She traces the lines of his face, leaving one hand to rest in his hair. He may not be looking at her, but she's still looking at him. When he reopens his eyes he'll see serious intent, pools of fire; her fingers stop at his chin, grasping just firmly enough to get across the necessity that he listen and listen well.

"Don't ever tell me what I can an' can't do; I know how t'take care'a myself. I may walk out that door one day an' never walk back in. I'm wanted out there, dead or alive. But I ain't lookin' for somebody t'save me, so don't you try."

She means it. She's heard well and enough from men about how she should stand back and let them take care of things for her, how she's not doing things straight, how she's not smart enough. But here she is now, on her lonesome, and she ain't about to let another body dictate how she behave.

"Second thing is, don't ever tell me somethin' that ain't true. 'Specially if you're doin' it 'cuz y'think it's what I want t'hear. I don't want no false promises; don't you tell me things is one way when they're another, or act like y'love me when y'don't. Don't hide things from me. An' I don't mean y'gotta tell me everythin' — I'll be perfectly happy if I never hafta hear what y'say 'bout me behind my back again. However, like I said before 'bout you tellin' me if y'lie with another woman while you're with me — don't make up fish tales. Jus' be honest. I've been lied to enough, an' I swear t'you, Tommy Gavin, I will bring hell down on your head if you deceive me."

There's no 'ifs' about it.

In this moment, ever so much more noticeable than the scars on her skin are the ones she carries underneath.

Just as she won't hurt him, she won't let him hurt her. Not like that.

"If I'm t'trust you, y'gotta promise me that."