"I heard her. She only cries when things are really bad." Bo felt something twist in his chest. "Your mama's strong. She'll be fine." "I know she's strong, but even strong people get tired."
Thomas looked up at Bo with those disconcerting hazel eyes. "Papa used to get tired. That's why he drank the bad water that made him act funny. Mama explained it to me. She said sometimes people get so tired of being strong that they need help being strong, but they don't know how to ask for it."
The kid was six years old and already possessed more emotional intelligence than Bo had managed to acquire in 34 years. "Your mother sounds like a wise woman." "She is. She knows everything." Thomas stood up and brushed dirt from his pants.
"Are you going to marry my mama?" Bo nearly choked. "What? No, I'm just here to— Why would you ask that?" "Billy Hutchins said that when his papa died, a man came and married his mama after only two months."
"He said that's what happens when papas die. New papas come to replace them." Thomas's face was serious, considering. "I don't think I want a new papa, but Sarah says we might need one anyway because Mama can't do everything by herself even though she tries." Bo crouched down to the boy's level, suddenly feeling the weight of this strange conversation.
"Listen to me, Thomas. I'm not here to replace your father or marry your mother. I'm here because your father owed me money, and your mother and I made an agreement about how to settle that debt. That's all. Understand?"
"I guess so." Thomas didn't look entirely convinced. "But if you were going to marry Mama, I'd want you to know that she likes wildflowers, especially Indian paintbrush, and she gets scared during thunderstorms but pretends she doesn't because she doesn't want us to be scared. And she sings when she thinks nobody's listening, and she's really good at it even though she says she's not."
"Thomas!" Kelly's voice cut across the field. "Leave Mr. Callahan alone and come help your sisters with the chickens." "Yes, Mama." Thomas scampered off, leaving Bo crouched in the wheat field, mind reeling from one of the strangest conversations he'd ever had.
She likes wildflowers. She's scared of thunderstorms. She sings when she thinks nobody's listening. Bo shook his head firmly.
He didn't need to know these things, didn't want to know them. Knowing them made Kelly Bishop into a person with depth and complexity rather than just a name in a ledger. He stood up, brushed off his pants, and headed back toward the house. Jack and the boys would be arriving soon with supplies, and they had work to do.
Real work. Physical work that would keep his mind occupied and away from dangerous territory like wildflowers and singing widows. But as he walked through the golden wheat, Bo couldn't quite shake the image Thomas had painted. Kelly crying silently in the dark after her children were asleep. Bearing her burdens alone because she had to be strong for everyone else.
Bo knew something about that kind of loneliness. He'd been living it for seven years. By mid-morning, Jack had arrived with supplies, bedroll, provisions, tools, and the good scythe Bo had requested. The foreman took one look at Bo's face and wisely kept his observations to himself, though his eyes gleamed with suppressed amusement.
"Anything else you need, Boss?" Jack asked, unloading a sack of coffee beans. "No. Head back to the ranch. Check on the north pasture. Those heifers should be ready to move to fresh grass."