Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] Read Online Free Page A

texture of heavy cream.
Like a painting of the Madonna, her face seemed radiant, as if something
delightful and wonderful dwelled within her, the result of which shone through
her. He was overcome with the impulse to grab her and throw her across the
saddle in front of him and to ride off with her to some secret place, where she
would belong to him and to him alone.
    But the words he wanted to say were too thick and foreign to
leave his mouth. He wanted to surround her, to hold her so close that they
became one thought, one body.
    Was he out of his mind?
    Do something. Say something. Anything besides sitting
here on your horse grinning like a fool.
    “Hello,” he said, instantly aware that she rendered him
speechless.
    He noticed then the way she was looking at him, as if she
couldn’t decide if she should scream or take off running. He saw fear in her
eyes, and that leveled him. He had never frightened a woman in his life.
    “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am new here and unfamiliar
with your ways. Have I acted improperly? Is there some irate father hiding in
the hay field ready to shoot out my eyes?”
    She stared at him, not saying a word—not that he could blame
her, for the way he had been behaving, she probably thought she had come across
a lunatic.
    He smiled at her and held up both hands in a display of
innocence. “I meant no disrespect. My name is Fletcher Ramsay. I’m on my way
from Glengarry. I saw you drawing water and thought I’d stop by. It’s a hot
day.”
    She gave him a shy smile. “Would you like a drink? The water
is verra cold for such a warm day.”
    Even her voice sounded like none he had heard before. She
was an angel, an apparition, and he found himself wondering if this was real.
He glanced back at the workers to see if they were taking any notice, wanting
some confirmation that this was happening, but they simply went on about their
work. He couldn’t seem to wipe that silly grin off his face.
    He prayed that she liked grinning fools. “Indeed, I would
love a drink,” he said at last.
    Without a word, she turned, giving him her profile—which,
like the rest of her, was just about perfect—before dropping the bucket into
the well again. She handled that bucket like some women handle a baby. He
closed his eyes, imagining her hands on his naked body. He opened his eyes.
    He was an idiot. Pure and simple.
    A moment later, she drew the bucket up and set it on the
edge of the well. The sun seemed to pull a burst of color from her rich mahogany
hair as she leaned over to fill a tin cup.
    A breeze wafted across the field, rippling the shafts of hay
and causing the loose tendrils of hair to dance about her face. Turning back to
him, she handed him the cup.
    He reached for it, and their hands touched briefly before
she drew hers away, blushed, and looked down at her bare feet and worn, faded
gown.
    “You are very shy,” he said.
    She lowered her eyes. “I dinna encounter many foreigners.”
    Foreigner? He could not help smiling. “I am not
foreign. I was raised in America, but I was born not far from here.”
    She said nothing, so he drank the water and handed her the
cup. “Thank you. The water was, as you said, very cold.”
    “Would you like more?”
    He wondered what she would say if he told her he could
sit here drinking water from her cup until he’d had enough to float a
battleship. “No.”
    The wind ruffling the hay field became stronger. The sun
went behind a cloud and stayed there. He glanced up. “Those are mighty
inhospitable-looking clouds.”
    “Rain,” she said, glancing up, then looking at him through
long-lashed eyes for just a moment. “But I ken it will go as quickly as it
comes.”
    “Do you live around here?”
    “Aye.”
    “And you work these fields every day?”
    “No, I come here…sometimes.”
    “To work?”
    “To bring the workers food, or to draw them a drink of
water.”
    He raised his brows. “How fortunate for me, then, that I
happened by