Hand-Picked Husband

by Heather MacAllister

  It turned out that George was a high school teacher and tonight was his only free night until Saturday. Since Autumn didn't want to wait nearly a whole week, she agreed to dinner even though she would have preferred an activity of some sort.

  George had suggested Jason's, a River Walk res­taurant popular with both tourists and locals. Clay's family liked to celebrate birthdays there. It was a pricey restaurant. Since George was her second choice, Autumn felt guilty about the expense and re­solved to pay for her own dinner.

  She'd decided to wear her red suede jacket and denim skirt because it would be easy for George to spot her. Brown hair and brown eyes weren't dis­tinctive enough by themselves.

  Autumn parked in a lot close to the River Walk a few minutes early because she'd driven faster than she should have. She chose to walk on the path down by the river rather than cutting through the shops and hotels that lined the banks.

  The main portion of Jason's was on a terrace with a great river view. There was also a downstairs level, then an outdoor bar that was on the river level. This was where she'd agreed to meet George. He'd prom­ised to wear a yellow rose, which she thought was a little hokey but decided not to hold it against him.

  Once the sun went down, the air rapidly turned cool, as it always did this time of year. The cantina two doors down featured a Mexican mariachi band, and Autumn leaned against the railing, enjoying the catchy music while she scanned the path for a man who might be George.

  Lights twinkled on up and down the river. A river boat floated a load of tourists to the platform below the restaurant. Autumn hoped they weren't planning to eat here. It was too chilly to eat outside, and with that many people the main dining room of the res­taurant would be too noisy for conversation.

  As she watched, hoping they'd disperse, a tall man cut through them, going against the flow. She liked the way he moved. She couldn't be lucky enough for him to be George, could she? His face was obscured by his black cowboy hat, so she searched his lapel for a yellow rose.

  There wasn't one, and she gave a tiny sigh. Still, she watched him. When he reached the bottom of the steps leading to the restaurant bar, he looked up and Autumn found herself staring at his face.

  Her heart gave a ka-thump in the split second be­fore her brain recognized him; "Clay?"

  "Autumn...what are you doing here?" Clay re­moved his hat. His light brown hair was slicked back and he was wearing his Sunday boots with a black Western suit, white shirt and bolo tie.

  Autumn found her heart still ka-thumping even though she knew who he was, which was ridiculous. "I'm meeting one of my matches here for dinner. Don't tell me you're doing the same."

  "Well, sure. A man likes to make a good first impression."

  Autumn tried to swallow, but the words bubbled out anyway. "You...don't need a fancy restaurant for that."

  He took a step back and squinted. "You sure you're Autumn?"

  "Cut it out." She swatted at his arm.

  Clay chuckled. "So what's your date like?"

  "He's a schoolteacher."

  "So’s mine."

  They looked at each other, then away. The Yellow Rose computer thought their ideal mates were schoolteachers?

  As Autumn wondered if there was any significance to this, she stared at the people walking along the river path. Since it was rodeo season, lots of people were dressed in glitzy Western outfits. There was plenty of leather, silver jewelry and rhinestones.

  "How will you know your schoolteacher?" Clay asked.

  "He'll be wearing a yellow rose."

  "Kinda like that fellow over there?" Clay nodded in the opposite direction of where Autumn was look­ing.

  She straightened in time to see a stocky man with a beaming smile approach a blond woman sitting at one of the outdoor tables. She was wearing a bur­gundy leather jacket.

  "I said red suede," Autumn muttered under her breath.

  "Maybe she's a friend."

  "Men don't look at friends like that." And then she remembered the way he'd looked at her when they'd filled out their profiles. She swallowed.

  "Good luck," Clay said.

  "You, too." Autumn walked toward the man. "George?" she called.

  He looked up, his smile dimming a bit, then he murmured something to the woman.

  Autumn held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Autumn."

  "George Garza." He shook her hand.

  His was moist, but hers was cold, so it evened out.

  So did their height.

