Wild Texas Rose (4 page)

Chapter 4

Main Street

R
ose shifted and tried to pull up nonexistent
covers. Slowly she awoke as she became aware she wasn’t in her room in the new wing of the ranch headquarters.

She realized immediately that Duncan had disappeared—as usual. Part of her wondered if he’d come to pester her or help. With him, she was never sure. He might be a lawyer, but he still loved riding with the Texas Rangers. Though tall and broad in the shoulders, he sometimes seemed more boy than man. Most of the time she felt a hundred years older than Duncan. They were playing a game they’d played since meeting. Because he was wild and did whatever he pleased, she had to be the sensible one who kept everything in order, everything grounded. He had all the adventures and she listened to his tales.

Rose stood and shook the dust from her skirt before putting it back on. There was something improper about two adults taking a nap together, but it didn’t seem to bother either one of them. From the time they were small, she and Duncan had taken naps together under the big trees behind the house. As they’d grown older they’d sometimes met in the same spot, both with a book to read. Often they didn’t even talk; they just didn’t seem to want to be alone.

As she began unpacking, a knock startled her. It couldn’t be past midmorning, far too early for Victoria to be back from her fitting. If Duncan came back, he probably wouldn’t bother to knock.

Rose opened the door to the maid Tori had employed since they were in school. Betty Ann was ten years older than Rose and Victoria, but she followed around after Victoria, picking up like a mother hen, and never saw her job as one of guidance to the young girls. If Tori wanted to jump off a bridge, Betty Ann’s responsibility was simply to make sure she was dressed properly.

“Hello, Betty Ann.” Rose stepped back so the maid could enter. “Good to see you again.”

“Morning, Miss McMurray. I brought your dress for the wedding.”

Rose grinned. That was about as friendly as Betty Ann had ever been and Rose learned a long time ago that she’d only fluster the maid if she tried to engage her in any conversation.

Betty Ann carried a bright yellow dress, with white roses of lace curled along the sleeves. Without a word, she crossed the sitting room and laid the gown on the bed. “I was told to bring this over as soon as I knew you were here.”

Rose stared. She guessed Betty Ann thought her overwhelmed by the bridesmaid dress, and she was, though not by its beauty but by the message it delivered.

Betty Ann marched to the door. “I got things to do. If you need anything else, you might want to hire your own maid. I ain’t hired to pick up after no one but Miss Chamberlain.” She looked pointedly at Rose’s open trunk. “You’ll be needing someone to help you once the wedding party starts. The major doesn’t let his daughter show up less than perfect and I don’t think he’ll be too happy with you all wrinkled. He told Miss Victoria that he plans to dine in style every night until the wedding.”

“I understand.” When Tori and Rose had shared a room in school, Betty Ann would pick up Victoria’s dresses even if she had to step on Rose’s to get to them.

Rose stepped closer to the yellow dress, fighting to slow her breathing. Her friend was in trouble. Deep trouble. Though she had no idea what was going on in Tori’s life, she knew one fact: Victoria Chamberlain did not want to get married.

As young girls going to their first parties and dances, they laughed and swore against two things. Rose promised she’d never wear yellow, not even to her own funeral, and admitted she hated roses. Any kind of roses from fresh real ones delivered with notes that read,
A rose for my Rose
, to paper ones in cards or even lace curled to look like the flower. Tori had said she’d never wear purple or shoes taller than one inch. She loved being petite and said purple was a color sensible women wore when they weren’t brave enough to wear red.

“Does Miss Chamberlain know of this dress?” Rose asked the maid.

“Of course, miss, she picked it out yesterday. Her father wanted another one with less lace, but she insisted.” Betty Ann made a face. “He gives in to her more than he should. I imagine that will stop after the wedding.”

Rose ran her hand over the yards of yellow material, barely listening to the maid. Tori hadn’t confided in Betty Ann and so Rose would say nothing.

The maid didn’t seem to notice her silence. “It will still be a few hours before Miss Chamberlain gets back. The groom was expected yesterday, but he didn’t show up. He’s an important newspaperman and probably has more important things to attend to than holding the bride’s hand.” The maid huffed. “I’m guessing that’s your job now, Miss McMurray.”

“Fine,” Rose answered. “I’ve a bit of shopping to do before the fitting. Let the bride and groom have some time alone.” She opened the door, leaving Betty Ann no choice but to exit. “And I think you’re right—I do need a maid.”

Betty Ann walked out mumbling to herself. “If they spend time alone waiting for you, it’ll probably be the first time they’ve spent without the major around. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear them two were getting married and Miss Victoria is just decoration for the cake. The way she’s been buying clothes you’d think she was stocking up for years and not just leaving for Galveston after the wedding.”

