Hand-Picked Husband

by Heather MacAllister

  Autumn smiled with remembered embarrassment and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not six­teen anymore."

  "No." Clay's answering smile faded. He cleared his throat and stared down at his paper. Autumn did the same. They worked in silence until Clay let out a low whistle. "I see potential problems here."

  "Where?"

  "Page three, the part about describing yourself. That's where people will cheat." "Why? Why go to all this trouble and cheat?"

  "Maybe 'cheat' is the wrong word. What I mean is, they're going to put down the character traits they'd like to have, rather than the ones they actually do have."

  "But we wouldn't do that."

  "No way." Clay shook his head. "We'll be com­pletely honest."

  They looked at each other.

  "When we finish, you can read mine and I'll read yours," Autumn said.

  "Deal."

  Finishing took longer than they thought. Autumn was very conscious that Clay would be reading her descriptions of such topics as her favorite way to spend an evening, her idea of a perfect day, her pet peeves and her goals and ambitions.

  He completed his form before she did, probably because he wasn't trying to think of alternate an­swers for pet peeves. Autumn's current pet peeve was Clay.

  Now as for goals and ambitions... Autumn real­ized her life's goal had been to convince people that it wasn't carved in stone that she would settle down, marry Clay and merge the ranches.

  She'd gone to law school because, yes, the law, as it pertained to ranching, had interested her when she'd studied ranch management, but even more be­cause the length of study required would take her away from San Antonio for several years.

  She glanced at Clay, wondering how he stood it. Since he had no brothers or sisters, he'd known his whole life that he would live on the Golden B and run it after his parents retired. The only choice avail­able to him had been whom he'd run it with, and even that had been taken away from him.

  Autumn stared at the personality profile, but she was remembering her seventeenth birthday. Clay and his parents had come for dinner. Autumn's present had been her first car, a used one, and they had gone to the garage after dinner so Clay could check out the engine.

  It was one of those clear, cold nights when every sound carried for miles. Both their fathers had stepped out .onto the porch to smoke their cigars. They'd been talking and Autumn hadn't paid atten­tion until she heard her name and Clay's.

  The men had been discussing repairs to the fenc­ing between their properties on the east pasture.

  "You know, we could just leave it," Hank Barnett had said. "We're going to be mingling stock even­tually. Might as well start now and use the money elsewhere."

  Ben, Autumn's father, gave a loud crack of laugh­ter. "We'll be mingling stock in more ways than one!"

  Hank joined him, then added, "I hope those two kids don't get their hormones all to jumpin' and quit school before they finish."

  "Autumn's got a good head on her shoulders. She'll keep Clay in line."

  "Clay's almost eighteen. It's not her head he's concerned with!"

  Autumn had been horrified. Clay was staring un­der the hood of her car with an unnatural intensity and she knew he'd heard, as well. Neither one of them said anything, so they both heard her father's next words.

  "Clay's a fine boy. I'll be proud to claim him as a son-in-law."

  Autumn's heart had pounded so hard that she missed the exact words said next, but the gist was clear: the two families assumed that she and Clay would eventually marry and were planning on a merger of the two ranches. From the tone of the con­versation, it was clear that this was a long-held as­sumption.

  She and Clay had stared at each other before Clay had carefully closed the car hood. Nothing had been the same between them after that.

  Autumn could hardly blame him. He was the only son, bound by tradition and economics. He ought to be able to choose his wife instead of having one forced on him. She didn't want to be forced on any­body. She wanted Clay to have a choice, and she wanted one, too.

  But he was a Texas gentleman through and through. There was no way he'd marry first and make it look like he'd jilted her. No, it was up to Autumn to find someone and free Clay from his ob­ligation. The problem was that she hadn't found any­body she could contemplate marrying yet.

  "Aren't you finished with that thing yet?" Clay complained. "I'm telling you, none of this matters if a person doesn't like the way you look. Within thirty seconds, you'll know if it's a go, or a no go."

  Autumn, gave him a disgusted look. "We don't all judge people by your shallow standards."

