A Highlander in a Pickup - Laura Trentham Page 0,23

her problem in the long term. In the short term, she would hope Iain didn’t return while she worked in Stonehaven’s home office. If it became a lingering issue, she would move every file and both computers to her not-so-spacious studio office.

Anna tiptoed into the house and bypassed the Buchanans’ spacious and comfortable office to take a gander out the back door. Iain wasn’t watering the pots. Not that she had expected him to be naked, but a girl could dream as she had spectacularly proved the night before.

In case he’d parked out of sight and was in the shower—naked, of course—she cocked her head and listened, hearing only the ticking clock on the mantle. The house gave off solitary vibes. The layer of dust over the side table would have given Rose Buchanan fits if she could see it, but Anna didn’t have time to clean. She had to tackle a slew of phone calls, confirming details or finagling deposits out of tightfisted or absentminded vendors.

She took a step backward, and as she was turning, a flash of movement outside caught her eye. Squinting, she scooched closer to the window. Had it been a deer or the wind in the trees?

It was neither. A man had emerged from the barn. Anna’s blood quickened. A pair of binoculars for bird-watching lay on the dusty side table. She popped the caps from the lenses and held them up, the blur of movement coming into sharp focus.

Once again, he was bare chested. Did the man not own enough shirts? Did he not care about the health of her heart or other body parts?

Unlike their other encounters, he was unaware of her examination, and she took full advantage. His torso wasn’t cut into lean muscled lines likes, magazine models’, but was thick and strong in a way that spoke of hard work and not a gym. Neither was he hairless like so many men nowadays.

The tailgate of the truck stuck out from the far side of the barn. Iain strode toward it and pulled planks of wood from the bed, heaving them onto his shoulder. He wore a kilt once more, but this one was a more traditional weave of soft green and browns. His hair was damp with sweat, the dark ends curling around his ears and a lock falling over his forehead.

She adjusted the focus on his face. She catalogued a high forehead, heavy brows over long-lashed eyes, a prominent nose that was crooked at the bridge, and a dark beard framing lips that were neither thin nor fleshy. Rather than marring his looks, his scar emphasized his ruggedness.

It was the same face she’d sat across from in the pub, yet different somehow too. His expression was unguarded. In assumed solitude, the tight rein he kept on his emotions had loosened. Iain was worried and weighed down by his thoughts, and she wondered where his mind wandered.

What had he left behind in Scotland? Did he have a wife or girlfriend urging him home? Was he merely fulfilling a favor to the Blackmoors? Uprooting and coming to the States to help with a small town festival seemed excessive. Was he running from something … or someone?

The thought gave her pause. She felt like she was taking something from him without his knowledge. As she was about to put the binoculars away, his gaze arrowed across the field to where she stood at the window, and the eye contact though the zoomed-in binoculars sent a jolt of energy whizzing through her body.

Muttering a curse, she slammed the binoculars down on the side the table and hid in the folds of the curtains. With her heart tap-dancing in her ear, she peeked around the curtain. He was stalking across the field.

Any hope he hadn’t seen her ogling him like a horny freak died a quick death as she skip-ran to the office. Her foot caught in the hall runner, and she went down hard on her right knee. Ignoring the pain, she scrambled up and skidded on the hardwood flooring as she made the turn into the office.

Scooching behind Izzy’s desk, she worked to regulate her breathing and stared unseeing at the paper she’d grabbed off the top of a stack.

The back door opened and closed, and footsteps creaked the old floors. Iain was a big man—tall and broad and muscular. She’d make all sorts of noises if he was on top of her too. A huff of frustration escaped. Iain on top of