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  "Clay and I aren't engaged."

  "Well, not officially," Debra said, patting Autumn's arm.

  Not even for her mother would Autumn maintain the fiction. "Not in any way."

  "So you're going to wait until after you finish your schooling. Very wise," the silver-haired woman said.

  There was a general nodding of heads, then every­one got sappy smiles on their faces and Autumn knew Clay was in the vicinity.

  Go away, she thought.

  Wonder of wonders, he passed by without speak­ing to her. But then she had to endure the curious looks. Holding up her packet, she explained, "We've got a bet going on who can raise the most money. Now, how much can I put you down for, Mr. Perry?"

  FACSIMILE

  To: Nellie Barnett, Golden B Ranch

  From: Debra Reese/ Reese Ranch

  Nellie, dear, were you aware that Autumn and Clay are not on the same committee? From what

  she said, I don't think he asked her. She hasn't mentioned the Buyers' Ball. Even though I know

  Clay will take her, it would be nice if he observed the proprieties and asked her. We don't want any

  misunderstandings.

  Deb

  FAX

  To: Debra Reese, R. Ranch

  From: Nellie Barnett, Golden B

  Debra, dearest, Clay couldn't very well ask Autumn to be on his committee

  when she'd already formed her own. And by the way, she could have asked him to be on hers.

  Nel

  During the next two weeks, Autumn and her com­mittee contacted the businesses of San Antonio. So did Clay. He got larger donations but not as many. Autumn's strategy was to go for more modest amounts from smaller companies, like local beauty parlors and dress shops, but that meant she had to sign up more of them.

  "Mom, I think we've asked every business in San Antonio," Autumn groaned. "And Clay's group is still ahead." She leafed through the newspaper at breakfast on the Saturday they were due to meet for a progress report. Maybe there was someplace they'd missed.

  Debra looked up from the section of paper she was reading. ' 'Autumn, have you considered... maybe not trying so hard to beat Clay?"

  Autumn nearly gagged on her coffee. "Are you saying I should let him win?"

  "No! Not let him win." Debra looked away. "Just don't beat him."

  Which was the same thing. "Forget it."

  "A man has his pride."

  "And what have I got?"

  Debra raised an eyebrow. "Not a man, at this point."

  Autumn raised the paper. "So?"

  There was a sigh. "Autumn, you don't encourage him at all. Anybody but Clay would think you weren't interested in him. Even though you have an understanding, you shouldn't take him for granted."

  It would do no good to tell her mother that she wasn't interested in Clay. "He hasn't encouraged me. I think he's not interested."

  "Don't be silly," Debra also retreated behind her newspaper. "He waited all this time for you."

  "Yes, I heard about those women he brought home while he was waiting."

  "Well, dear, he is a very attractive man. You can't expect—''

  "Mom?" Autumn broke in, changing the subject. ' 'Have you ever heard of the Yellow Rose Matchmakers? It's a dating agency." She'd spotted a discreet advertisement with a rose-vine border next to the wedding announcements. She must have missed it before because she usually avoided reading them.

  "A dating agency? No...wait. I'll bet that's Willie Eden's business. She and her grandson own it. Why?"

  Autumn folded the newspaper, gulped down the last of her coffee and grabbed her purse. "Because I haven't asked them for a contribution yet." She glanced at her watch. "If I hurry, I can stop by and still make the meeting on time."

  URGENT FACSIMILE

  To: N. Barnett

  From: D. Reese

  Nellie! Autumn thinks Clay isn't interested in her! I tried to convince her otherwise, but I've got to tell you, Clay inviting that woman down at Thanksgiving didn't make it easy.

  Debra, I keep telling you that Kristin is just an old school friend who now knows life as a ranch wife wouldn't suit her. Stop worrying.

  N.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FACSIMILE

  To: N. Barnett, Golden B

  From: D. Reese, Reese Ranch

  How can I stop worrying? They haven't seen each

  other for two weeks. Autumn is on her way over to

  Yellow Rose—remember that nice lady we met and

  her grandson?

