Hand-Picked Husband. HEATHER MACALLISTER

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.