  "It's a fact of life." He plucked her paper from between her fingers. "You don't need to worry about it, by the way."

  "Why not?"

  Clay looked up from reading her profile. In a heartbeat, his expression changed from looking at her as a childhood friend to the way a grown man looks at a woman he desires.

  As her eyes widened, Clay's lids lowered slightly and his gaze scorched over her. To her acute embar­rassment, Autumn felt her cheeks heat.

  A corner of Clay's mouth twitched and he went back to reading her profile.

  There'd been a compliment in there somewhere, but she wasn't comfortable with that sort of compli­ment from Clay. She was comfortable with verbal jabs and sarcastic remarks from Clay. She was com­fortable competing with Clay. She was comfortable ignoring him. How did he expect her to ignore a look like that?

  "What is this 'sentimental, serious and tolerant' garbage?" Clay scoffed.

  That was more like it. "I am sentimental, serious and tolerant."

  "Where's stubborn?"

  "I am not stubborn. I'm focused." Clay snorted. "And 'sensitive'? You don't have a sensitive bone in your body." He erased and changed -some of the personality traits she'd checked off.

  "You turn this in and you'll be matched with a dadgum poet."

  Autumn narrowed her eyes and grabbed for Clay's profile. Just what wondrous traits had he given him­self?

  "'Affectionate"? Explain to me how a man who gave me a timing belt one Christmas can be de­scribed as affectionate?"

  He looked puzzled—and a little hurt. "But you needed a new timing belt, and you'd spent all your money on Christmas presents. I didn't want you to get stranded on the road somewhere between here and Fort Worth."

  He'd done the replacement himself, she remem­bered. And it had been a relief not to have to worry on the drive back to school. "That's being consid­erate," she allowed. "I'm changing affectionate to considerate. Now, where's arrogant?"

  "Hey!"

  But Autumn's attention had been caught by some­thing else. For his dreams and goals, Clay had simply written that he wanted to make sure he maintained the family's ranch so he could leave it to his children.

  And really, what other goal could he have? Yet if Autumn didn't get out of the way so Clay could find a wife, then he'd never have children.

  She skimmed over the rest, made a few alterations, her eyebrows rising when he described his ideal mate. "You're looking for a woman who's not afraid to 'work hard, play hard and love hard'?"

  He shrugged. "I thought it was kind of catchy. A lot better than a 'life partner'."

  That was what she'd written. "I was trying to find a way to say that I don't want a man who's going to boss me around."

  "I think we've got that covered by mentioning that you're strong-willed and independent."

  "You can't put that. I'll either get a wimp or a Neanderthal."

  "Well, no, actually, I said you wanted a man who wasn't afraid to be a man and to let you be a woman."

  "Give me that!" Autumn stretched across the ta­ble and tried to grab the paper from him.

  Laughing, Clay easily held it out of her reach.

  That was how Maria found them. "You two fin­ished?"

  "Yes," Clay said.

  "No," Autumn said, and retrieved her profile. She erased Clay's macho comment and rewrote "life pa
rtner".

  "You'll be sorry," he murmured as they handed Maria their forms.

  "Okay," Maria said. "I got to type all this infor­mation into the computer. You can pick up your matches on Monday."

  "Monday?" Autumn didn't want to wait until Monday.

  "There's just me in the office today and I'm off at noon. I'll type as fast as I can."

  "Did you check off 'impatient' on the personality profile?" Clay asked.

  Autumn glared at him.

  "Thank you, ma'am." Clay stood. "Monday will be fine. We've still got that meeting to go to, Autumn."

  Right. Autumn checked her watch. They were go­ing to be at least twenty minutes late. Even worse, they would arrive at the same time. She sighed, then brightened when she visualized everyone's faces when she showed up at the Buyers' Ball with some­one other than Clay.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FAX

  To: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch

  From: Nellie Barnett, Golden B Ranch

  Dear Debra,

  Clay is in a very good mood. How's Autumn?

