The Nine-Dollar Daddy

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  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....

  So, for the cutest cowboys in the whole state of Texas, read:

  Only cowboys need apply....

  Name: Day Leclaire

  Age: Old enough to have a fourteen-year-old son. (Of course, precocious child that I was, I had him when I was a mere baby, myself.)

  Occupation: Writer

  Marital Status: Chased, caught, and—very happily—hogtied for life.

  Ideal partner: Someone who gives me room to dream, then encourages me to chase those dreams. Someone who holds me at night, when things look their worst, and tells me everything will work out Someone who gives great hugs and better kisses. In other words...the man I married.

  Strangest date: It’s a toss-up. Either the date who took me to see The Exorcist and then proposed at a tacky coffee shop afterward. (Shiver!) Or the guy who took me—on our first date, no less—to the San Francisco Academy of Science to see a program on the Sex Changes of Fish. I ditched the first one, married the second. (Hey, it was an interesting program and everyone deserves a second chance. Besides the dates did improve from there!)

  The Nine-Dollar Daddy

  Day Leclaire

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUKLAND

  To Gillian Green, editor extraordinaire,

  who came up with the concept for this series

  and was generous enough to include me.

  Thanks, Gillian!

  PROLOGUE

  “CLASS is dismissed,” the teacher announced. “Have a good spring vacation. Oh, and Hutch Lonigan? I’d like to see you before you leave.”

  Uh-oh. He could tell from her tone that she wasn’t happy. A stream of hulking seventh-graders filed out, flicking him quick, amused glances. Of course, they always looked at him that way. As a ten-year-old daring to invade their territory, he was often treated with a mixture of scorn, suspicion and occasionally open dislike.

  Stacking his books in a neat pile on his desk, he slipped from his seat and approached Mrs. Roon. “Yes, ma’am?” The teacher shuffled some papers. She’s nervous, he realized. Okay. Maybe that would work to his advantage. Settling his glasses more firmly on his nose, he fixed her with a cool, direct gaze. That particular look always seemed to bother people. “I hope there isn’t anything wrong.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

  She glanced at him quickly, then away. Flipping open a folder, she thumped her index finger against a neatly printed set of papers. “It’s about your proposed science experiment.”

  Uh-oh. He’d been afraid of that. “Yes?”

  “It’s... You must admit, it’s a bit unorthodox.”

  Nothing wrong with that. He waited, allowing his silence to weigh on her.

  Mrs. Roon cleared her throat, leafing through the papers in his file as though they held the words she so desperately sought. “I’d like you to consider choosing a different subject.”

  “No.”

  “Hutch...”

  Her voice had softened, grown motherly. He thrust out his chin another inch. He already had one mother. And she never used that pitying tone on him. Not ever. “No,” he repeated.

  “I understand why you want to conduct this experiment. But it’s not acceptable. You must see that?”

  “It’s a logical approach to resolve a problem that no one else has been able to correct.”

  “Meaning your mother.”

  “She’s not logical.” He ticked his points off on his stubby fingers. “She doesn’t see the problem. Therefore she’s unlikely to attempt a solution. This experiment will remedy that.”

  “I’m sorry, Hutch. But I can’t authorize your project. At least, not without her agreement.”

  He balled his hands into fists, then realizing how much they gave away, shoved them into his pockets. “No! If she knows about it, the results will be compromised.”

  Mrs. Roon sighed. “I’m afraid my decision’s final. Without your mother’s written permission, you’ll have to choose another project. Even with her permission, I’m not certain I’d approve. It’s too...too...” She gave a helpless shrug. “You’re an intelligent boy. And it’s a sweet, noble thought. But you must see that it’s not appropriate?”

  She was using that tone again. He pressed his lips tightly together and continued to glare. “Is that your final word?”

  “Yes, Hutch. I’m afraid it is.” She closed the folder and slid it across her desk toward him. “We’re off these next two weeks for spring break. Take that time to choose another project.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I’ll speak to your mother about it.”

  “You realize you’re not giving me any choice.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Me, too,” he muttered beneath his breath. “It’s been nice working with you, Mrs. Roon.”

  Picking up the folder, he returned to his desk. He stood and stared at the tidy stack of books, his brain working at a furious rate.

  Mrs. Roon wouldn’t change her mind and he couldn’t risk his mother’s finding out about his experiment. With those two premises a given, he analyzed his predicament. In his mind, the problem formed the trunk of a massive tree, the various solutions growing from it into a huge network of crisscrossing branches. It took only a moment to settle on one of the more intriguing choices.

  A tiny smile played around his mouth. It was a thin branch, one way off by itself. A very shaky limb indeed. Risky to climb. But the potential results... They far outweighed that risk.

  Turning, he took one final look at his teacher. “Thank you, Mrs. Roon. I’ll take care of it.” Picking up his empty backpack, he settled it over his shoulders.

  “I’m glad, Hutch,” she said with a huge, relieved smile.

  “Aren’t you taking your books home with you?”

  “No need.”

  She laughed at that, the sound a little too high-pitched. He made most people nervous, though he’d never understood why. Smart must scare some adults—at least when it was a kid being smart.

  “I guess not,” she said. “You probably have them all memorized anyway.”

  “Most of them,” he agreed, heading for the door. “Goodbye, Mrs. Roon,” he added as an afterthought. He didn’t look at her again, his mind already busy listing what he’d have to accomplish over the next sixteen days to achieve his goal. It was a daunting agenda. But then, he always did love a good challenge. He closed the schoolroom door with a decisive click.

  And finding his mom a husband would undoubtedly be the greatest challenge of all.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Equipment/Items Required For Experiment:

&nbs
p; 1. Find perfect man—see ad and check Mom’s schedule.

  2. Obtain contract/agreement for services.

  3. Prepare list for “love” experiments.

  HUTCH stopped in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the bright yellow house and stared up at it. Glancing at the newspaper ad, he double-checked the address. Unfortunately, it was correct. The numbers matched. Carefully refolding the ad, he returned it to his back pocket. Jeez. Yellow Rose Matchmakers on Bluebonnet Drive. How corny could you get? Even the picket-fenced house looked silly, all yellow and white with a girly mailbox covered in painted roses. His mother would love it. He hated it. It left him feeling even more out of place than the first time he’d walked into the seventh grade and had everyone eye him as if he was some sort of freak.

  Unlatching the white gate, he followed the walkway to the porch steps, stomping up the six wooden risers. Stomping eased his tension. It was a guy thing and doing guy things always helped when you were stuck in a “girl” kind of place. A door barred his entrance, frosted glass preventing him from seeing inside.

  Taking a deep breath, he shoved open the door and stepped across the threshold. To his surprise, it didn’t seem much like an office at all, but like a real house. The overwhelming scent of flowers made him wrinkle his nose and he grimaced at the cause—a huge floral arrangement perched on a nearby table. Man, how did they stand it? They needed to get some dogs and cats in here to help cut the odor. He peered around, his attention snagged by a desk that occupied a room off the entranceway. Relief surged through him. Desks meant business.

  He didn’t look left or right, just focused on his goal—the expanse of wood with a nameplate on it that read Receptionist. An old lady stood behind the desk, frowning at a computer printout. Not a good sign. Beside her hovered a man and woman, whispering to each other. The man held a camera while the woman clutched a notepad. They gave him a cursory, dismissive glance. That was okay. He’d gotten used to that sort of reaction.

  Setting his jaw, he reached into his pocket and yanked out a fistful of crumpled bills, along with a handful of change. He slapped the money onto the glass-covered top. A quarter rolled toward the old lady, stopping shy of the edge of the desk. It was a whole nine dollars and eighty-four cents. A pitiful amount, but it was his life’s savings and he’d worked darned hard to get even that much.

  “I want to buy as many dates as I can with this,” he announced loudly.

  That got everyone’s attention. The man and woman stopped whispering and stared at him in sudden, predatory interest. The receptionist put down her computer printout to study him. Eyes as piercing blue as his own fixed on him and one fine white brow arched upward. “Kind of young, aren’t you, sonny?”

  Warmth bled into his cheeks and he scowled. He didn’t like people making fun of him. He got enough of that at school. “It’s for my mom. She needs a man and I want the best one you got.”

  Just like that, her eyes changed. The blue grew as warm and sunny as a hot San Antonio sky. “Do you now?” she murmured. Beside her, a flashbulb went off.

  Poking a hand into his back pocket, he came up with the carefully folded ad. He spread it next to his money. He saw the Yellow Rose Matchmakers logo. As always, it cheered him. Yellow roses. It was a good sign. As good an omen as the huge bouquet of yellow roses decorating the old lady’s desk. It even made him more tolerant of the stink. “I’d like the San Antonio Fiesta Special. Please,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Does your mom know you’re here?” the woman with the notepad questioned.

  “No. It’s a birthday present. A surprise birthday present.”

  The receptionist inclined her head. “Oh, I don’t doubt it’ll be that.” For a long moment, she continued to fix him with her intense blue gaze, weighing, examining, scrutinizing. He returned her look boldly. At long last, satisfaction eased her expression and a broad smile slipped across her mouth. She checked the hallway leading to the back of the agency. “Ty?” she called. “I could use your help.”

  Hutch didn’t hear the man approach. One minute the doorway was empty and the next it was overflowing with a huge, broad male. “What’s up?” he asked in a voice that rumbled like a distant storm.

