"What I deserve is to help raise five incredible children and build something real and lasting. What I deserve is a second chance at happiness, and Kelly, you're giving me that. Everything else is just details." Tears spilled down Kelly's cheeks.
"You really mean that?" "Every word." Bo wiped her tears with his thumbs. "Now, are you going to marry me today, or are we going to stand here arguing while Frank Miller and his cronies try to destroy your life?" Despite everything, Kelly laughed, a watery, shaky sound, but genuine.
"You're the most stubborn man I've ever met." "Takes one to know one," Bo countered. "Now get the children ready. We're going to town." An hour later, they set out in Bo's wagon.
Kelly, Bo, and all five children were dressed in their Sunday best, which in the children's case meant clothes that were threadbare but clean and carefully mended. Sarah held baby James while the younger children chattered excitedly about the wedding, too young to fully understand the circumstances but picking up on the adults' tension. Jack rode ahead to arrange things, and by the time they arrived in Dry Creek, a crowd had already gathered. Word of their arrival had spread fast, too fast, and Bo realized with a sinking feeling that Frank Miller had been busy.
The crowd wasn't friendly. As Bo helped Kelly down from the wagon, he could hear muttered comments, see the judgment in people's eyes. A few women turned their backs pointedly, making their disapproval clear. Men who'd once tipped their hats to Kelly now stared at her with expressions ranging from pity to disgust.
Kelly's spine straightened, her chin lifting in that defiant way Bo had come to know so well. She held baby James close and gathered her children around her like a mother hen protecting her chicks. "Ignore them," Bo muttered, offering her his arm. "They don't matter." But they did matter, and Kelly knew it.
These were the people she'd have to live among, do business with, raise her children alongside. Their opinions had weight and consequences that went far beyond hurt feelings. They were halfway to the church when Frank Miller stepped into their path, his bruised jaw a testament to Bo's fist. Behind him stood his cousin, a weaselly man with a deputy's badge pinned to his vest and a smirk on his face.
"Well, well," Miller drawled, "if it ain't the happy couple. Come to make an honest woman of her, Callahan?" Bo's hand went to his gun, but Kelly's grip on his arm tightened, holding him back. "Don't," she whispered.
"That's what they want. Don't give them an excuse." "You hear that, boys?" Miller called out to the crowd. "The widow's got a rich man on a short leash already. That was fast work, Mrs. Bishop."
"Your husband's barely cold in the ground and you've already secured yourself a new meal ticket." The crowd murmured, some in agreement, others in discomfort at Miller's crudeness. Bo felt Kelly tremble beside him, felt the effort it took for her to hold her head high and not respond to the provocation. But Thomas, six-year-old Thomas with his father's temper and his mother's protective instincts, darted forward before anyone could stop him.
"You take that back. My mama is not like that. She's good and she works hard and she doesn't need your mean words." Miller laughed cruelly.
"Someone should teach that boy some manners, though I suppose that's what happens when a woman tries to raise children without a man's firm hand." That did it. Bo released Kelly's arm and stepped forward, putting himself between Miller and the children. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but carried clearly in the sudden silence.
"Frank Miller, you're a coward and a bully. You spread lies because you can't stand to see a good woman succeed where you failed. You mock a widow because you're too small a man to admire her strength, and you insult her children because you know you could never raise kids half as fine as hers." Bo's hand rested on his gun.