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Page 294

| drought to be their next ordeal. Or perhaps a fire . . . |

| Ashton drew away from her and rose shakily to his feet. He started walking in a weaving fashion toward the door. "Come on, Sasha," he said. "I'm taking you back to Melbourne. I can't leave you out here. There are too many unknowns. I can't let anything happen to you." |

| Sasha scurried to her feet. She went to Ashton and grabbed him by the arm. "Ashton, you aren't going anywhere but to bed," she said, letting him lean into her. |

| "You've got to sleep this off," she said, leading him toward the bed. "Lord, Ashton, all the time that I worked with you at the pub I never saw you drunk. And now . . . Oh, Ashton, this is the worst time of all to get drunk!" |

| Ashton looked down at her, seeing her as only a blur through his drunken haze. "Where are you?" he stammered. "I can't see you." |

| She gave him a harried look. "I'm here," she reassured him. "After you get some sleep, you'll see and feel better." |

| She helped him onto the bed, and he fell immediately into a heavy sleep. Sighing, Sasha removed his boots and dropped them to the floor, then struggled with his shirt until she had it over his head. |

| Then she eyed his breeches, and his muscled legs. No. She would leave his breeches on. Asleep and drunk, his legs would be a dead weight. |

| Worn out, despondent, and missing Ashton so fiercely while he was in this drunken state, Sasha crumpled down before the fireplace again. She stared into the fire, then got a whiff of something |

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