Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

Question: How do you find the perfect man?

Answer: Read on ..

Texas Grooms Wanted! is a brand-new miniseries in Harlequin Romance®.

Meet three wonderful heroines who are all looking for very special Texas men—their future husbands!

Good men may be hard to find, but these women have experts on hand They’ve all signed up with the Yellow Rose Matchmakers. The oldest—and the best!—matchmaking service in San Antonio, Texas, the Yellow Rose guarantees to find any woman her perfect partner....

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Name: | Heather MacAllister (aka Heather Allison!)
Age: | Negotiable
Occupation: | Writer
Marital Status: | Currently retired from dating!
Ideal partner: | Someone I can talk with forever
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 seedy 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!

What others have said of Heather MacAllister :

“Funny, tender, sassy. No matter what name she writes

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she’ll make you laugh, too!”

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Hand-Picked Husband
Heather MacAllister

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 meeting 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 af ter 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,” Autumn told her when it was obvious Clay wasn’t going to.

“You’re not with High on the Hog?” Jackie looked mcredulous.

“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 rolled 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!”

“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 wonying? 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—covered 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 match? “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?”

Autumn smiled with remembered embarrassment and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“No.” Clay’s answering smile faded. He cleared his throat and stared down at his paper. Autumn did the same. They worked in silence until Clay let out a low whistle. “I see potential problems here.”

“Where?”

“Page three, the part about describing yourself. That’s where people will cheat.”

“Why? Why go to all this trouble and cheat?”

“Maybe ‘cheat’ is the wrong word. What I mean is, they’re going to put down the character traits they’d like to have, rather than the ones they actually do have.”

“But we wouldn’t do that.”

“No way.” Clay shook his head. “We’ll be completely honest.”

They looked at each other.

“When we finish, you can read mine and I’ll read yours,” Autumn said.

“Deal.”

Finishing took longer than they thought. Autumn was very conscious that Clay would be reading her descriptions of such topics as her favorite way to spend an evening, her idea of a perfect day, her pet peeves and her goals and ambitions.

He completed his form before she did, probably because he wasn’t trying to thmk of alternate answers for pet peeves. Autumn’s current pet peeve was Clay.

Now as for goals and ambitions... Autumn realized her life’s goal had been to convince people that it wasn’t carved in stone that she would settle down, marry Clay and merge the ranches.

She’d gone to law school because, yes, the law, as it pertained to ranching, had interested her when she’d studied ranch management, but even more because the length of study required would take her away from San Antonio for several years.

She glanced at Clay, wondering how he stood it. Since he had no brothers or sisters, he’d known his whole life that he would live on the Golden B and run it after his parents retired. The only choice available to him had been whom he’d run it with, and even that had been taken away from him.

Autumn stared at the personality profile, but she was remembering her seventeenth birthday. Clay and his parents had come for dinner. Autumn’s present had been her first car, a used one, and they had gone to the garage after dinner so Clay could check out the engine.

It was one of those clear, cold nights when every sound carried for miles. Both their fathers had stepped out onto the porch to smoke their cigars. They’d been talking and Autumn hadn’t paid attention until she heard her name and Clay’s.

The men had been discussing repairs to the fencing between their properties on the east pasture.

“You know, we could just leave it,” Hank Barnett had said. “We’re going to be mingling stock eventually. Might as well start now and use the money eisewhere.”

Ben, Autumn’s father, gave a loud crack of laughter. “We’ll be mingling stock in more ways than one!”

Hank joined him, then added, “I hope those two kids don’t get their hormones all to jumpin’ and quit school before they finish.”

“Autumn’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll keep Clay in line.”

“Clay’s almost eighteen. It’s not her head he’s concerned with!”

Autumn had been horrified. Clay was staring under the hood of her car with an unnatural intensity and she knew he’d heard, as well. Neither one of them said anything, so they both heard her father’s next words.

“Clay’s a fine boy. I’ll be proud to claim him as a son-in-law.”

Autumn’s heart had pounded so hard that she missed the exact words said next, but the gist was clear: the two families assumed that she and Clay would eventually marry and were planning on a merger of the two ranches. From the tone of the conversation, it was clear that this was a long-held assumption.

