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Page 30

| your name is Ashton York," Stanford said, ignoring the threat of Ashton's revolver. He smiled sardonically as Sasha moved to Ashton's side. |

| "That's true," Ashton said. "You want to make something of it?" The next thing he expected was for the ex-convict to breathe the name Lawrence Proffitt across his thick lips. If so, Ashton's world would be turned upside down again, just as it was the last time he got mixed up with this damn con artist. |

| "Naw," Stanford said, slipping a hand inside his front breeches pocket for a coin. He flipped it on the counter, and leaned toward Ashton. "But it's strange as hell how that name Ashton York just doesn't seem to match the color of your eyes." |

| Stanford mocked a salute as he rose from the bar stool. "Good day to the both of you," he said, laughing boisterously as he walked toward the swinging doors. |

| Lightning yelped and howled until the confidence man stepped outside, out of sight. Ashton turned slowly and met Sasha's questioning stare, then looked quickly away. He was waiting for her to bombard him with questions and searching for a way to avoid them. |

| His gaze stopped at the painting over the bar. Remembering her earlier concentration on the portrait, and knowing why, he found an escape from her questionsfor a while, at least. |

| "Sasha, earlier you were fretting over Woodrow and I scolded you for it," he said, going to close and lock the front door. He went back to her and took her hands. "For so long you've been wanting to talk about it and I haven't let you. We have a respite from |

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