  Autumn appealed to her better nature. And she slouched the tiniest bit, knowing Clay was watching.

  Within thirty seconds, you'll know if it's a go, or a no go.

  She would not be shallow. She would not judge this man by his appearance, even though he was ob­viously mentally comparing her with the blonde in burgundy leather.

  Blondes in leather, she scoffed mentally. Couldn't he be any more original than that? Autumn tried to remember if she'd put originality on the part of the profile dealing with ' 'desired characteristics in a part­ner".

  "Well. Here we are." He nodded and looked around.

  Autumn may have forgotten to include "original­ity", but she distinctly remembered putting down "good conversationalist".

  Give the guy a break. You’re not exactly babbling here yourself.

  "It's a good thing you wore the yellow rose." Now that she was close to the flower, she could see it was a silk rose and not a real one. She had a bad feeling about a man who'd bought a permanent yel­low rose to identify himself to blind dates.

  "I've found it's the easiest way to recognize my date," he said, and pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

  "You sound like you've done this before. This is my first time," Autumn confided, hoping he'd take the lead for the evening,

  "Oh, you'll get used to it," George told her.

  Autumn did not want to "get used to it".

  The breeze off the river had picked up and she shivered. "Shall we go in?" George nodded again, and Autumn was conscious that while she'd been mentally criticizing him, he'd been judging her, as well. She resolved to try harder. "Your bio says that you're a teacher."

  "Yes."

  "What do you teach?"

  "World history."

  Okay, he knew the history of the entire world. Plenty of conversation topics to be mined there. They approached the hostess with Autumn feeling a lot better about the evening ahead.

  Several couples were waiting on benches in the foyer, and Autumn had already noticed the outside bar filling up with smokers.

  "Table for two," George said.

  "Do you have a reservation?" the hostess asked.

  "No."

  Autumn was a little surprised but didn't say any­thing.

  "There'll be a wait." The hostess studied her seat­ing chart, then ran her pencil down the reservation list. "We're booked solid until eight-fifteen. I can put you on the waiting list in case there's a cancel­lation. Would you like to wait in the bar?"

  "No. We'll sit out here." George gave his name, then guided Autumn across the flagstones to one of the wooden benches.

  More than an hour wait and he planned to sit it out in the foyer? Autumn was not pleased. She was even less pleased when Clay and his date entered just then.

  The woman was a cute little blonde with sparkly blue eyes and dimples, and they already seemed to be hitting it off.

  "Barnett, party of two," Clay announced, then leaned down and said something to her.

  She clutched his arm as she laughed.

  Autumn turned to George. "Do you have a favor­ite period in history?" she asked determinedly.

  "That's a tough question," George said. And he didn't say anything more.

  "Have you ever traveled for research?" Autumn heard the shrillness in her voice at the end.

  Clay must have heard, as well. Out of the corner of her eye, Autumn saw him turn.

  "Glad to see you two hooked up with each other," he said.

  "Yes. George wore
a rose. Wasn't that clever?" She smiled resolutely.

  "Clayton just told me to walk right up to the best-looking rancher I could find and that would be him. And I did!" The little blonde sparkled up—way up—at Clay.

  He grinned down at her. "Julia, I'd like you to meet Autumn Reese. She's my next-door neighbor."

  Autumn and George stood. "This is George Garza." Autumn tried but didn't have a sparkle in her.

  She also tried not to compare the two men, but it was difficult when they appeared to be complete physical opposites. Clay was tall and rangy and ob­viously a man of the outdoors. George was an inch or two taller than Autumn—okay, maybe one, but she was wearing boots—definitely not rangy, and looked like he'd rather be at the library.

  "Barnett, party of two, your table is ready."

  Clay looked puzzled. "Isn't your table ready? You got here before we did."

  Autumn's back molars clamped together.

  "I forgot to make reservations," George ex­plained.

  "Join us. We'll tell them to add two chairs to our table," Clay offered.

  "Oh, no, we couldn't impose," George protested with more animation than Autumn had seen from him.

