HEATHER MACALLISTER - Hand-Picked Husband

“It’s okay.” Autumn forced herself to smile. “We didn’t sign up to be on the same committee.”

Both women’s eyes widened. “Why not?” they asked in unison.

Autumn gritted her teeth. Because we’re not a couple, we’ve never been a couple, and we’re never going to be a couple. Can’t you people get it through your heads?

“Because this year, it’s the girls against the guys,” Clay said with an easy smile. “The High on the Hog men against the Hogs and Kisses ladies. Now, if this is everything I need, then I guess I’ll see y’all later.” He nodded his head and strode off.

Autumn resented the fact that he’d come up with an answer that did nothing to squash the persistent belief that he and Autumn were eventually going to get married.

Jackie sighed after Clay. “There goes one good-looking man.”

“His eyes are bloodshot.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with his backside. And that is one fine—” Jackie broke off and blinked. “You are so lucky, Autumn.”

Autumn drew a deep breath. “Clay and I aren’t dating.”

“Well, of course not.” Jackie handed Autumn her packet. “Why would you two need to date?”

Autumn gave up, took her packet and went to find her mother.

Mistake. It was obvious that her mother and friends had been watching Clay and Autumn as they stood in line. Autumn greeted them and steeled herself for the inevitable.

“Autumn, your mom told us that you and Clay haven’t set a date yet.” A silver-haired woman with turquoise earrings smiled expectantly.

People had stopped being subtle. “We aren’t going to set a date.”

Several pairs of eyes widened. “You’re not eloping!”

“Clay and I aren’t engaged.”

“Well, not officially,” Debra said, patting Autumn’s arm.

Not even for her mother would Autumn maintain the fiction. “Not in any way.”

“So you’re going to wait until after you finish your schooling. Very wise,” the silver-haired woman said.

There was a general nodding of heads, then everyone got sappy smiles on their faces and Autumn knew Clay was in the vicinity.

Go away, she thought.

Wonder of wonders, he passed by without speaking to her. But then she had to endure the curious looks. Holding up her packet, she explained, “We’ve got a bet going on who can raise the most money. Now, how much can I put you down for, Mr. Perry?”

FACSIMILE

To: Nellie Barnett, Golden B Ranch

From: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch

Nellie, dear, were you aware that Autumn and Clay are not on the same committee? From what she said, I don’t think he asked her. She hasn’t mentioned the Buyers’ Ball. Even though I know Clay will take her, it would be nice if he observed the proprieties and asked her. We don’t want any misunderstandings.

Deb

FAX

To: Debra Reese, R. Ranch

From: Nellie Barnett, Golden B

Debra, dearest, Clay couldn’t very well ask Autumn to be on his committee when she’d already formed her own. And by the way, she could have asked him to be on hers.

Nel

During the next two weeks, Autumn and her committee contacted the businesses of San Antonio. So did Clay. He got larger donations but not as many. Autumn’s strategy was to go for more modest amounts from smaller companies, like local beauty parlors and dress shops, but that meant she had to sign up more of them.

“Mom, I think we’ve asked every business in San Antonio,” Autumn groaned. “And Clay’s group is still ahead.” She leafed through the newspaper at breakfast on the Saturday they were due to meet for a progress report. Maybe there was someplace they’d missed.

Debra looked up from the section of paper she was reading. “Autumn., have you considered... maybe not trying so hard to beat Clay?”

Autumn nearly gagged on her coffee. “Are you saying I should let him win?”

“No! Not let him win.” Debra looked away. “Just don’t beat him.”

Which was the same thing. “Forget it.”

“A man has his pride.”

“And what have I got?”

Debra raised an eyebrow. “Not a man, at this point.”

Autumn raised the paper. “So?”

There was a sigh. “Autumn, you don’t encourage him at all. Anybody but Clay would think you weren’t interested in him. Even though you have an understanding, you shouldn’t take him for granted.”

It would do no good to tell her mother that she wasn’t interested in Clay. “He hasn’t encouraged me. I think he’s not interested.”

“Don’t be silly.” Debra also retreated behind her newspaper. “He waited all this time for you.”

“Yes, I heard about those women he brought home while he was waiting.”

“Well, dear, he is a very attractive man. You can’t expect—”

“Mom?” Autumn broke in, changing the subject. “Have you ever heard of the Yellow Rose Matchmakers? It’s a dating agency.” She’d spotted a discreet advertisement with a rose-vine border next to the wedding announcements. She must have missed it before because she usually avoided reading them.

“A dating agency? No...wait. I’ll bet that’s Willie Eden’s business. She and her grandson own it. Why?”

Autumn folded the newspaper, gulped down the last of her coffee and grabbed her purse. “Because I haven’t asked them for a contribution yet.” She glanced at her watch. “If I hurry, I can stop by and still make the meeting on time.”

URGENT FACSIMILE

To: N. Barnett

From: D. Reese

Nellie! Autumn thinks Clay isn’t interested in her! I tried to convince her otherwise, but I’ve got to tell you, Clay inviting that woman down at Thanksgiving didn’t make it easy.

Debra, I keep telling you that Kristin is just an old school friend who now knows life as a ranch wife wouldn’t suit her. Stop worrying.

N.

CHAPTER TWO

FACSIMILE

To: N. Barnett, Golden B

From: D. Reese, Reese Ranch

How can I stop wonying? They haven’t seen each other for two weeks. Autumn is on her way over to Yellow Rose—remember that nice lady we met and her grandson?

Debra

FAX

To: D. Reese, Reese Ranch

From: N. Barnett, Golden B

I’ve put a bug in Clay’ s ear .

Nellie

IT WAS a lovely mid-January day, cool enough so she could wear her new red suede jacket, and dry with a clear blue sky. Autumn drove through town, avoiding the tourists lining up to tour the Alamo, and entered an older residential area of San Antonio.

Yellow Rose Matchmakers was located at 10 Bluebonnet Drive, in a charming Victorian house painted yellow with white trim. A white picket fence surrounded the yard, making an old-fashioned statement among the unfenced neighboring yards.

Autumn parked her black Ford Bronco on the street next to a mailbox hand-painted with yellow roses, then went to push open the gate. Something about the act of stepping through the gate and latching it behind her made Autumn feel as though she had stepped into another time.

She’d climbed the porch steps and rung the doorbell before she stopped to consider that it was still fairly early on a Saturday morning and the agency might not be open yet, or even at all. She was just about to turn away when a shadow appeared behind the frosted-glass door and it swung open.

“It’s about time, Hector. Just because you’re my cousin’s son doesn’t mean—you’re not Hector.”

“No. Sorry.”

The woman, short and full-figured, wearing her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun, reminded Autumn of the wife of Clay’s ranch foreman. The no-nonsense tone in her voice had prompted the automatic apology.

“Well, who are you?”

“I’m Autumn Reese, from the Junior Swine Auction Education Committee.” Autumn held up a copy of the magazine-size program from last year’s auction. “I was wondering if Yellow Rose Matchmakers might be interested in contributing to the committee this year.” Autumn flipped through the program so the woman could see the ads contributors were entitled to.