In the bright spring morning light, Maggie took note of the sunlight glinting off his hatless blond head. He wore his hair longer than she deemed proper and more often than not, it appeared tousled and wild, rather like the man himself.
Broad shoulders looked like they could carry the weight of the world. Forearms corded with muscles drew her attention as he stopped the wagon beside her.
Brilliant blue eyes twinkled with humor as he leaned forward and rested an arm on his upraised knee. “Weel, lass, what on earth are ye doing traipsin’ around on foot out here in the middle of nowhere on such a bonny day?”
The man’s Scottish brogue unsettled her, in particular when the letter “R” rolled off his tongue with a delightful burr. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention, as if eagerly awaiting the sound of his voice, while her knees wobbled. His effect on her only infuriated her further.
“Not that it is any of your concern, Mr. MacGregor, but I’m on my way to the Jordan Ranch.” Determined to ignore the way the corners of his sculpted mouth lifted into a smile, she narrowed her gaze and offered him a cool glare.
She wondered what his face would look like without the abominable growth of scruff he sported. The fuzz on his face was just long enough to give him a rakish appearance and set all the twitterpated girls in town into a frenzy of whispers whenever he passed by.
Fortunately, Maggie was long past the age of having her head turned by the considerable charms of a man like Ian McGregor.