  Let's impose already, Autumn thought. Tomorrow was a workday for her and she wasn't looking for­ward to the late-night drive home.

  "Oh, do join us," Julia added. "These agency first dates can be awkward and it'll be more fun with the four of us."

  Autumn glanced at Clay. It was just a glance, but he immediately went to speak to the waiting hostess.

  They knew each other too well, Autumn thought. "This is so sweet of you," she said to Julia.

  Julia dimpled.

  George frowned. "It will be crowded."

  Crowded was an understatement. They were prac­tically touching elbows.

  Autumn didn't mind, especially since Julia re­lieved the burden of making conversation with George. Autumn couldn't quite figure him out. He intently studied the menu and appeared to want to avoid interacting.

  Clay ordered quesadillas for the group as an ap­petizer, which made George frown. Many things made George frown, Autumn guessed.

  Especially ordering from the menu. When Autumn ate out, she liked to try dishes she wouldn't—or, more accurately, couldn't—cook at home. Fish was one, so she ordered the grilled snapper with mango salsa. Julia played it safe with poblano chicken. Clayton, always trying to support beef consumption, ordered a rib-eye steak.

  And George ordered a green salad.

  "I believe that lunch should be the main meal of the day," he announced when he handed the menu back to the waiter.

  "Then the food at your school cafeteria must be better than the food at ours," Julia said.

  Autumn had never dated a man who actually or­dered salad for a meal, and she didn't know what to make of it. She eyed his soft middle. He didn't look like a man who ate salads for his meals, either.

  "You teach?" George had perked up at Julia's comment.

  "Yes. First grade. That's why I have a terrible tendency to talk so much when I'm around adults." She smiled disarmingly.

  "First grade is a pivotal year in a child's educa­tion," George intoned.

  Julia dimpled at him. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. So many people don't realize that and think it's all just cut and paste and recess."

  Julia continued to chatter away, even managing to coax long-winded lectures out of George. He wanted the group's complete attention when he spoke, which fortunately wasn't often. In fact, the only commu­nicating Autumn did for a while was silently as she and Clay exchanged looks across the table.

  She suddenly had a horrible thought. What if she'd put "good conversationalist" on his form by mistake after they'd exchanged with each other?

  The more Julia talked, the more Autumn suspected that's what she had done.

  She looked at Clay, to find him looking at her.

  Julia and George were talking shop, something about paperwork.

  Autumn cut her eyes toward Julia, then raised her eyebrows at Clay. Is she the one?

  Clay looked at the animated blonde, then met Autumn's eyes. Who knows?

  Autumn made a gesture toward George. If you're interested, you'd better make a move soon.

  He half smiled. Like she'd choose him over me.

  Pretty cocky, aren't we?

  No brag, just fact.

  Autumn smothered a smile. She could practically hear him saying the words. It was a result of knowing him for so long.

  He gave her a questioning look. So what do you think of old George there?

  Biting her lip, Autumn winced.

  "That's what comes from putting down 'no sports'," Clay said out loud.

  The other two didn't even notice.

  After dinner, the waiter brought the bill, discreetly placing it in the center of the table.

  George, in the middle of a lecture on how the school board was choking teachers with regulations, ignored it. Julia, hanging on his every word, proba­bly didn't notice it.

  Clay flipped open the padded cover, at the same time reaching for his wallet. Scanning the bill, he tossed a credit card on it and put the folder back in the center of the table.

  "I spend a minimum of two hours a day dealing with paperwork not directly related to class prepa­ration," George said.

  "Oh, I know. It's just terrible." Julia clucked sympathetically.

  Purposely bumping George, Autumn reached for her purse. "Let me get my dinner."

  George not only didn't protest, he smiled at her for the first time since he'd discovered that she wasn't the blonde in the burgundy leather.

  "I've got it." Clay handed the waiter the check.

  "Clay..."

  He shook his head. She let it drop for now, but she sent a look of pure disgust to George.

  Behind his glasses, he blinked owlishly. "What? Did you want dessert?"