Rose didn’t ask questions. She had a feeling if Betty Ann thought she wanted any information about August Myers or the major, the maid would take great pleasure in hiding it.

As Rose hurried down the stairs, she planned. Whatever the trouble, it wasn’t something she could discuss with anyone. She needed to know the good guys from the bad ones as fast as possible, and for that she’d need an expert. Too bad Duncan hadn’t stayed around to help, but she’d manage. For once her fear had to take the backseat to helping a friend, and she needed to know what was going on as soon as possible.

At the desk, she asked the chatty clerk, “I understand Ranger McMurray hired a coach for me if I needed to move about town. Has anyone reported in?”

“Yes, miss, about a half hour ago. He said he’d be waiting whenever you needed him at the north door.” The clerk pointed down a long hallway toward a back door, then hesitated and added, “The man the ranger sent, miss, he’s not an easy man to look at, but he’s honest. We use him mostly for hauling because our guests have trouble looking—”

“I’m not interested.” She found people who judged others by looks far more difficult to face than any scar or deformity she’d ever seen.

“Yes, miss.” The clerk’s eyes met hers and she knew his opinion of her had just risen. “If you need anything, Miss McMurray, just ask for me, Hanson Rogers.”

She nodded. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”

A few minutes later she stepped out of the north door and onto the side street where one worn buggy waited. Fort Worth had been a sleepy little town with its share of saloons and troublemakers, but with the railroad coming and cattle drives passing through, it had grown not only larger but rougher. The town fathers didn’t try to clean up the bars and gambling houses but simply restricted the worst of it to one area everyone called Hell’s Half Acre.

That was exactly where Rose knew she’d find the help she’d need.

The driver was tall, three, maybe four, inches over six feet. With his wide shoulders and thick legs, he seemed powerful more than overweight. He didn’t offer to help her up when Rose approached the old wagon with benches tied into the bed. Duncan was wise to pick nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention.

Rose walked to the front of the wagon and swung up easily on the bench beside the driver.

He turned his face away as he mumbled, “Where to, Miss McMurray?”

“Before we 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 everywhere.

Finally the bars and saloons faded and small houses, two and three stories high, crowded by the river. The buggy stopped at a door even before Rose noticed the small sign at the corner of the house. H
ALLIE’S
P
LACE.
D
RESS OR
U
NDRESS
.

“I don’t think this is a dress shop,” Stitch mumbled as he stepped down and lifted his hands to her.

She let him swing her from the buggy as she asked, “But it has to be?”

“No, miss, I think Hallie lets men dress her however they like . . . or undress her.” He looked away obviously embarrassed at having been so bold.

“Really?”

He didn’t face her. “There are probably stranger things going on down here, but I ain’t talking about them so don’t ask.”

He’d just supplied her with the oddest thing she’d ever heard. “Will you stay close?”

“I will.” He straightened as she pounded on the door.

After several tries a chubby auburn-haired woman, maybe five or six years older than Rose, answered the door. She had sleepy eyes and very little clothes around her rather rounded body. Rose guessed the next customer must be one coming to dress her. When she saw Rose, she pulled a see-through robe around her and just stared as if it were far too early to be bothered.

“Are you Hallie Smith?”

The full-busted woman shrugged. “That’s a name I’ve used.”

“Ranger Travis McMurray is my uncle and he told me if I needed help of a certain nature you might be able to do me a service. He said he hadn’t seen you in years, but he thought you owned a dress shop in Fort Worth.” Rose knew she was rambling, but Hallie Smith looked like she might slam the door at any moment.

“That ranger saved my life once when I was more girl than woman. If you’re his kin, the least I can do is listen to what you want. Come on in.” When Rose passed, Hallie held the door. “This one with you?”

“Yes.” Rose grinned. Stitch was taller than the door frame.

Hallie looked him up and down boldly and he returned the favor. Each seemed shocked by the other.

As they moved down the hallway to a tiny sitting room, Rose heard Hallie whisper to Stitch that she didn’t give samples and he answered that he wasn’t asking for any.

Hallie offered her a seat and didn’t seem surprised when Stitch remained framed in the doorway. “Would you like some tea?” Hallie’s tone seemed rusty, as if she knew the proper words but hadn’t used them in a long time.

“Thank you. That would be nice,” Rose answered. In truth, she needed a few minutes to wrap her mind around the idea that this dressmaker her uncle sent her to was something quite different from what she’d originally thought. He’d simply said, “If you need help with clothes or sewing, or even a good pickpocket, you might try Hallie Smith. When I knew her, she was a woman of many talents.” He couldn’t have known what she was doing, Rose felt sure of it.