The Rustler's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

to tackle the day, she clattered into the dining room and steeled herself for a showdown when her father saw her clothing.
    Mrs. Flynn was bustling by the table. The housekeeper always dressed in black, in honor of a husband who had died two decades ago, only days after she stepped off the stagecoach as a mail order bride. Victoria had offered to pay for more cheerful dresses, but Mrs. Flynn said she’d been wearing black so long the idea of colors made her dizzy.
    “Where’s my father?” Victoria asked as she sat down.
    “Mr. Sinclair ate already. He’s gone into town.”
    Gone into town. Victoria broke into a grin of irrepressible glee. Thank God for small mercies. Not only did she escape an argument over her outfit, but she could seek out Declan without having to worry about her father erupting into another fit of rage.
    The housekeeper set a cup in front of her and poured. “I made fresh coffee.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Flynn. You’re a marvel.”
    “One needs to be, to prepare something that is fit to eat out of the scrawny carcasses Mr. Norris brings me.”
    Victoria turned her burst of amusement into a hiccup. The housekeeper never wasted an opportunity to complain about Cookie, whose job it was to slaughter and prepare the meat they ate. But—Victoria thought with a suppressed smile—it was a known fact that women had a tendency to grumble about men for whom they secretly carried a torch.
    Mrs. Flynn’s ample bosom bounced up and down as she rocked on her feet, her face puckered in a frown, as if she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to put it.
    “What is it, Mrs. Flynn?” Victoria prompted.
    “I met that husband of yours last night.” The housekeeper’s expression grew wistful. “My, my. You don’t see one like that every day. An outlaw, I’m hearing. And staying just the year to keep his neck out of the noose.”
    “That’s right, Mrs. Flynn. As always, the bush telegraph has been quite accurate.”
    “Didn’t have much of an appetite last night. Said it was the hanging, but I’m thinking it was the stew.” The broad face puckered once more. “The piece of meat Mr. Norris sent me was tougher than a strip of rawhide.”
    “I’m sure you stew was excellent, Mrs. Flynn.”
    The housekeeper gave a little grunt, appearing mollified. She rocked a moment in silence. “Would you like a piece of advice, Miss Victoria?” she finally asked.
    Mrs. Flynn had arrived at Red Rock when Victoria was sixteen, two years before she went off to boarding school. They weren’t particularly close, but as the only older female on the ranch—the only other female of any age now that the maids were gone—the housekeeper felt entitled to take a maternal interest.
    “I’m sure I’ll get it, whether I want it or not,” Victoria replied.
    “Keep your distance, that’s what I’m saying. A man like that, he’ll take your heart with him when he rides out of here.” Mrs. Flynn pinched her lips into a tight seam and dipped her head in a forceful nod. Then she shuffled out of the room, with the haughty posture of a woman who has said her piece and has no intention of remaining around to hear it challenged.
    Victoria mulled over the remark while she helped herself to eggs and ham from the display Mrs. Flynn had set out. The housekeeper’s warning struck a deeper cord than her father’s threats, and yet Victoria chose to ignore the sudden stirring of misgivings. She would stick to her plan—find Declan and get properly acquainted. And what better time to start than right now? With that thought, she attacked her breakfast and devoured every morsel with unladylike haste.
    Outside, the sunshine fell like a cloak of heat over the arid landscape. There were no ranch hands about. Victoria spent a few idle few moments drifting between the outbuildings, and then she located Declan at the stables, mucking out the stalls. For a moment, she paused at the entrance. Unaware of her presence—or pretending