Finn was broad with acres of biceps and muscular forearms poking out of rolled-up, plaid shirtsleeves. Oz hadn’t been wrong at all. This was easily one of the hottest men I’d ever seen. He looked like something out of an antique farming ad, from his build right down to his dusty boots. “Uh…” I made an inarticulate sound at odds with my years of education. And as I scraped my jaw off the floor, his deep scowl overshadowed his attractiveness. Hot chicken farmer was hot angry chicken farmer, and it was all directed at me. “What are you doing to my chickens?”
