Hand-Picked Husband Read online

  Hand-Picked Husband

  Question: How do you Find the perfect man? Answer: Read on...

  Welcome to Grooms Wanted! Brand-new stories by three of our best-loved authors.

  We all know that good men are hard to find but these books are about three very special heroines who go the extra distance to find the man of their dreams. The Yellow Rose Matchmakers guarantee to find any woman her perfect partner.

  So, for the cutest guys around—read Grooms Wanted!

  Books in this series are:

  BACHELOR AVAILABLE! by Ruth Jean Dale

  HAND-PICKED HUSBAND by Heather

  MacAllister

  THE NINE-DOLLAR DADDY by Day

  Leclaire

  Grooms Wanted!

  Must be willing to wed!

  NAME: Heather MacAllister.

  AGE: Negotiable.

  OCCUPATION: Writer.

  MARITAL STATUS: Currently retired from dating!

  IDEAL PARTNER: Someone I can talk with for ever.

  IDEAL DATE: Anything with bagpipes and haggis.

  STRANGEST DATE: A friend was dating a policeman. He offered to take several of us for a ride in his patrol car. We piled in, drove around, and a call came through. He had to answer it, so he drove downtown to a really scummy area, then left us sitting in the car while he chased down the suspect. After catching him, the policeman had to call for another car, making up some story about why he already had a car full of college girls. I do not know, and do not wish to know, what he told the other policemen.

  P.S. My mother does not know this!

  Recent books by the same author:

  THE BACHELOR AND THE BABIES

  DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

  If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was reported

  unsold and destroyed by a retailer. Neither the author nor the publisher

  has received any payment for this book.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with' Harlequin Enterprises 11 B. V. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registered trademarks of the publisher.

  First published in Great Britain 1999

  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  © Heather MacAllister 1999 ISBN 0 263 81504 8

  Set in Times Roman 11 on 12 pt. 02-9903-40660 Cl

  Printed and bound in Norway by AIT Trondheim AS, Trondheim

  CHAPTER ONE

  FACSIMILE

  To: Nellie Barnett, Golden B Ranch From: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch Dear Nellie,

  As far as I can tell, Autumn isn't planning on going back to law school this semester. It wouldn't hurt for you to give that boy of yours a nudge in her direc­tion. You can't expect her to wait forever. We're leaving for the Menger this afternoon. Happy New Year!

  FAX

  To: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch

  From: Nellie Barnett, Golden B Ranch

  Dear Debra,

  I have nudged. Clay is spending the

  night at the Menger with friends. Good

  luck, and happy New Year!

  Autumn Reese stifled a yawn and signaled the waiter for another cup of coffee. Why did the San Antonio Rodeo Swine Auction Program Committee always schedule their kickoff for New Year's Day? At least she'd managed to convince them to change it to a brunch from the breakfast it had been in years past.

  Autumn's mother poked her in the ribs. "Perk up and smile, honey. There's Clayton."

  "I'm not perking for anything but coffee." She stared at the bottom of her cup. "And I sincerely hope there's a pot perking for me."

  "People are watching," Debra Reese said without moving her lips and still smiling herself. "You can't continue to pretend that you haven't seen Clay with­out there being talk."

  "There's always talk."

  "And don't you forget it."

  As her mother raised her hand to wave at Clayton Barnett, their ranching neighbor to the west, Autumn sent a dutiful smile of acknowledgment his way, sav­ing her real smile for the waiter, who was now weav­ing his way around the tables in the Menger Hotel banquet room with a pot of coffee.

  "Clay!" her mother called in a voice guaranteed to draw the attention of anyone who hadn't noticed Clay's tardy arrival. "We saved you a place."

  Autumn cringed. "What if he doesn't want to sit here, Mom?"

  Debra turned to her daughter in surprise. "Where else would he want to sit?"

  And that pretty much summed up the attitude of their ranching community, Autumn thought. Some­how it had been determined that she and Clay were meant for each other, and that was that.

  Autumn watched Clay succumb to the inevitable and begin making his way toward them. They'd grown up as next-door neighbors, or as close as next door got in rural Texas. It wasn't as though she had anything against him. He'd become a good-looking man and was by all accounts a decent human being. She'd known him forever. She'd worked with him, fought with him, competed with him and had even gone to the same college with him.

  But did that mean she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with him?

  The waiter and Clay arrived about the same time. "Morning, Miz Reese. Autumn."

  "Clay!" her mother fluttered. "I haven't seen you since Christmas."

