Why are you upset?” Ethan pressed.
Leah glanced at her brother then hurried on. “I’m worried for Bo.” It wasn’t a total lie.
“Then it’s not about that scar he was covering up?”
The direct question brought her up short. When she didn’t answer immediately, Ethan stepped in front of her. “You always do this.”
“What?”
“Treat me like I’m too young to understand. You send me out to feed the chickens or check on Samson, or whatever gets me out of earshot so you can whisper to Mae and Hope. I ain’t a little kid anymore, Leah. I’ll be thirteen soon. Stop treating me like I’m five.”
Conviction constricted her lungs. Had she been treating him so? They’d all been young when Papa died—Ethan seven, Hope nine, and Mae thirteen. At first, she’d kept the overwhelming truth of their circumstances to herself. However, when the banker foreclosed on their house, she could no longer hide the truth. It was then Mae became her confidante and ally. They’d recently begun sharing the heavier circumstances with Hope, which left Ethan as the only one in the dark. Without realizing it, they’d excluded him as they huddled together.
Papa’s death forced them all to mature fast. It was time she started treating Ethan as the young man he was.
She led him around the corner toward the bench near an empty storefront.
“Ethan, I’m sorry. I haven’t meant to discount you. You were so small when we lost Papa, I didn’t want to worry you with things, but you’re old enough now to know more, help us make decisions.”
The boy folded his arms. “‘Bout time you realized it.”
“It is.”
“You gonna tell me about Bo’s scar?”
“Yes.” She gulped. “That mark is a brand, like you’d put on cattle or horses, and it says Coop.” Her stomach knotted afresh. The pain he must have endured from just that one incident …
Ethan’s eyes rounded. “Why’s he got a brand like that?”
“He said last night, he was raised by a very cruel man named Coop, but I don’t know exactly why Coop branded him.” She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “It breaks my heart to think what he must’ve endured.”
Her brother looked away, obviously chewing on the information. She also sat, staring mindlessly at Mrs. Casselroy’s boardinghouse across the street.
Minutes ticked by before Ethan looked at her. “I like Bo.”
“He’s a good man.” Underneath all his rough edges.
“He’s good for you, sis.”
“For me?”
Ethan nodded. “You smile more when you’re around him.”
Did she? Realizing Ethan was right, warmth spread through her like honey on fresh biscuits. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t smiling.”
“Probably because you’re sore at me all the time.” His tone turned apologetic. “I haven’t been doin’ right lately.”
The quiet confession was all the apology she needed. To lighten the mood, she elbowed him in the ribs. “‘Bout time you noticed.”
He chuckled but sobered quickly. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
Leah looped her arm around his shoulders and planted a sisterly kiss on his head. “I appreciate that. Now do me a favor and go to the post office. See if we’ve received any mail.” She rubbed his arm.
“Back in two shakes.” He scurried off.
Oh Lord Jesus, please. Let Ethan truly be turning a corner. He’s worn me down lately. It would answer months of her prayers if he would act better. And … dare she hope that his better behavior might ripple through other areas and ease the difficulties? Maybe.
Her thoughts ricocheted back to Bo. Was Ethan right? Was Bowdrie Allen good for her? The blacksmith was having a positive effect on her brother, it seemed. And her sisters … Hope and Mae both had chattered about the previous night’s visit, despite his abrupt departure.
And yes—Bo Allen did make her want to smile.
A fine carriage pulled by two beautiful bays interrupted her thoughts. The fancy conveyance stopped in front of Mrs. Casselroy’s, where a man, tall and blond, wearing a sharp suit and an immaculately groomed beard, stepped down and rounded the carriage. There, he helped a dark-haired woman down, followed by two beautiful blond girls around Ethan’s age or younger. The girls between them, father and mother walked toward Mrs. Casselroy’s door.
Leah’s heart ached at the picture. Lord, dare I hope to think I might be part of such a loving image someday? And does that image include Bowdrie Allen?
“Grief, Doc. No. It’s not proper.” Bo glowered as the healer helped him thread his injured hand through his shirtsleeve. “I can take care of myself.”
“Under normal circumstances, I would agree. But you’ve got no kin, and I had you on my operating table under the influence of ether for hours last night. Between that and the blood you lost, someone really should look in on you every few hours, at least until tomorrow. And since the missus and I have another emergency to attend to some distance away, you can’t stay here.”
Blast it all—why’d Doc have to be summoned now?
“Leah’s already agreed. You’ll stay with her.”
This was getting worse by the minute. “What happened to keeping a patient’s condition private except for their closest relatives?”
“I hardly shared intimate details. Besides, Leah’s been sitting with you all morning as we’ve discussed your condition. You haven’t seemed overly worried about her knowing things.”
He hadn’t been—but her hearing about his hand was a far cry from him staying in her house.
Doc held the other side of the shirt as Bo slid his arm through the sleeve. “Now finish getting dressed. Mrs. Bates and I need to go. It’s urgent.” He departed, leaving the door ajar.
Bo blew out a frustrated breath. As he tried to align the button with its proper hole, a soft knock came at the door.
