A Baby...Maybe? & How to Hunt a Husband Read Free

agreed to be Clay’s first client.
    Rex had no problem helping Clay get his business going. He didn’t even mind spending the money on the billboards to help his friend. What he had a problem with, though, was the billboards. They were nothing at all like what he and Clay had agreed upon.
    The supports for the mammoth, anatomically correct bovine structures had been sunk deep inside concrete cylinders buried along the barbed-wire fence. The first billboard had been cut out in the shape of an enormous bull complete with a huge—make that very huge—reproductive organ. The bull proudly stood watch above old Mabel Sturgeon’s cornfield.
    On the opposite side of the freeway, in Hector Herman’s hay field—which butted up against Mama Jo’s Bar-B-Q, known to the locals as margarita heaven—was the cow. Her big brown eyes stared adoringly across the freeway at the bull. The cow’s eyelashes blinked slowly and her udder swung seductively. