Frontier manners died hard. "You didn't need to do that, Mrs. Bishop. I've got provisions coming from the ranch." "Not until tomorrow, I'd wager, and a man shouldn't go to bed hungry if there's food to be shared." She held out the bundle. "Please. It's the least I can do."
Bo accepted the offering because refusing would have been churlish. When Kelly made no move to leave, he gestured awkwardly to a flat rock near his fire ring. "You can sit if you want, though I imagine you've got plenty to do." "Children are asleep. First quiet I've had all day."
Kelly settled onto the rock with a sigh that spoke of bone-deep weariness. "Thought maybe we should talk about the work ahead. Make a plan." "Sensible." Bo unwrapped the cornbread, still warm, and broke off a piece.
It was dense and filling, made without eggs or milk to save those precious commodities for the children. "The wheat looks ready. Another week at most. We'll need to cut it, shock it, let it dry for a few days, then thresh it." "I know the process," Kelly said with a hint of her earlier defiance.
"I grew up on a farm in Missouri myself. Southern Missouri, near the Arkansas border." "I'm from Missouri, too," Bo said, surprised. "Northern part, near the Iowa line." "Small world." Kelly smiled faintly.
"Did you fight?" Bo knew what she was asking. The War Between the States had split Missouri down the middle, turned neighbor against neighbor, father against son. "I was too young. War ended when I was 12."
"But my father fought for the Union. Lost an arm at Pea Ridge." He paused. "You?" "My father fought for the Confederacy. Died at Wilson's Creek."
Kelly's voice was matter-of-fact, but Bo heard the old pain beneath it. "I was seven. Don't remember much about him except he had a big laugh and he used to carry me on his shoulders." "Hard thing, losing a father young." "Hard thing losing anyone young," Kelly countered.
"But it teaches you what matters. Family, loyalty, taking care of your own." She looked at him directly. "That's why I fight so hard for this land, Mr. Callahan. It's not about the money or even the property itself."
"It's about giving my children stability, a place to call home. Something I never really had after my father died." Bo chewed his cornbread slowly, considering her words. "What brought you to Wyoming?" "Samuel."
Kelly's expression softened and saddened simultaneously. "We met in St. Louis. I was working as a seamstress, and he was, well, he had dreams. Big dreams about the West, about homesteading, about building something from nothing." She laughed quietly without humor.
"Samuel was always dreaming. Unfortunately, he wasn't as good at the doing part." "He was a drunk," Bo said flatly. "He was a man who couldn't live up to his own expectations," Kelly corrected gently. "There's a difference."
"Samuel wanted to be a good husband, a good father. He wanted to be strong and successful and provide for his family. When he couldn't do those things, when the crops failed or the money ran out or things got hard, he drank to forget how much he was disappointing us." "That's a generous way to see it."