Hand-Picked Husband

by Heather MacAllister

She'd actually been awake for a while, thinking about Clay. He'd left right after he'd told her he loved her, not even waiting to see if she'd tell him she loved him back.

  He wanted her to think about it first.

  She opened the supply closet and got a new roll of fax paper. Clay was proving far more clever than she'd ever given him credit for, because her first in­stinct had been to blurt out that she loved him, too. In fact, it was also her second and third instinct.

  But Clay obviously wanted a declaration in the clear light of day. She smiled to herself. He just might get his wish.

  "Good grief, look at all this." So many faxes had come in that they'd spilled over onto the floor.

  Autumn opened the cover of the fax machine and inserted the paper so the incoming fax could be printed, then gathered up the curling sheets of paper.

  They were all reports on her evening with Clay! "Oh, Mom!" Autumn laughed.

  Debra had been so calm last night, only casually asking if Autumn had had a good time, when in re­ality, she must have been dying for information.

  "Serves you right for sending out your spies."

  Autumn sat on the edge of the desk and started reading, chuckling at the descriptions. Fortunately, no one had reported seeing her kissing Clay behind the coatroom, which was what she'd been afraid she'd find.

  There were three requests asking where Autumn had bought her dress. "I'll never tell," she murmured to herself.

  It also appeared that her mother and Mrs. Barnett had been keeping in close contact, as well.

  Autumn picked up the wad of faxes in the file box, working her way backward until she got to one that referred to the Yellow Rose. I'm calling the Yellow Rose to find out how much it will cost to get them to admit they made a mistake in not matching those two. It was dated before the second visit she and Clay had paid to the Yellow Rose.

  Wait a minute. Autumn read the fax twice. Then a third time as anger made her hands shake. Clay's mother had bribed the Yellow Rose to match them together?

  Their magical evening had been fake?

  Autumn felt like the most gullible human being in the world. Their parents had been trying to get them together one way or another for years, and it was obvious that they still were.

  How could Clay stand it—or was he in on it?

  How dare they? Angry tears formed in her eyes, but she wiped them away and read the fax beneath that one, expecting to see more of the Yellow Rose plot.

  The word "selling" stopped her cold. This ranch was always Ben's dream—or rather his father's. Now that they 're both gone, I realized I was keeping things going for Autumn—and she's not interested, not really. And you must know that hiring a foreman made this a losing operation.

  Autumn had assumed that her father's insurance money was covering the cost of a foreman. But you never asked, did you? prodded an inner voice. Still, why hadn't her mother said anything?

  Autumn quickly flipped through the faxes until she found the one offering first right of refusal to the Golden B.

  Clay had never said anything. And he must have known. In fact, that was probably why he'd gone along with his parents' plans. Marry Autumn and then they wouldn't have to buy the ranch.

  How could he stand being used that way?

  How could he justify telling her he loved her?

  Because everyone knew Autumn wouldn't agree to marry Clay unless she believed she was in love with him.

  Feeling cold, she wrapped her robe tightly around her. She didn't know what she felt anymore.

  Autumn searched for anything more about the sale and found another Yellow Rose fax. I'm giving the Yellow Rose a call and demanding that they recal­culate their forms, or whatever they do to match peo­ple. So typical of Clay's mother.

  That was it, then. She and Clay hadn't really been matched together. It was all a setup because they knew she wouldn't go out with him otherwise.

  A tear dripped onto the flimsy fax paper. All she'd ever wanted was the freedom to make her own life choices instead of having them dictated to her by circumstances and expectations.

  No matter how much she'd pleaded over the years, it was obvious that her mother still didn't trust her to make those important decisions if they differed from what she had in mind for her daughter. Debra was still manipulating, and now Clay and his family were plotting with her.

  Clay. Another tear fell. Did he or did he not know of all this?

  And...did he really love her? She had to find out.

  ' 'Mo-ther!'' Hopping off the desk, Autumn stormed through the house.

