““No! I’ll pay you one hundred dollars. You owe me, Sloan.” Judging by the speaker’s rotten teeth and tattered clothing, Julianne Maxwell figured it had to be a gambling debt Sloan owed him, for the man’s appearance definitely was not that of a banker. She grew hot with resentment and humiliation as the loggers auctioned her off like a milk cow at a Saturday farm sale. Her annoyance increased when she found her hands shaking. What had she done? When she’d made plans to escape from New York, Seat...tle had seemed the perfect place to settle down. She’d arrived in Puget Sound four days ago, traveled on Skid Road through the Duwamp town, and now here she stood, smack in the middle of a logging camp in the biggest mess of her life, bar none. Weariness enveloped her as she tried to concentrate. It appeared her day of reckoning could be postponed no longer. The men crowded closer, and the air thickened with tension. Never in all her born days had Julianne smelled so much sweat, dirt and foul breath all in one small space.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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