"Colin Mackenzie wore a tan half-length jacket, light green trousers and ankle length, lumberjack lace up boots. Even from a distance his wavy black hair seemed vital. "Those eyebrows," thought Fiona, "they need a good clipping and that hair, it was all over the place." Colin often sparked this kind of reaction in some women. Attracted to him as one can be by a wild hawthorn bush, they immediately wanted to shape and trim him. The girls began to speculate who he was. In small communities everybody is known even if only by being related to someone you knew; either he was someone’s cousin or brother. “Are they not the Mackenzies of Loch Etive? You know, the ones with the hotel,” said Fiona. “I don’t think so,” said Isla who knew the farms up every glen around, having by now, as a vet, calved, lambed and treated all over the area. He must be new." New. Now there was a thing. An unknown quantity. The men approached the house deep in conversation. They could see him more clearly now. Edging towards lean, held himself well, all that striding about no doubt. Lisjbet tore the girls away from the window to help put out the cups “and bring that fruit cake out, “she called to Isla.