The Rustler's Bride by Tatiana March Page A

finished his chores. At sunset, he washed at the cold pump in the yard. On his way in, he paused by the kitchen and asked Mrs. Flynn for dinner on a tray. As he ate, brooding and alone in his room, he half expected Sinclair to come out and shoot him, but the evening passed without an incident.
    ****
     
    The next day, when Declan finished his chores at dusk and went to fetch a towel from his room, Mrs. Flynn peeked into the kitchen corridor and called out to him, “Mr. Sinclair wants you to join him and Miss Victoria for dinner. I’ve put hot water in your room to wash.” She hesitated a moment. “Mr. Sinclair said…” She dropped her voice to imitate a masculine timber. “…Tell that thieving bastard it’s an order, not an invitation.”
    Declan merely nodded, and the housekeeper hurried back to her pots and pans. Resigned to the prospect of a difficult evening, Declan washed and shaved, seeking comfort in the luxury of warm water instead of the cold pump in the yard. He would have liked to change into clean clothes but he only had the set he wore.
    He hadn’t seen Victoria since he’d kissed her at the barn. Where was she? Had her father found out, locked her in her room? Was he being summoned to hear Andrew Sinclair repeat his warnings about touching his daughter? Speculation rattled around Declan’s mind as he got ready. He’d become used to seeing Victoria dart in and out of the stable yard while he worked there, and he missed those brief glimpses of her.
    Raised voices from the kitchen caught Declan’s attention as he walked past. “Mutton,” Mrs. Flynn was saying. “I ask for beef and you bring me mutton!”
    Declan paused at the door to look in. Mrs. Flynn, dressed in black as usual, was wobbling like a volcano about to erupt. Next to her, the wizened Cookie looked like a schoolboy cowering in front of a formidable teacher.
    Cookie squinted up, apology stamped on his crinkled face. “Mr. Sinclair told me not to slaughter another head of beef.”
    “He did no such thing.” Mrs. Flynn waved a wooden spoon at Cookie, like a witch about to turn him into a toad, but there was a sparkle in her green eyes. “It’s you. I know it’s you. You like to keep the best cuts of meat for yourself.”
    “I don’t. I don’t.” Cookie was pleading in earnest now, shaking his head side to side. “Mr. Sinclair told me. Honest he did.”
    If Declan’s guess was right, those two had a soft spot for each other. He left the pair sparring and headed toward the dining room. So, that was how bad things were getting now. They could no longer afford to waste a single head of cattle, not even for the dinner table. Perhaps it was time to pay another visit to Howard Patterson at the United Savings Bank.
    In the dining room, he found Victoria and her father already waiting. Only two lamps burned on the table, and two more along the wall. So, lamp oil might be short too. Declan could see there were paintings on the wall, and ornaments on top of the low cupboard that ran the length of one wall, but the shadows hid the details.
    Sinclair was seated at the head of the long banquet table of some dark wood. Victoria sat on his right. Declan settled opposite her, guided by the unoccupied place setting. Sinclair had on a formal black suit. Victoria was wearing a kingfisher blue gown with a scalloped neckline. Her hair was piled up on her head, and pearls dangled from her earlobes.
    For a moment, Declan could only stare. It was the first time he’d seen her dressed like a lady. A fierce bolt of jealousy gripped him. So, this is how her rich suitors in Boston saw her. This is how she dressed when they took her to the theater, or a concert, or a dance. It dawned upon him there was an aspect of her life that he knew nothing about. Declan sat down, even more aware of his tattered clothing now than he’d been before.
    “So, you’ve consented to grace us with your presence tonight,” Sinclair barked. “Or did Hank not relay my