"At this rate we'll have the whole field cut by tomorrow evening." "If we don't kill ourselves first," Bo muttered, examining the blisters on his hands. "Let me see those." Kelly took his hands before he could protest, turning them over to examine the raw, bleeding patches.
"You need these wrapped or they'll get infected. Come on." She led him back to the house, where she produced clean cloth and more of that salve she seemed to have an endless supply of. Her touch was gentle as she cleaned and bandaged his hands, her fingers cool against his overheated skin. "You don't have to do this, you know," Kelly said quietly, focused on her task.
"The harvest, I mean. You've already done more than anyone could reasonably expect. I'm sure I could hire help in town." "With what money?" Bo interrupted. "You said yourself every penny is going toward paying the debt."
"I'd figure something out. I always do." "Kelly." Bo waited until she looked up at him. "I'm staying. Stop trying to convince me to leave."
"I just don't want you to feel obligated." "I don't feel obligated. I feel—" Bo trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. How did he feel?
Responsible? Protective? Something deeper and more dangerous that he didn't want to examine too closely? "I feel like I should be here. So I'm here. That's all."
Kelly held his gaze for a long moment, and Bo saw something shift in her eyes. Understanding, maybe, or acceptance of something unspoken between them. Then she finished tying off the bandage and stepped back. "All right, then. You're here."
"We should eat something before we go back out. I made sandwiches this morning." They ate in companionable silence, sitting on the porch steps while the children played in the yard. Thomas was teaching the twins some kind of game involving throwing stones into a bucket, while Sarah held baby James and sang to him.
It was such a normal domestic scene that Bo felt something ache in his chest. A longing for something he'd convinced himself he didn't want. "They're good kids," Bo observed. "They are," Kelly agreed, pride evident in her voice.
"They've had to grow up too fast, but they're good kids. Sarah especially. She's been like a little mother to the others since Samuel died. Sometimes I worry she's missing her childhood."
"She seems happy enough for now." "But what happens when she's 16, 17? When boys start coming around and she realizes what she's been missing?" Kelly's voice was troubled. "I want better for her, Bo."
"I want better for all of them. That's why I'm fighting so hard for this land. It's not just about having a roof over our heads. It's about having something solid beneath our feet. Something they can build on."
Before Bo could respond, the sound of approaching horses cut through the afternoon quiet. Both he and Kelly stood, hands instinctively going to defensive positions, Kelly reaching for the rifle she kept by the door, Bo's hand settling on his Colt. Three riders crested the rise, and Bo recognized them immediately. Frank Miller and two of his cronies from the saloon in town.