Hand-Picked Husband

by Heather MacAllister

  Suddenly, Garth swept her onto the floor and twirled her around before they began the stomping pattern of the dance. He was such a good and enthu­siastic dancer that Autumn forgave him his earlier remarks. And after all, Clay had been the one to mis­inform him.

  She was going to have words with Clay—when Sally stopped talking long enough to breathe.

  The dance ended and Sally applauded energetically, barely out of breath. "Why, look, there's Autumn and Garth. Let's go say howdy, and then I'm going to comb my hair and powder my nose."

  Finally, Clay thought. Finally, relief from her end­less yammering. The fun of being Sally's date and being the envy of the other guys had long ago worn off. He'd decided there was as much hair in her head as on it. How a woman like Sally found time to run her own business was beyond him. As far as he could see, she spent most of her time in front of a mirror.

  "Hello, you two," Sally sang out when they ap­proached the table. "Oh, look, Clay. They make such a cute couple, don't they?"

  Garth grinned and moved his arm, obviously get­ting ready to drape it over Autumn. To Clay's amusement, she jumped up and grabbed an empty plastic pitcher. "I'm just parched. I'm going to get us some more iced tea."

  "You do that, darlin'," Garth said, stretching his arm over the back of her chair and tapping his fingers in time to the music.

  Autumn gave Clay a murderous look when she brushed past.

  "Well, pooh. I wonder what's got into her?" Sally stared after Autumn, then shrugged. "I'll be back in a minute. Try not to miss me, sugar."

  Clay didn't particularly want to sit with Garth, but at that moment, Garth grinned and stood. Seconds later, he was back on the dance floor with Jackie Dutton.

  Clay sat in the wooden chair with relief. He would never look at a smiling rodeo queen in the same way again. Heck, he probably would never look at one again, period.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he absorbed the relative quiet. The band was pretty good, with a fid­dler, guitars and a young drummer who stayed on the beat most of the time.

  A pitcher of iced tea landed on the table beside his elbow.

  '"Lo, Autumn." He dabbed at the splash on his shirt.

  "You are lower than a snake's belly, Clayton Barnett."

  "Sally was my match!"

  Autumn drew a chair over and sat. "I am not talk­ing about that."

  Clay didn't ask what she was talking about be­cause he figured she was going to tell him anyway.

  He was right.

  "You have poisoned Garth for me."

  "Which did you get tired of first? His smile or his buckle?"

  She chewed the inside of her cheek as though she was trying to hide a smile. Clay relaxed, knowing that she wanted to be angry at him more than she actually was angry at him.

  "He's been 'little womaning' me all over the place. That was a mean and dirty trick."

  Clay moved his eyes in the direction of Sally, who was on her way to the dance floor, trailing men be­hind her. "And you said nothing to the world's greatest consumer of aerosol hair-care products?"

  Autumn's mouth quivered. "She only wants to look nice for you, Clay."

  "But must I hear about it in so much detail?"

  "You're probably going to."

  "In that case—" Clay poured a glass of iced tea and raised it in a toast "—congratulations. You win. There is no way I'm taking her to the Champion Buyers' Ball." He drank his tea, feeling as though a load—a perfumed and lipsticked load—had dropped from his shoulders.

  Autumn stared at the ice in her glass, then out at the dance floor where Garth had changed partners three times.

  "No," she said. "I can't claim victory because that would mean I'd have to take Garth to the ball. Forget it. My shoulders can't take it."

  They watched the dancers and drank their tea in silence. "Well," Clay said at last, hating to break the welcome conversational lull, "we've got two choices. You can either go to the ball with me—call it a ride or whatever—or we can go back to the Yellow Rose and ask for another match."

  "Ride with you?" Autumn inched away from him.

  Clay grinned. "Chicken."

  "Cautious," she said with a prim set to her mouth. "And rightly so."

  Clay remembered when her mouth hadn't been so prim. "And now you're waiting for me to tell you I won't kiss you again?"

  They stared at each other. Autumn's eyes grew wide. "Yes," she finally said, watching him.