  "And the week just flew by." Autumn nudged her cup toward the waiter. Autumn's mother nudged her.

  "Go ahead and leave the pot," Clay instructed the man, and folded his long legs under the table.

  The waiter did so—before pouring Autumn's cof­fee. With an irritated look at Clay, she lifted the heavy thermal pot and splashed coffee into her cup.

  Grinning, Clay shoved his cup and saucer across the table. Because Autumn was under the watchful eye of her mother, she poured coffee for Clay, as well, instead of telling him to pour his own, which she would have done had they been alone.

  The coffee was good and strong, and hot, Autumn knew from her prior cup. She added cream, partly for the taste and partly to cool off the liquid. She drank a good gulp, hoping Clayton would follow suit and burn his tongue since he took his coffee black.

  He did.

  "Mmm." He winced and replaced the cup in the saucer.

  Autumn smiled serenely, also noting his bloodshot eyes.

  Apparently, her mother did, as well. "Did you have a party to go to last night, Clay?" she asked after a quick chastising look at a silent Autumn.

  "Yes, ma'am, and I'm not real pleased with the person responsible for moving the meeting to brunch, which is some made-up meal, instead of an honest breakfast. Breakfast would have capped off the eve­ning just right." He downed a goblet of orange juice.

  Autumn pointedly looked around the crowded room. ' 'We have a lot better attendance because the meet
ing was moved to eleven o'clock," she said without admitting that she was the one who'd been responsible for the moving. "It's just plain silly to ignore the fact that New Year's Eve is the night be­fore. This way, people can actually get some sleep before the meeting, and it'll be over in time for the football games."

  "As for sleep, I suppose it depends on how great your party was." He grinned.

  Autumn drank her coffee. She hadn't had a date for New Year's Eve. Any single men of her acquain­tance no doubt assumed she would be with Clay. "Mom and I heard your party last night."

  "But we were awake anyway," Debra inserted quickly.

  Heaven forbid Clay might think Autumn was crit­icizing him. She poured herself more coffee.

  Since she was on the brunch committee and in charge of decorations, she and her mother had spent the night at the Menger. Most of that night had been spent filling the pink, white and black helium bal­loons that were tied to the ceramic pig centerpieces.

  Happy New Year.

  "Sorry if we were a little rowdy. Seth and Pete and Luke and I don't get to see much of each other except at rodeo time. We had a lot of catching up to do."

  "So tell us all the news," Debra invited.

  "Well...Seth and Claire have a brand-new baby boy, and so do Luke and Livie."

  "Baaabies." Autumn's mother sighed and gave Autumn a gooey look.

  Autumn tensed. Not baby talk. Not in front of Clay.

  "There's just something about holding a baby in your arms.... I remember when you two were babies. Clayton, you were such an active little boy. Always crawling, always moving. Autumn, you were a little dumpling."

  "Gee, thanks, Mom." Autumn set her coffee cup down.

  "Well, you're certainly not a dumpling now, is she, Clay?"

  Their eyes met, and bloodshot though his were, they managed to take a quick inventory.

  Fortunately, the servers set a platter of eggs, sau­sage, bacon, ham, hash brown potatoes, grits and bis­cuits with cream gravy in front of them before Clay took the opportunity to make a snide remark.

  Autumn inhaled. The one meal of the year where she inverted the U.S. government's food pyramid. She immediately went for the biscuits and gravy.

  "She'll be a dumpling if she eats all this," Clay said.

  Autumn stopped, the fork halfway to her mouth. Gravy plopped onto her plate.

  "Why, the portions are enormous. Of course Autumn won't eat all this." Debra virtuously nibbled on a piece of dry toast from the bread basket.

  Autumn ate the bite of biscuit and gravy anyway, but it didn't taste nearly as good.

  Debra had been a rancher's daughter and wife long enough to know that a woman shouldn't get between a man and his food and she directed most of her small talk toward Autumn. However, that small talk was carefully edited to elicit answers designed to im­press Clayton.

  "Autumn, you and the committee did a wonderful job planning the brunch today," Debra said.

  Clay raised an eyebrow, obviously figuring out the culprit responsible for the time change.

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "She's worked so hard, Clay."

  "The food's great," he said.

  Autumn hadn't had anything to do with the food. The brunch was catered by the hotel's kitchen and the menu was the same as it had been for years. Clayton knew this, of course. She smiled thinly.

  "And the decorations are just precious," Debra continued, oblivious to the looks Autumn and Clay exchanged. ' 'The kickoff meeting is so important be­cause it sets the tone for the whole swine auction. It was an honor to be asked to be on this committee. Usually, you have to work in the trenches for at least five years before they let you move up to one of the important committees. I'm so proud of her. Maybe next year she can move on to one of the cattle auc­tion committees."

