“Everything’s fine, Milly,” the man called up to her.

She scowled at him. “What the bloody hell has gotten into Shadow?”

I felt a squeeze on my hand and looked down to see he was still holding it as he responded, “He’s only two and a half, Milly. Sometimes he regresses to puppy.”

She harrumphed at that. “You all right, Evie, lass?”

Grateful for her concern but feeling fine, I waved it away. “I’m good, thanks.”

With that, Milly nodded and turned back toward her pub.

“Evie, is it?”

My attention lowered to the hand the man had not yet released, before returning to his eyes. He seemed to study my every feature with open appreciation.

I shivered again.

“Did the fall affect your vocal cords? Or do you just not want me to know your name?”

“Evangeline Starling,” I blurted out, still feeling disoriented. “But everyone calls me Evie.”

His mouth spread into a wide smile, and his grip on my hand tightened as he gave it a little shake. “I’m Roane Robson. It’s nice to meet you, Evie Starling.”

Flustered by Roane’s intense regard, I pulled my hand out of his and took in the rest of him. Thick dark hair with a slight curl to it ruffled in the breeze coming up off the sea. A worn, forest-green cable-knit sweater covered his broad shoulders, a loose thread dangling from the hem. Dark-wash denim jeans, covered in mud splatters, were tucked into knee-high Wellington boots. His skin was olive toned, and considering it was May in England and still somewhat cool, he was naturally tan, or years of laboring out in the sun had given him a permanent tan.

Shadow was sitting at attention by his side, the dog’s head level with Roane’s waist. Roane rubbed the top of it absentmindedly. He seemed to understand the question in my eyes. “I’m the local farmer hereabouts.”

Now his clothing made sense.

Not that I minded his rugged appearance.

He was altogether the most masculine specimen I had ever come across. Even his voice was deep and rumbling. I felt that voice in places I had no business feeling it.

I did not come here to meet a gorgeous farmer. Even if he was looking at me as though he’d like to gobble me up. Seriously, his expression was so transparent and . . . awestruck.

A flush moved through me again. I was not a woman who inspired such open and blatant admiration. At least, I never had been.

“It was nice to meet you.” I looked down at the dog. “I’m glad he’s okay. He’s a beauty.”