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start out, turn around.” At least he knew her name, but she’d look at him directly before she decided to go anywhere with him no matter what Duncan thought of the man.
    He swiveled slowly as if bracing himself for her reaction.
    Rose stared straight into his eyes, barely making note of the scars crossing his face like a crowded road map. “I understand you are a man to be trusted.”
    A bit of the anger left his eyes. “I am.”
    “Good. I need more than a driver. I don’t know what I’m stepping into here, maybe nothing, but if there is trouble, I need to have someone I can depend on.”
    He studied her for a minute and she expected him to ask details, but all he finally said was, “Wherever we go, I’ll not come out without you. I’ll see you safe back to this door, miss. You have my word.” He lifted a corner of his mouth in almost a smile. “Duncan McMurray is one of the few men I call friend and you matter to him. That’s all I need to know.”
    “Fair enough. I’ll expect you at this door when I need you.”
    He smiled. “I sleep in my wagon anyway. Might as well do it here. They call me Stitch, miss. That’s the only name I got.”
    “Were you in the war, Stitch?” If he was, the surgeons had done a poor job. She couldn’t help but notice that his hands revealed the same white scars that crossed his face. It was hard to guess his age, but by the lack of lines around his smoky blue-gray eyes she thought him under forty.
    “I fought for a short time with Terry’s Rangers. When I was hurt, I would have died if I hadn’t been taken prisoner. A Yankee doctor fixed me up, sewing up holes so I wouldn’t bleed all over everything. When I got where I could walk, they gave me a choice. Stay in prison, or sign up for the frontier. I served the rest of the war out on the fort line. Out there it didn’t matter if you were Reb or Yank. You were fighting to keep settlers alive.”
    Stitch thought for a minute, then added with unexpected forthrightness, “I got a start on these scars from my father. He used to like to cut things when he was drunk. I was the oldest and the one he always came after.”
    “That’s unforgivable.” Anger caught in her throat as she forced the words out.
    “That’s what I told him when I killed him just after I turned nine.”
    “Self-defense,” Rose whispered simply.
    “I thought so too, even if he was snoring at the time.” Stitch took a breath as if knowing he’d have to finish his story before she’d stop asking questions. “My ma had a baby on the breast at the time and didn’t want to have to go to town and explain, so she just buried him. I don’t remember any of the neighbors even asking how he died. Don’t reckon they cared.”
    Rose fought down a gasp. She’d just hired a killer. A killer who’d defended himself at nine. She didn’t know whether to be worried or proud of him for being honest. “Do you know where the red-light district is?”
    He barked a laugh. “Everyone in Fort Worth knows that, miss.”
    She was glad he didn’t add something about such a place not being for the likes of her. With an overprotective father, three uncles—all bossy—and an older sister who thought she was a second mother, Rose did not need advice from strangers.
    “I wish to go to a dress shop on the north end near that district. I don’t have a street or number, but my uncle told me it was called Hallie’s Dresses and it faced the river.”
    The big man set the team in motion. “Only one street it could be, I’m thinking. This time of the morning the roads in that part of town will be empty so we should be able to move fast.”
    Rose gripped the side of the seat. Stitch was a good driver and he didn’t waste time. As the streets passed she had the feeling she was going down a well. Everything dulled and seemed covered in grime. Once, when Stitch stopped to drag a drunk out of the road, she tried to see anything bright, but the world seemed to be cloudy