone home to his family, his mother and father, but the bonus today he could use to put a down payment on something. Maybe a truck that was new.
Joa clapped him on the back, offered him a warm smile. “I have to get back to Balta, but I’ll miss celebrating. If I get a chance, I’ll come back to the hotel.”
“Thank you for your help.” He felt a bit dizzy for a moment because his feet had been off the ground for a few minutes, but the world righted itself quickly. “Do you need me to come sit for a while? Let Balta sleep?”
“The others want to feed you, drink. It is important that you won this—for all of us.”
“Sim.” Joa was right, of course. All the Brazilian riders had a right to celebrate this win. Raul would rather share it with Joa, but that was his problem.
Joa was…at best, Balta Silva’s right hand man. At worst, he was even more. At worst, he was someone Raul had no right to covet.
Eduardo slapped his back. “Come, Raul. We’ll have a drink. Maybe a burger, huh?”
“Buy the man a steak, eh?” Joa grinned, hushing him when he would protest.
“Oh, Joa, you are used to Balta’s money.” Leandro slapped Joa’s shoulder. “We’re poor.”
“Then I will buy myself a steak!” Raul’s cheeks heated at the thought of what Balta needed Joa for and how he doubted Joa was in it for Balta’s money.
“As well as you rode, you can.” Joa rolled his eyes and blushed, but there wasn’t any meanness in his tone.
“I will buy you and Balta one when days are better, sim?” He wanted to celebrate with them. Somehow that seemed important.
“I would like that very much, amigo. Very much.”
He would, too. Raul gave Joa a hug, surprising himself, then watched Joa walk away. Time to call his mother and father.
They would both be proud, pleased.
Honored that their youngest son had made something of himself in America.
Joa brought food and washed clothes, brought magazines and pillows and drove Balta back and forth from the hospital to the hotel until he could do the drive in his sleep. Now he was at the Walmart buying snacks and another phone cord because Balta lost one a day.
Balta was tired. He could see it more every day. The season was over, so they didn’t need to travel yet, but Sam was not any better. No worse, but—
He crossed himself, not wanting to think about things too hard.
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.”
“No. No, I’m happy to help. Honest.” His quad muscles jerked and jumped, desperate for Balta’s wicked touch.
Balta chuckled. “Oh, doce, I have been neglecting you. I’ll make it up to you.”
“You’ve been tired. Busy. Worried.” Balta was exhausted and the poor back was sore.
“I have. That doesn’t mean you don’t need, Joa.” Balta patted his leg before they turned into the hospital parking lot. “You can put on a show for me tonight.”
He pulled up to the front door so Balta wouldn’t have to walk so far. “I’ll be right in, Balta.”
“Thank you.” Balta gave him a quick peck on the mouth, right there in the truck, and Joa knew he must have gaped, but the touch was so real. So sudden.
Balta climbed out of the truck. “Meet me at Sam’s room, doce.”
“Sim. I will.” At the waiting room, at any rate. He wasn’t going to be welcome at the ICU. They had rules. Many rules.
The waiting room had good coffee and comfy couches, though, and he could wait. Nap even. Hell, Gramps and Dillon would be there, Doc. Joa could sit and chat with someone else for a bit. His own company was getting old.
He parked the truck and let the seat go back while he listened to Luke Bryan on the radio groaning about some girl at spring break. Did that sort of thing really happen to real people? A constant ocean?
Maybe he was not American enough to understand.
Funny, because he was not Brazilian enough to understand so many things—so many jokes from the others. He thought he’d be stuck in the middle for the rest of his life.
Bah. Joa smiled when he saw Dillon in the waiting room. Feeling sorry for himself did no good.
“Dillon. I have candy bars. Want one?” He plopped down and held the Walmart sack open.
“Only if you have Snickers.” Dillon peered into the bag. “Oh, hallelujah.”
“Is he really awake? He’s talking?”
Dillon nodded, shook his head, then nodded once more. “He’s got the breathing tube in, but Beau says he’s awake and he can blink to answer questions and understand shit.”
“That’s good, yeah? Better than they’d feared?”
“I sure hope so.” Dillon pulled a face. “I worry about him, you know? I always told him to stop landing on his head. It wasn’t even his bull this time.”
“I don’t think he landed on his head. I think the bull landed on his head.”
“I know.” Dillon snorted. “I mean, it’s ironic, right?”
“Yeah. How are the puppies? Tired of the hotel room?” The hound dogs could be loud, and it had to be costing a fortune to keep them there.
“They’re hysterical, and I don’t mean funny.” Dillon sighed. “I hate cooping them up like we are.”
“If you want, I can take them out for a run in the snow. They don’t bite.”
“No, they don’t. I would love that. They have to be on leashes, but they like to run.”
“I’ll do it. As soon as I tell Balta. I don’t mind.” It would be good, to run, to help the dogs out. His dad was watching his pups for him. Still.
His were long-legged beasts. Not like the hounds Dillon had given Coke. Still, they were young and sweet and had the softest ears.
God, he wanted to go home so bad. If wishes were horses…
“I’m gonna go get a drink to go with the sugar,” Dillon said, and Joa thought maybe Dillon needed to walk, to go stretch.