  "Not going to do it."

  She blinked. "You're not going to kiss me again?"

  He grinned. "I'm not going to tell you I won't."

  She stared again, as though-seeing him for the first time.

  Come on, Autumn. Quit fighting it. If he thought it would do any good, he'd kiss her now. He watched the faint flush darkening her cheeks. He might kiss her now anyway.

  She picked up her tea. "Then it's back to the Yellow Rose."

  Stubborn woman.

  Autumn and Clay drove over to Yellow Rose Matchmakers the next morning and parked their ve­hicles behind a van labeled Senor Air.

  "Between the calving, the rodeo and this dating stuff, I'm running myself ragged," Clay complained as he waited for Autumn to join him at the gate. He opened it and they walked up the stone path. "We've had to hire some more hands. I don't know that mov­ing the calving up a cycle is going to pay off like we'd hoped."

  "I can see the calving and rodeo interfering, but you've taken all your dates to rodeo functions you were going to attend anyway," Autumn pointed out as they climbed the steps.

  Clay paused at the top of the stairs and looked down at her. "Do you ever consider not being right on occasion?"

  Autumn smiled, but there was no thrill in being right this time. I may have made more mistakes along the way than I thought. And it was possible that a six-foot-one-inch one was standing right beside her.

  Now that she'd gotten her way and people had stopped treating them like a couple, Autumn felt...she didn't know how she felt. She probably wasn't used to seeing Clay with other women. It was unsettling, that was it. Certainly not jealousy.

  "Don't trip on the cords," Maria called to them through the open door of the Yellow Rose. Orange and yellow extension cords trailed out the door. "The air conditioner's broken," she explained. "My second brother's boy, Miguel, is working on it now. How's your air-conditioning? He's got a few scratch-and-dent units he can make you a good deal on."

  "It's a little early in the season to worry about air-conditioning," Clay said.

  Maria vigorously shook her head. "There's where you're wrong."

  "Second time today," he murmured.

  "This is the off-season. You should have your sys­tem inspected when the repairmen have got time on their hands. They'll make you a good deal now, when you don't need air-conditioning. Just try get­ting one to come out when it's August. Even my own relatives won't give me a deal in August."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Clay said.

  "So." Maria looked at them. "I can't say I'm surprised to see you two back here."

  "Why not?" Autumn asked.

  "You kiddin'?" Maria shook her head and ges­tured for them to follow her.

  She went straight to the back room where they'd filled out their initial personality profiles. Leafing through the stack of papers waiting to be filed, she pulled out several sheets.

  "Look at these evaluation forms you sent back. 'Her people raise sheep'?" Maria looked over her glasses at Clay.

  "It would be an issue between us," he said.

  "And you." Maria glanced at Autumn before reading, '"A boring, weaselly cheapskate'? 'He has no personality'?"

  "George?" Clay asked.

  Autumn nodded.

  "I have to tell you, ma'am, she pretty much called that one."

  Maria shrugged. ' 'So what about your third matches? You both said you would date them again."

  "We did," Autumn acknowledged.

  "And?"

  Autumn exchanged a look with Clay. "G
arth... wanted a little woman he could order around, and I'm not."

  "Mmmm." Maria raised her eyebrows and looked at Clay.

  "Sally talked too much."

  "Yeah, I remember," Maria said. "You don't like talkers." She drew a deep breath and muttered some­thing in Spanish.

  "Did you just say, 'There's none so blind as they that won't see'?" Autumn asked, not trusting her Spanish.

  "Yes." Maria crossed her arms. "What am I go­ing to do with you two?"

  "Give us another match. That's your policy."

  Maria threw up her arms and sat at the computer. "And what good will it do, I ask you?"

  "What kind of an attitude is that?" Autumn chal­lenged her. "You promised us satisfaction."

  "And that's the point. You two are never going to be satisfied."

  Clay had remained silent. Autumn looked at him and saw that he was going to be of no help. "We're surely not the only clients of the Yellow Rose with high standards."