  Debra

  FAX

  To: D. Reese, Reese Ranch From: N. Barnett, Golden B I've put a bug in Clay's ear.

  Nellie

  It was a lovely mid-January day, cool enough so she could wear her new red suede jacket, and dry with a clear blue sky. Autumn drove through town, avoid­ing the tourists lining up to tour the Alamo, and en­tered an older residential area of San Antonio.

  Yellow Rose Matchmakers was located at 10 Bluebonnet Drive, in a charming Victorian house painted yellow with white trim. A white picket fence surrounded the yard, making an old-fashioned state­ment among the unfenced neighboring yards.

  Autumn parked her black Ford Bronco on the street next to a mailbox hand-painted with yellow roses, then went to push open the gate. Something about the act of stepping through the gate and latch­ing it behind her made Autumn feel as though she had stepped into another time.

  She'd climbed the porch steps and rung the door­bell before she stopped to consider that it was still fairly early on a Saturday morning and the agency might not be open yet, or even at all. She was just about to turn away when a shadow appeared behind the frosted-glass door and it swung open.

  "It's about time, Hector. Just because you're my cousin's son doesn't mean—you're not Hector."

  "No. Sorry."

  The woman, short and full-figured, wearing her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun, reminded Autumn of the wife of Clay's ranch foreman. The no-nonsense tone in her voice had prompted the automatic apol­ogy.

  "Well, who are you?"

  "I'm Autumn Reese, from the Junior Swine Auction Education Committee." Autumn held up a copy of the magazine-size program from last year's auction. "I was wondering if Yellow Rose Matchmakers might be interested in contributing to the committee this year." Autumn flipped through the program so the woman could see the ads contributors were entitled to.

  "Pigs, eh?"

  Autumn nodded. "Cows are by invitation only, chickens aren't compelling, and I'm allergic to sheep."

  "I'm not so sure Miss Willie would want to be associated with pigs."

  Prepared for this reaction, Autumn whipped out a batch of adorable photos of cute baby pigs. Donated by a professional photographer, they featured pigs with wings, pigs dressed in kilts, pigs among flow­ers—anything to negate the image of pigs wallowing in a trough.

  As had so many others, the woman cooed. "Money donated goes to the education fund so all exhibitors receive a minimum amount for their pig at auction. The kids use the profits from selling their animals to fund their education."

  "Weeell...let's talk. You don't see Hector out there, do you?"

  Autumn dutifully looked around. Her Bronco was the only vehicle in sight. She shook her head.

  The woman muttered something in Spanish. "You try to give them a break and they let you down." Opening the door wider, she gestured for Autumn to follow her inside.

  Walking through the door, she experienced the same stepping-back-in-time feeling she'd had when she'd come through the gate, only more intense. A huge bouquet of yellow roses in a vase on the foyer table caught her eye immediately. Autumn stopped to smell them before following the woman into a parlorlike reception area.

  Except for the brass plaque announcing Yellow Rose Matchmakers by the front door, there was noth­ing that resembled an office about the house. The only way Autumn knew she was in the right place was because framed photographs of smiling cou­ples—presumably satisfied clients—co
vered the walls.

  "I'm Maria Perez," the woman said when they settled themselves on a blue velvet sofa. "Now, I don't own this business and can't speak for Miss Willie, but she depends on me for advice. How much money are we talking?"

  "The committee will be grateful for whatever amount you care to donate. However, there are cer­tain donor levels if you wish to be acknowledged in the program."

  Since Autumn had given this speech several times a day for the past two weeks, she took the opportu­nity to study the photographs as she talked and Maria looked through the program magazine. Never in her life had Autumn considered signing up with a dating agency. But there must have been two dozen wed­ding pictures on the walls.

  "Miss Willie's never had a failure."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Maria had caught her staring. She gestured to the photographs. "These are people Miss Willie and Wanda—she helps Miss Willie out—these are people they've brought together. They have a gift."

  "They do?"