He got his phone out and texted Eduardo, Cotton, just letting them know that Bell was awake now, then he started playing Candy Crush. He was getting to be a master at this shit. Sit and wait. Run errands. Wait.
“Hey, son,” Gramps Pharris said, plopping down next to him. “Wanna play cards?”
“Yes, sir.” He loved to play and Gramps was one of the best. There wasn’t a card game the old man didn’t know. “What are we playing today?”
“Well, we can play Rummy, or I got a travel cribbage game.”
“Let’s play cribbage.” That way if another couple of guys came, they could add them in. Besides, his folks liked that one.
“Good deal. How you holding up, Joa? You about ready to get home?”
He nodded before he thought. “Yessir. So ready. I miss my dogs, my horses. My folks.”
“I hear you, son. I truly do.” Coke seemed worn down, his color fading after days away from the sun, his eyes tired.
“You and Dillon should go rest, too,” Joa said, taking the cards Coke handed him.
“When Sammy goes home.” There was so much in those gray eyes—so much hurting. It made Joa sad, but ashamed, too. All he was thinking of was himself, what he wanted.
Well, what he wanted and what Balta needed.
“Did they say anything about when he would go?” Coke had been in there, so he might know more.
“I don’t think so, no. Beau didn’t say. Sammy’s just now woke up and there’s all doctors in there, you know?”
That, he did remember. Once you woke up from a head injury, the room was like an anthill, crawling with doctors and nurses and more. Joa shuffled the cards, then dealt them out, the motion soothing him. “I’m so glad he’s awake.”
“I am, too.” Coke checked his cards over and put down a deuce. “It’s a damn good sign. They’ll be able to put his lid back on soon.”
“Ew.”
“I know, right?”
The idea of having to remove a piece of skull to repair damage inside made Joa a tiny bit queasy. How was that ever supposed to work right? Sam would never ride again, for sure.
He shook his head, his fingers going to his scalp and bumping his hat. That had Coke cackling at him. “Exactly, son. Makes your head itch.”
Joa grinned. “It does. I’m not the only one, sim?” Coke always knew, but Joa never felt as though he had to apologize for being silly.
“Hey, can I sit in?” Dillon came back with a drink. “He has candy, Coke.”
“Do you? You got anything for me?”
“I do. I have lots.” He handed the bag over and dealt Dillon in. “All the sweet things.”
“I’ve heard that about you, Joa.” Dillon’s tease made his cheeks go hot, but he had to grin. He and Balta hadn’t been so careful lately. People who looked, saw. Not that he worried about Coke and Dillon, but some others would not be so easy.
“Oh, a Payday.” Coke seemed like a little kid, all smiles, which eased the lines on his face.
“Sim. Peanuts. Those are good.” Cowboys loved their sweets.
“They are. Hey, I was thinking what to send Balta for Christmas,” Coke said around a bite of candy. “You think one of those meat and cheese things? I know he loves mortadella.”
Joa nodded enthusiastically. “He will not go home this break, to Brazil. My family will cook for him, you know? They love him, but they’ve been here a long time. More tamales than he’s used to.”
Dillon tilted his head. “So, what does he get at home? I mean, I’ve only been to a Brazilian steak house. That one in Dallas.”
“It’s Ceia de Natal, you know? A special dinner. There is turkey and rice and beans like here, but also bacalhau—fish, sim? A salty fish. And rabanada. Balta loves his sweets. Always that. My mom, she still makes that every year.”
The heavy toasted bread with the cinnamon and egg was rich and the glaze of port and honey made it special.
“What’s your favorite Brazilian food?” Dillon asked.
“Pastels. They’re como…eggrolls? Very thin pastry with meat and things inside. So hot and crispy from a street vendor.”
“Oh, man.” Dillon nodded. “I like anything fried in pastry.”
“Hell, yeah. I love that stew shit. The one with the black beans and meat, son? Balta makes that when he comes to stay.”
“Feijoada.” He loved to watch Balta make the Brazilian national dish. Beans and meat simmered for hours, served over rice. Balta was very proud of his recipe, very secretive about the pork belly he used instead of bacon.
“Yeah, that. That stuff is almost as good as Beau’s gumbo or Granny Taggart’s chili.” Coke groaned, the expression on the man’s face weirdly sexual.
Okay, that was just wrong.
Gramps Pharris wasn’t a sexy guy.
“Sim. I love it. We will have it at Christmas, too.”
“I want to make a ham,” Dillon said. “Maybe a turkey. I got a smoker.”
“Are y’all going to your place?”
He’d been to Gramps’ more than once, but no one had seen Dillon’s place, so far as he knew.
“Yes.” Dillon said it with weight, as if he and Coke had argued about it.
Joa knew better than to get in the middle of that, so he just nodded to Coke. “Your start.”
All he needed to do was play. That was it.
Play and wait for someone to tell him when it was time to drive them somewhere else. The rest was up to Balta, wasn’t it? Joa would follow the man anywhere. Perhaps it was unwise, but he loved with everything in him and he didn’t give up.
Joa thought maybe that was the cowboy way.