  "She deserves it," Clay said. "Nobody can fill balloons like Autumn."

  "Mom helped," Autumn said in warning. She didn't want her mother caught in the cross fire be­tween them.

  "Did you bake the cookies, too, Miz Reese?" Clay picked up one of the pig-shaped sugar cookies that were the brunch favors.

  "Oh, my, no. Autumn—"

  "Autumn baked them?" he interrupted.

  Autumn's silverware clanked against the china plate. "No. I found a bakery to design a custom cookie for us."

  Clay relaxed. "Well, that's a..."

  "Relief" was the word he'd been about to say. Autumn narrowed her eyes.

  "...a great idea," he substituted. But if her mother hadn't been here, he wouldn't have.

  Autumn's cooking failures were legendary. In self-defense, she'd gone out for barrel racing instead of competing in the culinary arts portion of the rodeo. She was as good a barrel racer as she was as bad a cook.

  Mercifully, the business meeting started shortly af­ter that. Autumn gave Clay a frigid smile and turned her chair toward the podium.

  "I'm mighty glad to see y'all out here this mornin' for our program-sales kickoff," began a man wearing a belt with the grand champion buyer's huge buckle. "My name's Fred Chapman and I'm the head of today's doings." There was good-natured laughter and applause. "Before we get down to as­signing the sales groups, I want to lay a few stats on you. You know, we have both a lot of fun and a goodly little competition raising money." There was more laughter.

  Autumn and Clay glanced at each other. These people thought they'd seen competition? They hadn't seen anything yet.

  "But when it comes down to it, we're doing this for the kids. Last year, we raised..."

  Since Autumn already knew how much scholar­ship money had been raised, her mind wandered dur­ing Fred's pep talk. For the next month, she and her group, Hogs and Kisses, would scour San Antonio persuading businesses to contribute to the Livestock Show and Rodeo education fund.

  Clay would be doing the same, and Autumn was determined that Hogs and Kisses would raise more money than his group, High on the Hog.

  The meeting didn't take long because the men wanted to get home in time to watch the New Year's Day football games on TV. When Fred's speech was over, the crowd lined up to register their groups, and Autumn's mother drifted away to talk with friends.

  "You might as well give up now, Autumn," a familiar voice murmured in her ear.

  Clay was behind her in the line. "You wish, Clay, 'cause that's the only way you'll win."

  He laughed, but it was a tired laugh without the usual sharpness.

  Autumn turned to face him. "Do you feel as bad as you look?"

  Clay grimaced and ran a hand over his jaw. He'd missed a few spots shaving. "Probably."

  "Then maybe I'd better call an ambulance."

  "Not unless I've eaten some of your cooking."

  She eyed him. "You are tired if you're falling back on cooking insults."

  "Haven't seen you much lately. Guess I'm out of practice." He smiled crookedly and drew his hands up to his waist. "How are you and your mom getting along?"

  Autumn automatically scanned the room until she found her mother and her group of friends. Debra was smiling as she talked. "She's a lot better. This was the second Christmas since Dad died and it was definitely easier than last year."

  "I miss your dad," Clay said. "A lot of people do."

  "Yeah." Autumn turned until she faced the sign­up tables again, She still got misty-eyed when think­ing about her father and didn't want Clay to see.

  "So...are you planning to go back to law school any time soon?"

  Good question. The longer she was out of school, the less enthusiastic she felt about going back. "Maybe this summer," she answered just as they reached Jackie Dutton at the table.

  "Hey, Autumn...Clay. Let me find your packet."

  Before Autumn could stop her, Jackie went to the B section and pulled out Clay's packet.

  "Oh, would you look at this?" Shaking her head, she uncapped a pen. "They left Autumn's name off the list. I am sorry. I can't imagine how that hap­pened."

  "Because I'm not with Clay's group," Autu
mn told her when it was obvious Clay wasn't going to.

  "You're not with High on the Hog?" Jackie looked incredulous.

  'She's going to wish she was." Clay took his packet and winked at Autumn.

  "I'm with Hogs and Kisses," Autumn said.

  "But..." Jackie looked from one to the other. "You two aren't on the same committee?"

  The streaked-blond woman next to Jackie leaned over. "What's the problem?"

  "Clay and Autumn are on different committees."

  "Computers." The blonde roiled her eyes. "You just can't trust them."

  "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!"