Husband for Hire Read Online Free PDF Page A

hadcelebrity status, attracting local and national media. It was the fantasy angle they were after, she supposed. The idea that women were about to compete—publically—for a date with one of these guys.
    She shouldn’t have been surprised when someone shoved a microphone under her chin and demanded her name as soon as she stepped out of the truck. But she was so taken aback that she blurted, “I’m Twyla McCabe.”
    “What do you hope to find here today, Miss McCabe?” the reporter asked, his voice an aggressive, rapid-fire staccato.
    “Men,” she said ironically. “Lots of men.”
    “Would that be for a weekend fling, or are you husband-hunting?”
    “What?” Lord, did he really think she was serious?
    “Think you’ll find husband material here?”
    She couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing. “Oh, sure. I’m going to snag a millionaire. Or at least a hunky cowboy, one with great pecs and a tight butt.”
    “Then what words would you use to describe the mood today— excited, romantic, hopeful? ”
    Finding her composure at last, she pushed the microphone away. “You could use them, but you’d be wrong. With a wink, she added, “Try bold and lusty. ”
    The busy, sweating reporter gave up and scurried away in search of a more promising scoop.
    “Who was that guy, Mom?” Brian asked, getting out of the truck.
    “I have no idea, but I’d better wind up on the editing room floor.” She opened the tailgate of the old pickup. “Okay, sport, you can help carry.” She handed him the raffle box and took the quilt, carefully wrapped in a dry cleaner’s bag. It was the best work ever done by theConverse County Quilt Quorum. Done in a classic log-cabin pattern and made of soft, worn, hand-me-down cottons in a rainbow of colors, it was sure to fetch a handsome number of raffle entries.
    She set the quilt on the tailgate and got out the folded card table. Awkwardly, she took the table under one arm and the quilt under the other and started toward the covered pavilion. “Brian, watch where you’re going,” she called to him as a Ford Explorer with rental plates nosed into the parking lot.
    The metal leg of the card table scraped her shin and she set her jaw to keep from cursing. It was hot, she was perspiring, she hadn’t made it to the arena, and she was already getting cranky.
    “Can I help you carry something?”
    She stopped walking and turned to see a tall man getting out of the black sport utility vehicle. For a second, a dazzle of sunlight striking the windshield made her squint painfully. Then he came toward her and her grateful smile froze on her face.
    It was him. The guy from the brochure. And not just any guy, but the one in the tux with the long-stemmed rose.
    He wasn’t wearing a tux and carrying a rose at the moment, though. He managed to look immaculate, casual and foolishly expensive in khaki slacks and a navy golf shirt. A gold watch gleamed on his wrist. He had black hair, white teeth and the sort of unbelievably handsome face you saw on prime-time TV.
    “Um, yes, thanks. Maybe you could get this table?”
    His cool, dry hand brushed her hot and sweaty one as he took the folded table from her. Brian watched, shading his eyes and staring unabashedly up at the man.
    “I’m Brian. Brian McCabe. I have a loose tooth.”
    “Congratulations,” the man said. “Rob Carter. Pleased to meet you, Brian. You too, ma’am.”
    Twyla knew his name perfectly well. Robert Carter, M.D. He was a Leo whose favorite song was “Misty” and whose ideal woman was Grace Kelly. His idea of a great time was a round of golf at Pebble Beach.
    “Twyla McCabe,” she said, falling in step with him. “And don’t call me ma’am. I’m too young to be a ma’am.”
    “I’ll remember that.”
    “I call you ma’am when I’m in trouble,” Brian pointed out.
    “Does that mean I’m not in trouble?” Rob asked.
    “Guess not.”
    “Hot dog.”
    Brian laughed, clearly intrigued. “Not yet,