  Fingers crossed, Nellie

  FACSIMILE

  To: Nellie Barnett, Golden B

  From: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch

  Dear Nellie,

  Everything's sunny here. She acts like

  she's got a secret. Do you suppose this

  is IT?

  Holding my breath, D.

  Autumn weighed arriving when the Yellow Rose opened on Monday morning and appearing overeager with the desire to nail down a contribution from them before Clay could. Beating out Clay won.

  Promptly at nine o'clock, Autumn turned down Bluebonnet Drive and parked her Bronco. In her rearview mirror, she saw a red pickup truck pull close to the curb behind her. Clay. It figured.

  He was talking on his cell phone, so instead of waiting for him, Autumn pushed open the gate and ran up the porch steps.

  The outer doors of the Yellow Rose were propped open with a ceramic cat doorstop. Through the glass inner door, Autumn could see Maria in the reception area, but she was turned away.

  As Autumn opened the door, she heard Maria call­ing out to someone in the back. "I'm telling you, Miss Willie, call my sister's middle girl, Amalia. She's the best wallpaper hanger in San Antonio. I sewed the flower girls' dresses for her wedding, so she'll give you a discount."

  The receptionist smiled up at her, but before she could ask if she could help, Maria turned back around, saw Autumn and looked at the grandfather clock across the hall. "Boy, you sure are eager."

  "Actually, I wondered if you'd had a chance to ask the owner if she's willing to contribute to the education fund or do you need me to speak to her?"

  "No need. I already did and she's gonna go the whole hog." Maria looked at the receptionist and they both laughed.

  Autumn smiled although she'd heard a variation of every pig joke told since the beginning of time. She continued smiling as she wrote up a receipt for a full-page advertisement and handed it to Maria just as the door squeaked open.

  "Morning." Clay removed his hat.

  "And another eager client." Maria smiled know­ingly. "I'll go get your files." She bustled down the hallway.

  The phone rang, and as the receptionist answered it, Autumn turned to Clay. "Good news. Yellow Rose Matchmakers just took out a full-page advertisement in the program." Autumn smiled in triumph and tucked the order form into her portfolio.

  "Congratulations. I was just on the phone with Garcia and Delgado."

  "The advertising agency?" Clay nodded. "They're talking about donating the layout for the program. I'm going to meet with them right after I finish up here."

  "That's... wonderful." It was wonderful. After all, they were both working toward the same goal. The more money they brought in, the more there would be in the auction pool for the kids. It was just that the donation would be even more wonderful if it had been credited to Autumn's Hogs and Kisses instead of Clay's High on the Hog.

  "Here we are/' Maria said, returning, and gave them each a packet.

  "There, uh, wasn't any trouble, was there?" Clay asked.

  "What kind of trouble were you expectin'?" "Well...you were able to find three matches?" Maria pursed her lips and flapped her hands at him. "We found a lotta matches. These are the best three for you." She tapped the white envelope with her pen. "What do you think? Your future wife could be in there."

  Autumn stared at Clay's envelope, an odd flutter­ing in her chest. His future wife. And she hadn't looked beyond getting a date for the Champion Buyers' Ball.

  "There are also evaluation forms for you to fill out after each date. Then, if your initial matches don't work out and you want to be rematched, we can make adjustments on your profiles. Some people say one thing when they want another, you know?" Clay smiled tightly and whipped out a credit card. "Thank you, ma'am," he said after he'd scrawled his name on the slip. He straightened, folded his re­ceipt and nodded to Autumn. "Good luck."

  "Yeah." She gripped her packet, curiously reluc­tant to even look at the names inside. "Same to you."

  It seemed as though he was about to say some­thing else, but he just nodded again, put on his hat and strode out the door. Autumn watched him continue down the steps. "You coulda saved a lot of money if you'd just dated him," Maria said.

  "Why?" Autumn turned back around. "We didn't match with each other, did we?" Maria blinked. "Did you want to?" "Well, no. Otherwise, we wouldn't have signed up here."

  "Okay, then."