  "I'm in the kitchen," Debra called. "Do you mind explaining this?" Autumn de­manded, and threw the faxes on the kitchen table. The bouquet of yellow roses sat in the center, its blooms now starting to droop.

  Debra had just come in the back door and was taking off her work gloves. ' 'I mind the tone of voice you're using with me." "I'm sorry."

  Nodding, Debra hung her coat on the peg by the door. "All right, what's wrong?"

  "Everything!" Autumn wailed, and pointed to the faxes. "You—you're selling the ranch and you didn't even tell me?"

  "I'm thinking of putting it on the market, yes. I would've told you before anything had been de­cided." Debra calmly poured herself a cup of coffee and one for Autumn, as well. "I've offered it to Hank and Nellie. If we agree on a price, then I won't have to list the property." "But why?"

  Debra looked straight at her. ' 'Are you willing to stay here and run the ranch with me?"

  Choices. You wanted choices. Here's one. Did she intend to run the ranch with her mother? Not merely contribute income, but handle the never-ending daily chores and responsibilities? Did she intend to give up her law career before it ever got started?

  "No." Autumn couldn't speak in more than a whisper, conscious that a chapter was closing in her life.

  "That's why I'm selling." Debra looked at her a moment, then continued, her voice softer. "You've been back here over a year and it's taken all your salary and then some to keep the place going. What's the point if it isn't what you want to do?"

  "But you shouldn't have to lose your home."

  Debra walked over to the table, set her coffee cup down and sifted through the faxes, removing one. "I said it all here—this place was a dream of Ben's father. Ben loved it, and I did, too, when he was alive. But ranching is all I've ever known. I'd like to see what else is out there in the world." She smiled. "Just like my daughter."

  "Oh, Mom." Autumn found herself in her mother's comforting arms. "If you change your mind and want to stay here, please tell me. I can take a full-time job if it will help."

  "I'm not going to change my mind," Debra said. "And I don't want you to, either."

  FAX

  To: Debra Reese, Owner

  Reese Ranch

  From: Henry Barnett and Eleanor Winters Barnett, Owners

  Golden B Ranch, Incorporated

  Number of pages : 3

  Please consider the attached terms our formal bid for the property known as Reese Ranch (legal description at­tached) . As per the original sales agreement, you have thirty days to ac­cept or decline this offer.

  Very truly yours,

  Henry Barnett

  Eleanor Winters Barnett

  FAX

  To: Henry Barnett and Eleanor Winters Barnett, Owners

  Golden B Ranch, Incorporated From: Debra Reese, Owner

  Reese Ranch Dear Nellie and Hank,

  I don't need thirty days. I've spoken with Autumn and you've been more than generous. I accept.

  Sincerely, Debra

  If Autumn had been honest with her mother, she would have told her what was really bothering her— the bribe to Yellow Rose Matchmakers.

  But that was something she had to discuss with Clay first.

  This was a day when she'd like to saddle a horse and ride for hours, but Clay's ranch house was too far away. So without giving him advance warning, Autumn drove over to the Barnetts'. She wanted to see Clay's face when she
told him about their fraud­ulent pairing.

  Nellie Barnett herself opened the door, her face wreathed in smiles. "Autumn, what a lovely sur­prise! Clay just came in for lunch. You'll join us, won't you?"

  Autumn hadn't paid any attention to the time and now was embarrassed at arriving right at mealtime.

  Before she could answer, Clay appeared, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. "'Lo, Autumn."

  His voice was the same as always. The way he looked at her was not. In fact, the way he looked, period, was not the same. She'd never noticed the firm set of his jaw, nor the well-shaped mouth. And she knew his eyes hadn't gazed at her with such a banked intensity before.

  Okay, so he was good-looking and a great kisser. That didn't change the fact that she'd been manipu­lated.

  Maybe they both had.

  Maybe Clay didn't know.

  "I have an idea," Mrs. Barnett said while the two of them continued to stare at one another. "It's a nice sunny day. Why don't I fix you some sand­wiches and you can eat on the patio?"