  Maria nodded her head. "Course that was in the days before the computer, when Miss Willie hand-picked her clients. She was so good, people con­vinced her to become a professional matchmaker. So many people came to her, it was either turn them away or get help. That's when Wanda came here.

  But then Miss Willie's grandson convinced her to get some computers. That's not the kind of help they need, if you ask me. Ain't nothing been the same since we got those machines. But you know people. Always in a hurry."

  "Yes," Autumn said slowly. "How...how does your business work?"

  Maria set aside Autumn's program and opened the huge scrapbook that lay on the coffee table. The first pages were laminated forms. "You fill these out so the computer knows what kind of person you are. Then we type all this stuff into a program Miss Willie's grandson paid way too much for and the computer picks your perfect match—or at least the three men you're most likely to get along with."

  "And how does the computer do?" Autumn was only making conversation, of course.

  Maria shrugged and waved her hand back and forth. "Computers only know what you tell them. For example, if you tell them you don't want nobody too short, then they won't give you a short person even though he may be as wonderful as my Aldo, may he rest in peace." "Then what happens?"

  Maria laughed. "What happens next is up to you."

  Autumn stared down at the application and was seriously tempted. How wonderful to date someone who didn't think she was destined to become the next Mrs. Clayton Barnett. How wonderful to date anyone at all. Living at the ranch made it difficult to meet eligible men even without the handicap of her mother constantly all but announcing her engagement.

  Besides, if she attended the Past Champion Buyers' Ball with someone other than Clay, that would give people something to talk about.

  She fingered the pages. "Do...do you screen your applicants?"

  Maria looked horrified. "What kind of a place do you think this is? We don't take just anybody." She pointed to the form. "You got to tell us where you live, where you work, and let me tell you, we're gonna run a credit check." She smiled. "You inter­ested? We get a lot of new people this time of year because of the rodeo. Ranchers come to town and sign up."

  "I'm not sure I'd want to date a rancher."

  "Then you put that on the form."

  Autumn inhaled, seriously tempted. Before she came to a decision, the doorbell chimed.

  "That must be Hector." Maria levered herself off the sofa cushion. "Look at that." She jabbed a finger at her watch. "Twenty-five minutes late. It's a good thing Miss Willie isn't here." Maria marched toward the door, still talking. "Hector, you better knock an­other ten percent off, and those upstairs windows had better—you're not Hector!"

  "No, ma'am."

  Autumn's head snapped up and she hurriedly closed the book.

  "I'm Clayton Barnett and I'm here to invite you to contribute to the—"

  "Pigs again? I got a pig lady in there already." Maria hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

  Hat in hand, Clay peered around the door.

  As if he hadn't recognized her Bronco parked out front, Autumn fumed as she forced a smile. "Hi, Clay."

  "Autumn. Fancy meeting you here."

  So original. "I got here first."

  "But how was I to know you were asking for a donation?" He smiled first at her, then at Maria who was clearly affected by the tall rancher and his pat­ented aw-shucks grin. "I thought you might have been here as a client." He walked into the parlor, his appearance making it look frilly and feminine.

  The wedding portraits stopped him cold. Autumn thought they might.

  "Actually, I am considering it," she said, just to see his reaction.

  There was the pop of an engine backfiring.

  "Hector!" Maria stomped out onto the porch and shouted, "It's about time you got here. Drive that truck around back." Her voice faded as she went out to scold the tardy Hector.

  Clay made a tsking sound. "Buying a donation?"

  "Not at all." Autumn opened the scrapbook again and flipped through the pages explaining about Yellow Rose Matchmakers. She blinked at the rate sheet, but then again, the agency promised to keep searching and matching until their clients were sat­isfied. "I'm going to sign up."

  "You're kidding." Clay sat on the sofa next to her.

  Autumn scooted over. "Why? They screen the ap­plicants, you fill out a detailed profile, and the com­puter fixes you up. Very efficient."

  He studied the profile forms. "I don't know... these forms ask a lot of questions. You might not want some guy you date to know the answers. That's always assuming that the computer can possibly match you to anyone."