  “He’s my grandson,” the old lady explained in an undertone. “He’ll take good care of you and your mom.”

  It required every ounce of determination for Hutch to keep his sneakers planted on the oak floorboards instead of plowing at light speed in the direction of the nearest exit. He hadn’t anticipated this!

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d do me a favor,” she said to Ty, casting a meaningful glance toward the woman with the notepad and the man with the camera. “Maria and Wanda are out to lunch and I’m conducting business. I need you to get this young man started on our San Antonio Fiesta special.”

  The man’s pale green gaze switched from the receptionist to pierce Hutch. “Come again?” he asked softly.

  . “Help him fill out an application for his mother.” Another flashbulb lit up the room. “Please.”

  “Willie—”

  “It’s not that hard, Ty.” She slapped a multipaged form onto the desk. “Use my office. Have him answer these questions as best he can. Once you’re done, we’ll run his mother through the computer and see who we get for a match.”

  “I need a good one,” Hutch inserted determinedly. “The best one in there.”

  Willie smiled. “I’ll make sure of it personally. Go with Ty and he’ll help with the forms.”

  Hutch slid a longing glance toward the door leading to freedom. He could either make a break for it and run on home or he could go with the human mountain. He weighed his choices for an endless nanosecond. Then, settling his glasses more firmly on the bridge of his nose, he nodded at the man. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Ty took the application from Willie and enclosed it in the biggest hand Hutch had ever seen. He checked out the man’s feet. Jeez. They were every bit as huge. He’d better be careful where he stood. One misstep and he’d be flatter than an amoeba squashed between glass slides. Without another word of acknowledgment, the man started down the hallway. Hutch trotted cautiously behind.

  Opening a door, The Mountain waved the application toward a pair of cushioned chairs set at angles in front of a desk. “Have a seat.”

  A computer overwhelmed half the broad wooden surface, putting Hutch at his ease. Sidling into the office, he chose the chair closest to the door. His feet dangled ridiculously and he folded them cross-legged beneath him, not caring if his shoes dusted up the cushions. He shot a hard look at the man, daring him to comment. Silence reigned for a full two minutes.

  “Why don’t you want to help me?” Hutch finally asked.

  “I don’t work here. I guess you could call me a silent partner.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t offered the expected answer and Hutch took a moment to digest it. “Why did the old lady—”

  “Her name’s Willie Eden. She’s the owner.”

  “Why’d Miss Willie ask you to help me, then?”

  “Like she said, I’m her grandson. I check over the business every so often to make sure it’s running smoothly. Today was my checkup day.”

  “Bummer.”

  A slow smile built across the man’s lean face. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “What was with the pictures that guy took of me?”

  “More bad timing. They’re reporters here to do a follow-up story on the agency. I suspect they found you perfect copy.”

  Hutch couldn’t conceal his alarm. “Are they gonna put me in the paper? They can’t! This is supposed to be a surprise.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  To his astonishment, Hutch realized he believed the guy. There was something solid and dependable about him. Trustworthy. “So what now?”

  “Now we do what Willie said.” He frowned down at the application. “We fill out this questionnaire. It might be a bit tricky. A lot of these questions are personal.”

 
; “No problem. I know what I—my mom. I know what my mom wants.” The man’s pale green gaze latched onto Hutch again, as cutting and direct as a laser. He’d be a tough man to fool. In fact, Hutch suspected he’d be near impossible to fool. Best to play this part straight. “Okay... To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if there was stuff about him I liked, too. I’ll need to get along with him, same as Mom.”

  “Not an easy prospect, I suspect.”

  The Mountain’s gaze continued to cut, burrowing in uncomfortably deep. How much could he see with those odd, piercing eyes? Hutch stirred nervously. “I won’t be too picky, if that’s what’s worrying you. I can’t afford to be.” To his relief, the gaze eased enough for him to breathe a little better.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Hutch Lonigan. And before you bother asking, I’m ten.”

  “Ty Merrick. I’m thirty-one. Now that we’re clear where we stand, why don’t we get down to business.” He picked up a pen. “What’s your mother’s name?”

  “Cassidy Lonigan.”

  “Address and phone.”

  Hutch reluctantly supplied it. “But you’re not gonna call her, are you?”

  “That’s up to Willie.” That slow smile appeared again. “I’m just following orders today, remember?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “What’s your mom’s age?”

  “Old. That’s why we have to get this taken care of fast.”

  Ty’s smile grew. “Don’t suppose she’s told you how old?”

  “She’s gonna be twenty-nine tomorrow. That means she doesn’t have much time left. Jeez! She’s already got her first couple of wrinkles.” He gestured toward the corner of his eyes. “Before you know it, she’s gonna be a total prune.”