  "High standards, no. Impossible standards, yes. Sit down." Maria pointed to the uncomfortable plas­tic chairs. "I'm going to show you something." She keystroked some instructions into the computer, then waited. Moments later, the printer hummed and spit out two sheets. "These are your new matches." Handing a paper to each of them, she sat back.

  There was only one name on Autumn's paper— Clayton Barnett, ninety-nine percent. "Hey!" she protested, and heard Clay echo her.

  Without asking, she snatched away his paper and handed him hers. Sure enough, there was her name with ninety-eight percent.

  "Why am I only ninety-eight percent?" she asked, sidetracked.

  "Probably because I had a hard time reading through all the scratch-outs and eraser smudges on your profile. But ninety-eight, ninety-nine, what's the difference?"

  "Why weren't we matched together before?" Clay asked.

  "Because I told the computer not to," Maria an­swered. "I figured that if you had wanted to date each other, you already would have."

  Autumn ran a shaky hand through her hair. "There must be a mistake. Please run the program again."

  Maria shrugged. Autumn went to stand behind her. As she watched, the program came up with a whole list of people in descending order of probable compatibility. Clay's name was at the top of the list.

  It was the same when the program was run for

  Clay. Autumn's name headed the list.

  She felt panicky. "This can't be. Could I fill out a new personality profile?"

  "You gonna change personalities?"

  "No—but I might answer some questions differ­ently this time."

  "Okay, but don't tell anyone I let you do this." Maria put Autumn's profile on the monitor and got up from the chair.

  Autumn changed her desired-mate description to include, "a man who likes new experiences and has goals for his life". She tweaked a few more answers, then indicated that Maria could run the new profile.

  "You want to fiddle with yours, too?" Maria asked Clay.

  "No, ma'am. I'm the same person I was last week."

  "Good."

  Maria ran the program again.

  Once again, Autumn was Clay's match, and she'd increased her probable compatibility to ninety-nine percent.

  Autumn's match was Clay—one hundred percent. ‘‘No!'' She backed away from the computer. "There's got to be a mistake. This is awful!"

  Then she caught Clay's expression. He was stone-faced, which was the expression he used when he wanted to hide his emotions. She'd hurt his feelings.

  "Oh, Clay, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  "Didn't you?"

  "No. I was surprised and my mouth ran away with me. But I put that I wanted a mate who liked new experiences and had goals."

  "I have goals," Clay said quietly. "You might not agree with them, but I do have them. As for new experiences, I like new experiences, Autumn. I want to travel and visit ranches and farms in other parts of the country. Even the world. I like going to ranch­ing conferences and exhibitions. I like studying new ranching methods. We've all got to keep experienc­ing new things no matter what we choose to do in life. That's how we learn to adapt and survive. The only reason the Golden B has lasted four generations is because we've changed with the times. If you don't know what the changes are, then you can't make them work for you."

  It was probably the most words he'd ever spoken at one time.

  She looked at the man standing next to her, the man she'd grown up with, fought with and tried to get away from her whole life. And she didn't know him at all. "I—I had no idea."

  "I know."

  "Oh, Clay..."

  "If you ask me, not that anybody did, but they would have if they'd been smart...if you ask me, now's a good time to kiss her." Maria gave Clay a meaningful look.

  "I don't—" Autumn began.

  "With all due respect, I don't need courting hints from you, ma'am."

  "With all due respect, if you didn't need a hint, or two, you wouldn't be standing here now."

  Clay nodded slowly. "Good point."

  Without warning, Autumn found herself in his arms. They were strong arms and they held her tight as though he was afraid she'd run off.

  He kissed her with every bit as much passion as he had when they were parked in his truck by the side of the road. She was learning that he held noth­ing back, kept nothing of the way he felt hidden from her in his kisses. Into them, he poured his dreams and his desires.

  He revealed everything.

  Autumn struggled and he let her go instantly, a wounded expression on his face, but she only wanted to free her arms so she could wrap them around him. Which she did.

  And then she kissed him back.

  It felt right to be in Clay's arms and she tried to tell him so without words.

  She must have done a pretty good job because he was the one who broke their kiss with a shaky smile. "I guess this means you'll come to the ball with me."

