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Page 159

| at Ashton. "You are the one who spoiled what I had already done." |

| "And you would deny a hard-working man a cup of coffee?" Ashton said, himself brushing back the strand of hair that persisted in dangling across her brow. |

| "There is a time and place for everything," Sasha argued, slapping his hand aside. "Won't you please, the next time you saunter into our cabin for anything, look and see if the floor is wet or dry? It might save both of us a lot of extra work." |

| Ashton shrugged. "I guess I see no harm in that." |

| Sasha's eyes traveled over him, seeing the thin layer of dust on his clothes and again pinching her nose closed. "I doubt if ever those clothes will smell decent again." |

| "Or me?" he said, leaning down into her face, smiling. |

| "I doubt that even the river water and a dozen bars of soap will make you pleasant-smelling again," Sasha said, then giggled. "As I recall, you spoke favorably of leaving the stench of ale in the pub to come to these great outdoors to work in the clean, fresh air. You glorified too much the way it would truly be, didn't you?" |

| Ashton raked his fingers through his hair as he laughed softly. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps." |

| Then his eyes were drawn away from Sasha, to the window and an approaching horseman. He placed a hand on one of his holstered revolvers, stiffening when he suddenly recognized the rider. "How in the hell can it be him?" he said, more to himself, than to Sasha. "Stanford Sidwell . . ." |

| Sasha tried to make out who the lone horseman |

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