She and Clay had stared at each other before Clay had carefully closed the car hood. Nothing had been the same between them after that.

Autumn could hardly blame him. He was the only son, bound by tradition and economics. He ought to be able to choose his wife instead of having one forced on him. She didn’t want to be forced on anybody. She wanted Clay to have a choice, and she wanted one, too.

But he was a Texas gentleman through and through. There was no way he’d marry first and make it look like he’d jilted her. No, it was up to Autumn to find someone and free Clay from his obligation. The problem was that she hadn’t found anybody she could contemplate marrying yet.

“Aren’t you finished with that thing yet?” Clay complained. “I’m telling you, none of this matters if a person doesn’t like the way you look. Within thirty seconds, you’ll know if it’s a go, or a no go.”

Autumn gave him a disgusted look. “We don’t all judge people by your shallow standards.”

“It’s a fact of life.” He plucked her paper from between her fingers. “You don’t need to worry about it, by the way.”

“Why not?”

Clay looked up from reading her profile. In a heartbeat, his expression changed from looking at her as a childhood friend to the way a grown man looks at a woman he desires.

As her eyes widened, Clay’s lids lowered slightly and his gaze scorched over her. To her acute embarrassment, Autumn felt her cheeks heat.

A corner of Clay’s mouth twitched and he went back to reading her profile.

There’d been a compliment in there somewhere, but she wasn’t comfortable with that sort of compliment from Clay. She was comfortable with verbal jabs and sarcastic remarks from Clay. She was comfortable competing with Clay. She was comfortable ignoring him. How did he expect her to ignore a look like that?

“What is this ‘sentimental, serious and tolerant’ garbage?” Clay scoffed.

That was more like it. “I am sentimental, serious and tolerant.”

“Where’s stubborn?”

“I am not stubborn. I’m focused.”

Clay snorted. “And ‘sensitive’? You don’t have a sensitive bone in your body.” He erased and changed some of the personality traits she’d checked off. “You turn this in and you’ll be matched with a dadgum poet.”

Autumn narrowed her eyes and grabbed for Clay’s profile. Just what wondrous traits had he given himself ?

“‘Affectionate’? Explain to me how a man who gave me a timing belt one Christmas can be described as affectionate?”

He looked puzzled—and a little hurt. “But you needed a new timing belt, and you’d spent all your money on Christmas presents. I didn’t want you to get stranded on the road somewhere between here and Fort Worth.”

He’d done the replacement himself, she remembered. And it had been a relief not to have to worry on the drive back to school. “That’s being considerate,” she allowed. “I’m changing affectionate to considerate. Now, where’s arrogant?”

“Hey!”

But Autumn’s attention had been caught by something else. For his dreams and goals, Clay had simply written that he wanted to make sure he maintained the family’s ranch so he could leave it to his children.

And really, what other goal could he have? Yet if Autumn didn’t get out of the way so Clay could find a wife, then he’d never have children.

She skimmed over the rest, made a few alterations, her eyebrows rising when he described his ideal mate. “You’re looking for a woman who’s not afraid to ‘work hard, play hard and love hard’?”

He shrugged. “I thought it was kind of catchy. A lot better than a ‘life partner’.”

That was what she’d written. “I was trying to find a way to say that I don’t want a man who’s going to boss me around.”

“I think we’ve got that covered by mentioning that you’re strong-willed and independent.”

“You can’t put that. I’ll either get a wimp or a Neanderthal.”

“Well, no, actually, I said you wanted a man who wasn’t afraid to be a man and to let you be a woman.”

“Give me that!” Autumn stretched across the table and tried to grab the paper from him.

Laughing, Clay easily held it out of her reach.

That was how Maria found them. “You two finished?”

“Yes,” Clay said.

“No,” Autumn said, and retrieved her profile.

She erased Clay’s macho comment and rewrote “life partner”.

“You’ll be sorry,” he murmured as they handed Maria their forms.

“Okay,” Maria said. “I got to type all this information into the computer. You can pick up your matches on Monday.”

“Monday?” Autumn didn’t want to wait until Monday.

“There’s just me in the office today and I’m off at noon. I’ll type as fast as I can.”

“Did you check off ‘impatient’ on the personality profile?” Clay asked.