  "Well, I just couldn't eat another mouthful." Julia sent a smile around the table. "This has been so much fun. Clay, I..." She seemed at a loss for words for the first time that evening.

  Don't know anything about you'? Autumn filled in silently.

  "I'm glad to have met you," Julia said. "Both of you." She sent George a particularly warm look. "And you, too, Autumn."

  Yeah, right. "Well, the evening has just flown by." Autumn stood, determined to fly herself. "I've got to get home."

  The others also stood, George with obvious reluc­tance. "Look," he said to Julia, "there's a meeting of the Educators for Reduced Federal Paperwork to­morrow night. Would you like to go with me? We could have coffee afterward."

  He was making a date with another woman right in front of her! Autumn's jaw dropped.

  "I'd like that." Julia's sparkle was now directed toward George.

  "Don't forget your money, honey," Autumn said, and was jabbed in the back by Clay.

  She had to bite her tongue all the way to the exit. When they were outside and gathered in an awkward clump, George smiled and said, "Well. Here we are."

  Autumn wanted to strangle him.

  Autumn had the same look on her face as she did when she missed during calf roping. It never bode well for the calf and it didn't bode well for George.

  Clay touched her arm. "Where are you parked?"

  "In the east lot," she snapped.

  "George, you headed in that direction?"

  George pointed over his shoulder. "No, I'm parked on the other side."

  "So am I," Julia piped up.

  "May I walk you to your car?" George asked ea­gerly.

  Autumn squeaked.

  Clay coughed to hide his laughter. "Thanks, George. I'm going in Autumn's direction, so you don't have to worry about her."

  "What? Oh." George seemed to recall that he was technically Autumn's date. "Uh, goodbye, then," he said to her. "I'll give you a favorable evaluation." Then with a nod, he turned to Julia.

  "You'll—"

  Clay slipped his arm around Autumn's waist and hauled her next to h
im, which cut off the threatened eruption. "Wave bye-bye, Autumn." He lifted his hand.

  They watched George and Julia walk down the river path.

  "They're not looking at us, Clay."

  "Nope. Come on. Let's go home." He slid his arm away, thinking he wouldn't have minded leaving it right where it was. "I can tell you're about to burst."

  "Aren't you?"

  Clay inhaled. "Mostly I'm relieved."

  "Well, I'm sorry we ruined your evening. She seemed... nice."

  Clay tried to imagine the next fifty years with Julia and shuddered inwardly. "She talks too much."

  "And thank goodness for it. I wasn't getting anywhere with George. And he stuck you for dinner!" She grabbed for her shoulder bag.

  "Autumn, forget it. My treat."

  "Oh, Clay."

  "Donate the money to your program-sales fund, if it makes you feel better."

  She grimaced. "That means you're so far ahead that this won't make any difference, right?"

  He looked down at her and almost hated to an­swer. "The ad agency donation was a lucky break."

  "Shoot. I figured as much. Well, congratulations. At least I made you work for the prize."

  Clay stared ahead to the Crockett Street Bridge. Autumn never pouted over defeats. She might get mad at herself but only if she felt she hadn't given her best. The truth was, Autumn was a first-rate com­petitor. No matter what the field, she raised the level of competition so that winners truly valued their win and the also-rans felt pretty good, too.

  She'd crossed her arms in the chilly January night air and Clay suddenly longed for the days when he would've thrown his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm and thought nothing of it.

  "You know what I think?"

  "What?"

  "I think that cheapskate weasel never intended for us to eat dinner."

  "So George forgot to make reservations. Give the guy a break."

  She didn't, not that Clay had expected her to. "Think about it. When you offered to let us sit at your table, he didn't want to. And he ordered a side salad!"

  "Maybe he wasn't hungry."

  "I think he planned to spend the evening in the foyer. He's the one who suggested Jason's, for Pete's sake. A hamburger would have been fine with me."

  Clay decided to throw his arm around her anyway. She didn't pull away but walked in silence with him.