  "Don't get me wrong. I've known Clay forever." Autumn withdrew her checkbook from her purse. "We grew up next door to each other."

  Maria didn't say anything, which Autumn already figured out was unusual for her.

  "Thank you for your contribution," Autumn said to cover the awkward silence. "We'll be sending Yellow Rose Matchmakers two tickets for the Swine Auction Breakfast." She tore off her check and handed it to Maria.

  "I hope you find what you're looking for," Maria said, placing the check in a bank pouch.

  What an odd thing to say. Not "I hope one of the matches works for you" or even "Good Luck".

  Shaking it off, Autumn tossed the envelope on the seat of her car and drove over to a coffee shop on the River Walk where she was scheduled to meet with the Hogs and Kisses women.

  Clay put off opening the envelope until after his meeting with Garcia and Delgado. It was on the pickup's seat waiting for him when he climbed in.

  Instead of immediately driving off, he punched on the radio to a country music station and picked up, the packet.

  For the first time since he could remember, he didn't know what the future held. Of course nobody knew his exact future, but Clay found he could pre­dict the basic details of his life with reasonable ac­curacy. Money would be short, work would be hard, and Autumn Reese would wander through his thoughts.

  He shook his head. He couldn't imagine a life without Autumn getting on his nerves—or with her always getting on his nerves. In fact, he couldn't imagine his life without Autumn in it, the way he couldn't imagine life without the ranch.

  He'd been born to it. Four generations of Barnetts had lived on the land, weathered droughts, depres­sion and the ups and downs of the cattle market. For him, the land was a sacred trust.

  And Autumn, well... He stared at the Yellow Rose packet. Your future wife could be in there. He fin­gered the envelope, then ripped it open. There were three sheets with a biographical summary obviously taken from the profiles, along with a name, post office box and telephone number.

  So call him shallow, but Clay wished he had a picture. He flipped through the names and realized he was surprised not to have been matched with Autumn,

  Each match listed a percentage of probable com­patibility. Clay's highest was eighty-four percent, which sounded like a B grade to him. The others were in the seventies. The fact that Autumn hadn't made the cut meant that her profile and his must have had a near-failing percentage of compatibility.

 
Of course, lately they'd gotten along like oil and water, but not getting matched with her disappointed Clay.

  He reshuffled the papers, deciding to call Miss Eighty-four percent, Julia Holbrook. Maybe she was free for dinner tonight.

  After the meeting with her Hogs and Kisses com­mittee was over and the women had left, Autumn had a few minutes before she went to her part-time job as a legal clerk for a law firm in downtown San Antonio.

  Autumn had always known she would have to have a career or a job of some sort and had worked since she was a teenager. In most ranch families, someone, usually the wife, had to bring in needed cash.

  Not at Clay's ranch, though. The Golden B was considerably larger than hers and could support a family.

  Not that it mattered to her one way or the other.

  Autumn ordered a large double mocha latte, then opened her packet from the Yellow Rose. She quickly scanned the names and became annoyed with herself when she realized she was looking for Clay's.

  What were these percentages? Autumn read the explanation, then the one-page bios.

  The men sounded interesting. Nothing that pegged her zing meter, but she hadn't seen them yet. Whom to call first?

  Autumn found she was a little nervous, so she de­cided to call match number two so she could practice on him. George Garza had a grade, or rather "prob­ability percentage", of eighty-six percent. Number! one was ninety-one percent.

  Okay. Before she lost her nerve, Autumn used the public pay phone and called the message service hoping George would suggest getting together. Soon.

  FAX

  TO: Deb

  From: Nel

  They're going to dinner tonight at

  Jason's on the River Walk! Chill the

  champagne I

  Giddy with happiness, N.

  FACSIMILE

  To: Nellie Barnett, G B Ranch

  From: Debra Reese, R. Ranch -

  Take the champagne out of the ice bucket. They're

  going to dinner at Jason's, but not with each other.

  What happened?

  D.

  Autumn barely had time to make the hour-and-a-half round trip from her home back into San Antonio after work.