Autumn glared at him.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Clay stood. “Monday will be fine. We’ve still got that meeting to go to, Autumn.”

Right. Autumn checked her watch. They were going to be at least twenty minutes late. Even worse, they would arrive at the same time. She sighed, then brightened when she visualized everyone’s faces when she showed up at the Buyers’ Ball with someone other than Clay.

CHAPTER THREE

FAX

To: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch

From: Nellie Barnett, Golden B Ranch

Dear Debra,

Clay is in a very good mood. How’s Autumn?

Fingers crossed, Nellie

FACSIMILE

To: Nellie Barnett, Golden B

From: Debra Reese, Reese Ranch

Dear Nellie,

Everything’s sunny here. She acts like she’s got a secret. Do you suppose this is IT?

Holding my breath,

D.

AUTUMN weighed arriving when the Yellow Rose opened on Monday morning and appearing overeager with the desire to nail down a contribution from them before Clay could. Beating out Clay won.

Promptly at nine o’clock, Autumn turned down Bluebonnet Drive and parked her Bronco. In her rearview mirror, she saw a red pickup truck pull close to the curb behind her. Clay. It figured.

He was talking on his cell phone, so instead of waiting for him, Autumn pushed open the gate and ran up the porch steps.

The outer doors of the Yellow Rose were propped open with a ceramic cat doorstop. Through the glass inner door, Autumn could see Maria in the reception area, but she was turned away.

As Autumn opened the door, she heard Maria calling out to someone in the back. “I’m telling you, Miss Willie, call my sister’s middle girl, Amalia. She’s the best wallpaper hanger in San Antonio. I sewed the flower girls’ dresses for her wedding, so she’ll give you a discount.”

The receptionist smiled up at her, but before she could ask if she could help, Maria turned back around, saw Autumn and looked at the grandfather clock across the hall. “Boy, you sure are eager.”

“Actually, I wondered if you’d had a chance to ask the owner if she’s willing to contribute to the education fund or do you need me to speak to her?”

“No need. I already did and she’s gonna go the whole hog.” Maria looked at the receptionist and they both laughed.

Autumn smiled although she’d heard a variation of every pig joke told since the beginning of time. She continued smiling as she wrote up a receipt for a full-page advertisement and handed it to Mana just as the door squeaked open.

“Morning.” Clay removed his hat.

“And another eager client.” Maria smiled knowingly. “I’ll go get your files.” She bustled down the hallway.

The phone rang, and as the receptionist answered it, Autumn turned to Clay. “Good news. Yellow Rose Matchmakers just took out a full-page advertisement in the program.” Autumn smiled in triumph and tucked the order form into her portfolio.

“Congratulations. I was just on the phone with Garcia and Delgado.”

“The advertising agency?”

Clay nodded. “They’re talking about donating the layout for the program. I’m going to meet with them right after I finish up here.”

“That’s... wonderful.” It was wonderful. After all, they were both working toward the same goal. The more money they brought in, the more there would be in the auction pool for the kids. It was just that the donation would be even more wonderful if it had been credited to Autumn’s Hogs and Kisses instead of Clay’s High on the Hog.

“Here we are,” Maria said, returning, and gave them each a packet.

“There, uh, wasn’t any trouble, was there?” Clay asked.

“What kind of trouble were you expectin’?”

“Well...you were able to find three matches?”

Maria pursed her lips and flapped her hands at him. “We found a lotta matches. These are the best three for you.” She tapped the white envelope with her pen. “What do you think? Your future wife could be in there.”

Autumn stared at Clay’s envelope, an odd fluttering in her chest. His future wife. And she hadn’t looked beyond getting a date for the Champion Buyers’ Ball.

“There are also evaluation forms for you to fill out after each date. Then, if your initial matches don’t work out and you want to be rematched, we can make adjustments on your profiles. Some people say one thing when they want another, you know?”

Clay smiled tightly and whipped out a credit card.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said after he’d scrawled his name on the slip. He straightened, folded his receipt and nodded to Autumn. “Good luck.”

“Yeah.” She gripped her packet, curiously reluctant to even look at the names inside. “Same to you.”

