It had to be arthritis, Juan Chaverez mused sullenly. What else could it be, unless it was that damned bed he and Rosita lumped to the center in like a sailor's hammock? God, how his back ached.

He drove the dilapidated Chevy with an air of regality in posture, but only to relieve the pain above his hips. Slowly, he brought the vehicle to a halt and the massive woman beside him rolled out.

"Will you come for breakfast?" she asked in Spanish.

"Woman, I told you, I have that Goddamned horse to groom," he spat back at her. "And I'm lucky if I can bend over and pick up the currycomb."

"I only asked you…"

"Keep the coffee hot," he grumbled in their native tongue. "I still haven't figured out why we came to work an hour and a half early on a Saturday morning. We gain no more money for our stupid kindness."

"I told you, lummox, I had personal things to do for my Mrs. Martin…"

"Ooohhh, you and your Mrs. Martin," he grunted. "Ughhh! I'm going to the stables," Juan said without looking at his wife, the pain in his back not so strong when he stood and walked.

What he needed was a good and healthy belt of tequila with a bitter wedge of lemon and salt! Christ, he was getting too old to work as he did. He was fifty. Too fat and too lazy, besides his brain was still warped with visions of grandeur that had never materialized from his young years, and he hated everyone because of it. He smiled to himself.

Well, nearly everyone, he thought a second time. Not the enticing little Missy… not my little Katie… Damn, I only need to look at her to become revived all over again… no pain, no anything but love! Stupid! You fat old man with the big prick! You're stupid!