Читать книгу Hand-Picked Husband - HEATHER MACALLISTER, Heather Macallister - Страница 5

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.