It seemed as though he was about to say something else, but he just nodded again, put on his hat and strode out the door.

Autumn watched him continue down the steps.

“You coulda saved a lot of money if you’d just dated him,” Maria said.

“Why?” Autumn turned back around. “We didn’t match with each other, did we?”

Maria blinked. “Did you want to?”

“Well, no. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have signed up here.”

“Okay, then.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve known Clay forever.” Autumn withdrew her checkbook from her purse. “We grew up next door to each other.”

Maria didn’t say anything, which Autumn already figured out was unusual for her.

“Thank you for your contribution,” Autumn said to cover the awkward silence. “We’ll be sending Yellow Rose Matchmakers two tickets for the Swine Auction Breakfast.” She tore off her check and handed it to Maria.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Maria said, placing the check in a bank pouch.

What an odd thing to say. Not “I hope one of the matches works for you” or even “Good Luck”.

Shaking it off, Autumn tossed the envelope on the seat of her car and drove over to a coffee shop on the River Walk where she was scheduled to meet with the Hogs and Kisses women.

Clay put off opening the envelope until after his meeting with Garcia and Delgado. It was on the pickup’s seat waiting for him when he climbed in.

Instead of immediately driving off, he punched on the radio to a country music station and picked up the packet.

For the first time since he could remember, he didn’t know what the future held. Of course nobody knew his exact future, but Clay found he could predict the basic details of his life with reasonable accuracy. Money would be short, work would be hard, and Autumn Reese would wander through his thoughts.

He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine a life without Autumn getting on his nerves—or with her always getting on his nerves. In fact, he couldn’t imagine his life without Autumn in it, the way he couldn’t imagine life without the ranch.

He’d been born to it. Four generations of Barnetts had lived on the land, weathered droughts, depression and the ups and downs of the cattle market. For him, the land was a sacred trust.

And Autumn, well... He stared at the Yellow Rose packet. Your future wife could be in there. He fingered the envelope, then ripped it open.

There were three sheets with a biographical summary obviously taken from the profiles, along with a name, post office box and telephone number.

So call him shallow, but Clay wished he had a picture. He flipped through the names and realized he was surprised not to have been matched with Autumn.

Each match listed a percentage of probable compatibility. Clay’s highest was eighty-four percent, which sounded like a B grade to him. The others were in the seventies. The fact that Autumn hadn’t made the cut meant that her profile and his must have had a near-failing percentage of compatibility.

Of course, lately they’d gotten along like oil and water, but not getting matched with her disappointed Clay.

He reshuffled the papers, deciding to call Miss Eighty-four percent, Julia Holbrook. Maybe she was free for dinner tonight.

After the meeting with her Hogs and Kisses committee was over and the women had left, Autumn had a few minutes before she went to her part-time job as a legal clerk for a law firm in downtown San Antonio.

Autumn had always known she would have to have a career or a job of some sort and had worked since she was a teenager. In most ranch families, someone, usually the wife, had to bring in needed cash.

Not at Clay’s ranch, though. The Golden B was considerably larger than hers and could support a family.

Not that it mattered to her one way or the other.

Autumn ordered a large double mocha latte, then opened her packet from the Yellow Rose. She quickly scanned the names and became annoyed with herself when she realized she was looking for Clay’s.

What were these percentages? Autumn read the explanation, then the one-page bios.

The men sounded interesting. Nothing that pegged her zing meter, but she hadn’t seen them yet. Whom to call first?

Autumn found she was a little nervous, so she decided to call match number two so she could practice on him. George Garza had a grade, or rather “probability percentage”, of eighty-six percent. Number one was ninety-one percent.

Okay. Before she lost her nerve, Autumn used the public pay phone and called the message service, hoping George would suggest getting together. Soon.

FAX

To: Deb

From: Nel

They’re going to dinner tonight at

Jason’s on the River Walk! Chill the champagne!

Giddy with happiness, N.

FACSIMILE

To: Nellie Barnett, G B Ranch

From: Debra Reese, R. Ranch

Take the champagne out of the ice bucket. They’re going to dinner at Jason’s, but not with each other.

What happened?

D.

Autumn barely had time to make the hour-and-a-half round trip from her home back into San Antonio after work.

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.

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