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Page 323

| Chapter Twenty-Six |

| Restless, Ashton stirred from the bunk, careful not to awaken Sasha. No amount of star gazing or drinking champagne could erase the doubts that were consuming him about being a grazier. Every way he turned it seemed that he was running into obstacles. If things had been right, he would not have chosen to go to market now with his wool. He would have waited until the fleece was thicker and longer on his sheep, guaranteeing a heftier price. |

| As it was, he would have to pretend that the price paid him was enough while Sasha stood at his side, trusting that he was not going to let any more of their world fall apart around them. |

| The cabin was dusky with the morning light seeping through the small porthole above the bunk as Ashton slipped into his breeches. He gazed down at Sasha, curled up on her side, her dark lashes |

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