  "Thanks, Mom."

  Clay's mother took the towel from him as she re­turned to the kitchen.

  As soon as the sound of his mother's footsteps faded, Clay closed the distance between them. "You've been thinking."

  "Yes." Autumn knew her voice sounded strained.

  "You want to sit down while you spit it out?"

  It probably was pretty obvious that she was upset. Autumn nodded, then followed him into the den with the magnificent two-story stone fireplace. How many times had she been in this room over the years?

  That didn't matter now.

  "We were set up," she began, pulling the folded faxes out of her purse. ‘‘I found these this morning.'' She handed the papers concerning the Yellow Rose to Clay.

  He read them, then handed them back. "Well?" she demanded when he didn't say any­thing. "Did you know about this?"

  "No."

  "And it doesn't make you mad?"

  "What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is that our mothers bribed the Yellow Rose to match us together."

  "So what if they did?"

  "So what? Then our match was a lie."

  Clay leaned against the back of the leather couch and crossed his arms. "So? Were you going to let a computer pick your husband for you?"

  He was missing the point. "I went to the Yellow Rose in good faith. I expected computer matches. They cheated."

  "Do you know that for a fact?"

  She shook the papers at him. "How much more fact do you need?"

  "I mean, have you called the Yellow Rose?"

  "No, but I intend to."

  He smiled and shook his head. "Go ahead, but it doesn't matter to me if that's what it took for you to realize that we belong together." He tried to take her in his arms, but she wiggled free.

  Belong together. It was the "sacred trust" theory all over again. "Did you know that my mother of­fered to sell our ranch to your parents?"

  He blinked. "Yes."

  A queasy feeling settled in Autumn's stomach. "How long?"

  "A while."

  "And you never bothered to tell me?"

  "It wasn't my place to. That was between you and your mother."

  "Okay." She stuffed the faxes back into her purse. "I'll concede that. But it's still just one more way people have been manipulating me, and I'm sick of it."

  He narrowed his eyes. "You know, Autumn, ev­erything in this world isn't just about you and what you want and what you feel. Other people have their own feelings and their own lives."

  "Then I wish they'd live them and leave me alone!"

  "I believe that's exactly what your mother is try­ing to do."

  "You didn't see all the faxes that came in this morning. Practically everyone who was at the ball last night was spying for her."

  Clay had gone stone-faced.

  It took a few seconds before Autumn figured out that he was angry. She'd never seen Clay blazingly angry before. It wasn't something she wanted to see often.

  "I understand what this is all about. You're look­ing for excuses to avoid making a decision about us." Autumn started to say something, but he cut her off. "Yes, us! Last night I told you I loved you and I'm pretty certain you love me, too, but you're too hardheaded to admit it. You talk a good line about wanting choices, but you don't really. You want to be forced into a decision so you don't have to accept responsibility for it."

  "That's not true!"

  "Okay, then try this. Marry me. Yes, or no. That's your choice, but I'm not waiting around forever for you to make it."

  And he walked off, his boot heels loud against the stone-tile floor.

  Autumn stared after him, stunned. How could he say those things to her?

  She didn't stay for lunch but got back in her Bronco and drove home. She didn't turn into the driveway but continued on into San Antonio and straight to the Yellow Rose. Once there, she ran up the steps and pushed open the door. A new bouquet of yellow roses filled the ginger-jar vase in the foyer.

  "Hey, what are you doing back here?" Maria called from the parlor where she was showing an­other young woman the scrapbook. "Did you bring us an invitation to the wedding?"

  "No." Unsmiling, Autumn once again withdrew the faxes. "I'd like you to explain something to me."

  "I'll just let you look through our letters from sat­isfied clients," Maria told the young woman and rose to her feet.

  Once again, Autumn found herself in the back of­fice.

  "You don't look so good," Maria said. "I don't feel so good," Autumn answered. "I found these faxes that indicate the Yellow Rose was bribed to match me with Clayton Barnett." She held them out to Maria.

  "Nope."

  "Don't you even want to read them?"

