page_23

< previous page | page_23 | next page >

Page 23

| white silk cravat and an expensive cigar was stuffed into his breast pocket. |

| Ashton's eyes locked on the lone pistol tucked under Stanford's belt, then caught a glimpse of a sheathed knife at his waist beneath his coat. His insides tightened, recalling the feel of that cold steel against his flesh, and then the warm trickle of blood. . . . |

| He slowly met Stanford's gaze again, knowing not to trust the pompous swindler, no matter how respectable he looked. |

| While Sasha watched the quiet communication and the sense of challenge between Ashton and the stranger, she momentarily forgot the gold coins at her feet. Her eyes wide in disbelief, she watched the man now take a ten-dollar note from his rear pocket and strike a match, holding the flame to the note. |

| Lightning began to growl again, straining at the leash as Ashton held tightly to it. "I think my pup is a good judge of character," Ashton said, his teeth clenched, ignoring the game that Stanford was playing. "And if you don't want me to sic her on you, I suggest you take your notes to burn elsewhere." He glanced down at the coins at Sasha's feet. He scooted them toward Stanford with the toe of his boot. "And take your coins with you. Sasha doesn't take handouts. She earns her pay." |

| His eyes gleaming, still smiling roguishly, Stanford dropped the flaming note to the floor, grinding it out with the heel of his fine patent-leather boot. "The coins are hers," he said, winking down at her. "Seems her pay isn't enough for her to own a pair of shoes." |

| Feeling left out of this fray which had started because of her, and wanting to defend her character |

< previous page | page_23 | next page >