  Autumn smiled back. "I guess it does."

  Soft sobs caught their attention. Maria sat at the computer, crying quietly. "You see?" She ripped a tissue out of the flowered dispenser. "Now go." She waved the tissue at them. "I tell you, I'm getting too old for this business. My nerves can't take it." She dabbed her eyes. "I'm gonna have to call my cousin Sophia's daughter, Maria. She was named after me. She's a doctor."

  Clay took Autumn's hand. In a daze, she followed him to the front door.

  "Wait!" Maria came running after them. Reaching the foyer, she took the bouquet of yellow roses from the vase and wrapped computer paper around the wet stems. "All our successful matches get yellow roses.'' She handed the makeshift bouquet to Autumn.

  "But we're not...we haven't. ." She looked to Clay for help, but he just smiled at her.

  "Honey." Maria wrapped Autumn's hands around the bouquet. "Trust me. He's the one."

  CHAPTER NINE

  FAX

  To: Debra

  From: Nellie

  THEY'RE GOING TO THE BUYERS' BALL

  TOGETHER!!!!!!!! Clay has told me

  NOTHING! Sons never tell you anything.

  What's going on?

  Desperate for info, Nellie

  FACSIMILE

  To: NElie

  Fr:D.

  Tlk later. Autumn wants me to helpher choos dress

  now.

  D.

  Autumn found her mother in the office sending a fax. "I thought you said you weren't busy."

  "I'm not." The fax machine beeped. "There." Debra smiled. "All done. Now, what have you got?"

  Autumn held up three dresses. One was new, but the others had only been worn once. She couldn't believe she was making such a big deal out of what she was going to wear.

  It was only Clay, she kept telling herself.

  It was Clay, her heart beat in response.

  "Oh, Autumn, Autumn." Debra immediately took the pink taffeta dress and tossed it on the swivel chair. "That was Rae Ann's bridesmaid's dress."

  "I w
as going to take off the bows."

  Debra shook her head. "Everyone will recognize it."

  "Okay." Autumn hadn't seriously considered wearing pink taffeta anyway. "How about this one?" She held up a clingy knit black dress that she'd just bought. It looked sophisticated, if subdued. The other dress was red with silver beading and had a long slit up the thigh.

  "You wore the beaded one last year, didn't you?" Debra tapped her chin.

  "Yes." It had been her first time to attend the Buyers' Ball and Autumn had wanted to be noticed. Under ordinary circumstances, a dress like that would get a woman noticed. But the Buyers' Ball was the social highlight of the rodeo season and all the women were beaded and spangled.

  Debra turned her attention to the unprepossessing black dress. "It needs a little more oomph, doesn't it?"

  "I think the oomph comes from the person who wears it."

  "Mmm. How oomphy are you feeling?"

  Autumn stared at the dress. "I don't know."

  "Go put it on," Debra instructed her.

  Autumn was surprised her mother hadn't gone for the beads. The truth was, she was feeling a little funny about this dress. It revealed more than she was used to revealing, and she missed the weight of the beads. Still... Autumn twisted from side to side in front of the full-length mirror behind her bedroom

  door. She looked pretty good.

  Holding her breath and her stomach both, she went back to the ranch office. "Mom?"

  Debra took off her glasses and stared.

  "It's not too...you know." Autumn gestured. "Is it?"

  "Yes, it is," her mother said firmly. "That's why you're going to wear it. There's not a woman alive who wouldn't wear that dress if she could."

  FACSIMILE

  To: Nellie B.

  From: Debra R.

  NOW you may chill champagne. Clayton doesn't

  stand a chance.

  Deb

  It wasn't until Autumn handed her velvet jacket to the hotel coat-check girl that Clay realized he was in trouble. He'd planned to stay casual and low-key this evening, but the woman who slipped the receipt into her purse bore no resemblance to the Autumn Reese he'd grown up with.

  Clay couldn't swallow. He couldn't breathe. He'd gone hot and cold at the same time. "Autumn?" he tried to say, but his voice cracked.