Hand-Picked Husband

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.”