  "Don't have to. The lady called and I told her no." Maria shook her finger as though Autumn was a naughty little girl. "And I have to tell you, I don't like you coming in here with your stormy face and accusing me of taking a bribe!"

  "I...I'm sorry," Autumn found herself apologiz­ing.

  "You should be. You were matched with that nice handsome man just the way the computer said. But you two don't need a computer. You were in love with each other when you first came here."

  "No." Autumn shook her head. "No, we defi­nitely weren't."

  Maria shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no. But you are now, right?"

  Autumn didn't answer.

  Maria gave her a stern look. "You haven't gone and done something stupid on account of thinking you weren't really matched together, have you?"

  In her mind's eye, Autumn saw Clay's angry face as he'd proposed to her.

  Proposed to her!

  The man she loved and who loved her had pro­posed to her.

  And what had she answered?

  She stared from the faxes to Maria. "Yes, I've gone and done something very stupid. Incredibly stu­pid. We're talking stupidity of titanic proportions."

  "I figured as much. So what are you going to do about it?"

  "Maria, I've been so incredibly stupid, I don't think there's anything I can do. No matter what any­one thinks, or what anyone does—even if you had fixed the computer results—"

  "Hey!"

  "I know you didn't, but even if we went out together because you had, if we love each other, it shouldn't matter, right?"

  Maria held her head. "You're making me dizzy, but I think so."

  "What do I do now?" Autumn groaned.

  "Well, you've got to go to him then and try to convince him you're not as stupid as you think you are."

  "I can't do that."

  "Why not? Did he tell you he never wanted to see you again?"

  "No. He proposed."

  "Marriage?" Maria stared at her. "And what did you say?"

  Autumn twisted the papers she held. "I didn't say anything."

  Muttering in Spanish, Maria threw up her arms. "You go back and you say yes!"

  "It's not that simple."

  Maria
started pushing her down the hall. "So you say yes and then you kiss him. Trust me. It's that simple."

  Could it be? Even after she'd acted like the big­gest, most self-centered fool in the universe?

  "Wait." Maria plucked a yellow rose from the vase in the foyer. "Take this for luck."

  Autumn took the rose. She was afraid she'd need all the luck she could get. After stopping for gas, she drove straight to Clay's ranch house before she lost her nerve.

  "Hello, Autumn." Once more, Clay's mother greeted her, but this time, her smile was no more than polite.

  Clutching the yellow rose, Autumn stammered, "Is—is Clay here?"

  "He's in the calving barn."

  The walk to the calving barn was the longest Autumn ever remembered taking. She felt Nellie Barnett watching her the entire way.

  Autumn knew Clay well enough to know that he hadn't told his mother what words they'd exchanged, but Mrs. Barnett had sensed that her son was upset and knew Autumn was the cause of it.

  She found him bottle-feeding an orphaned calf. '"Lo, Clay," she said, and leaned on the wooden railing.

  "Autumn." He tilted his head back until he could see out from under his hat brim.

  Maria had said this would be simple. This wasn't simple at all.

  He nodded toward the yellow rose she twirled in her hands. "Been into San Antonio?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "And I've been really stupid."

  "They didn't mess with the computer, did they?"

  She shook her head.

  "Mom said they wouldn't. I lit into her pretty good for even trying, though."

  Autumn felt like dirt. "Well, that isn't all I've been stupid about. You were right—"

  "Say that part again."

  "You were right," she repeated heavily through gritted teeth. "It shouldn't have mattered. I was looking for a reason not to admit that everybody had been right all along. I mean, how could they figure it out before I could?"

  "You weren't ready to." The calf had finished the bottle and Clay stood, brushing the hay from his jeans. "No shame in that." He came out of the stall and latched it.

  "But there's plenty of shame in throwing a hissy fit over nothing. And I'm sorry."

  He smiled down at her. "Is that all?"

  "Oh." She handed him the rose. "Yes."

  "Yes?"

  She nodded. "My choice. I choose yes—you."