Leah peeked in. “I overheard your conversation. We don’t mind you staying, Bo.”
“I have no intention—”
“Why on earth not?” Leah planted her fists on her trim waist. “Need I remind you? You’re not able to work with your hand in that shape.”
The button slipped from his fingers.
“And heavens, Bo. You’re barely able to dress yourself.”
“It ain’t appropriate. You’ve got plenty on your plate already.” He tried again to slip the shell button through its corresponding hole one-handed. He nearly had it until the tiny disc escaped his fingers again. Bo swallowed his mounting anger and lined up the two sides of his shirt. “I’ll make do.”
“Stop being so stubborn.” She crossed to where he stood. “You don’t have to make do. Let us help you.”
Leah reached to fasten his shirt, but he shoved her hands away and backed up a step. The room weaved with the sudden movement, so when his calves hit the edge of the bed, momentum carried him down to the mattress.
“Stop!” He stood, towering over her. “I’m a thirty-year-old man. I been taking care of myself since I was nine. I’ll not be mollycoddled by you or anyone else.”
“Mollycoddled—” Hurt flashed in her eyes, only to dissolve into a stubborn glare. “You’ve taken care of yourself for so long because you had to. You no longer have to do this on your own.” She took a step back and folded her arms. “Not unless you’re trying to prove just how stubborn, prideful, and bullheaded you really are. If that’s the case, Bowdrie Allen, then you’re not the man I think you are.”
The words struck like a slap across his cheek. “Just what kind of a man do you think I am? ’Cause I’m betting you’re wrong.”
“I know you to be a kind, good-hearted man, but you hide yourself behind your hurt and fear. You act so bullheaded to keep people from getting close, but you’ve let your guard down enough to show there’s a gentle soul inside.”
Her words stabbed straight to his heart, leaving him as exposed and vulnerable as if he stood without a stitch of clothes in a crowd. He shoved past her, fumbling again to fasten his buttons so he could pull his hat on and leave.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” A challenge sparked in her tone.
He scrambled for something—anything—to deflect the truth, yet for all his mental flailing, he came up empty.
“Blast it all, Leah! What do you know—” He spun to face her, bringing on another wave of dizziness. He reached for something with which to brace himself.
Leah was immediately at his side. “Step back.” She guided him toward the large comfortable chair in the corner. Once more, as the backs of his legs hit the furniture, he toppled, pain lancing his wounded hand.
When finally he looked up at her, she looked back with great compassion and understanding. “I know more than you’re giving me credit for, so please stop pretending you’re something you’re not. At least with me.” She eased onto the arm of the chair and reached for the buttons.
This time he didn’t resist. “Are you prepared for what people will say?”
“What do you think they’ll say?”
“It ain’t right, you having a man who ain’t your husband, staying in your house.”
She pursed her lips but didn’t respond.
“Leah, I’ve defended your honor once, and I’d do it again—but how am I s’posed to do that when everyone’s gonna assume it’s me who’s stolen it?”
A quizzical expression contorted her features. “When did you defend my honor?”
Blast. What was wrong with him? He got anywhere near this woman’s red-blond curls and his tongue flapped like a creaky gate in a gale wind. “What do you think happened to my hand?”
She sobered. “I heard you were in a fight. What really happened?”
“After I left you, I went to the Sierra Gold Saloon. Sal Harper was mouthin’ off, and I didn’t like what he was saying about you and your kin.”
Her lips parted a little. “Isn’t Sal your friend?”
“I don’t know what he is right now.”
“Oh Bo. You could lose the use of your hand. Because of me.”
“No. Pretty sure it was my own stupid thinking to hit him with that glass clenched in my fist.” Stupid didn’t begin to cover it. Downright fool-headed idiocy.
“I feel terrible,” Leah whispered. “This is my fault.”
“No, it ain’t.” He gritted the statement through clenched teeth then softened and began to rub the knuckles of his left hand along her arm. “Leah, men fight. Leastways the ones I know. Stay around me long enough and you’ll come to understand. I do a lot of stupid, angry things.” His words stalled. “Defending your honor ain’t one of ’em though. You’re a good woman. Reckon if I’m gonna lose the use of my hand, it oughta be fighting for someone like you.”
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I think you just proved my point. Your heart is kind and good.”
He shook his head. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“About people gossiping? Nothing to worry about there. First, Doc’s mandating this. Second, you’ll share Ethan’s room, and my sisters and I will share the other—as we always do. And third, there are three chaperones who can clarify things for anyone who questions the arrangements.” She emphasized it with a nod.
Between his frustration, dizziness, and pain, he didn’t have the will to keep arguing. “Fine. You win. But at least take me by my place so I can get some clean clothes and walk my horses across to the livery.”
“Doc already sent Ethan to take care of your horses. And I’d be glad to let you collect a few things.” Once Leah stood from her perch on the arm of the chair, Bo rose as well. She reached for his hat and handed it to him.
He snugged the hat on his now aching head. “Grief, woman, do you spend all your time thinking how to win arguments with me, or are you just gifted like that?”
Leah chuckled. “Gifted, I suppose.”