  "Of course it'll find a match!"

  He leaned back and grinned. "I don't know, Autumn. Your bio is likely to freeze that computer right up."

  She glared at him. "Anyone matched with you would demand a refund!"

  "Anyone matched with me would give the Yellow Rose ladies a bonus."

  He was insufferable.

  "Prove it," she challenged him. "Sign up."

  Laughing, he shook his head. "I don't need to prove anything."

  But Autumn did. If she showed up at the ball with another man, that would be good, but if both she and Clay came with others, it would be great. "Dare ya."

  It was a taunt from their childhood.

  Clay raised an eyebrow.

  ''I dare you to bring your match to the Champion Buyers' Ball." Autumn was counting on his com­petitive streak where she was concerned.

  For a moment, she didn't think he'd agree, then he slowly nodded. "Okay. But only if you'll do the same."

  Autumn stuck out her hand and grinned. "Deal."

  They were shaking on their deal when Maria re­turned.

  She was more than happy to sign them up. "Fill out these forms, front and back." She sat Autumn and Clay at a table in one of the offices. "You going to want a video?"

  "You didn't mention a video," Autumn pointed out.

  Maria waved her hands. "Don't get me started on videos. I don't like 'em. People don't look good in videos. The camera makes them nervous. Besides, the machine isn't working. My cousin, Ramon, is fixing it."

  "We don't need a video," Clay assured her. "Good." Maria smiled at them. "Holler if you have questions. I'm going to check on Hector and make sure he cleans all the way into the corners on those windows. And as long as he's up there, he should clear out the gutters."

  "Hector is going to wish he hadn't taken this job," Clay said as Maria hurried off.

  "Hector should have been on time. Speaking of which, we're going to have to hurry if we don't want to be late to the meeting." Actually, they probably would be late, but Fred Chapman was notoriously lax about starting on time.

  "This doesn't look like it'll take much time to fill out." Clay was already halfway down the first page. Autumn was stuck on the weight question. Should she put her actual weight or the weight she planned to be before the first m
atch? "Wait until you get to the hard questions." Weight wouldn't be a hard question for Clay. He was a nice triangular shape. So was Autumn, only the triangle was more inverted than she liked.

  "What hard questions?"

  She looked at him. "Politics? Religion?"

  "I just put yes."

  Autumn rolled her eyes. "You're supposed to tell what your politics are and which religion."

  "Okay, ndb and Texas."

  "What is 'ndb'?"

  "None of your...business."

  "Clay! Just put conservative."

  "I'm not all that conservative."

  "Okay, try this." Autumn thought a moment. "You're at a Dallas Cowboys game and the 'Star-Spangled Banner' is being played by the Texas A&M University Marching Band. The man next to you refuses to stand, citing freedom of speech. What do you do?"

  "I'll freedom-of-speech him to his feet!"

  Autumn pointed to the blank on the form. "Con­servative. And Texas isn't a religion."

  He looked at her in mock outrage. "Don't you go saying that around just anybody."

  "Be serious."

  "I am."

  "Remember that the computer only knows what you tell it," she said, quoting Maria.

  "So what are you putting down?" He turned her paper before she could stop him. "Hey—under Sports you put no."

  "I don't like sports."

  "Yes, you do. You ride, you rope, and you were a pretty fair barrel racer."

  "My barrel-racing days are past and the rest is work, not sport. Besides, I don't want some man who'll plop down in front of a big-screen television, click to a football game and call it a date just because he sprang for imported beer,"

  Clay eyed her. "Have you had dates like that?"

  She turned her paper back around. "Never more than once."

  "So, what kind of dates do you like?"

  The overly casual tone caught her attention. She blinked.

  When she didn't answer right away, Clay tapped the paper. "It's number fourteen on the list."

  "Oh." Maybe he just wanted dating pointers. "I like dates with an activity and then going someplace for coffee or a meal afterward. I don't like dinner, then a movie. I like the movie first."

  "So... you still try to eat the jumbo tub of popcorn so you can get a refill and make yourself sick?"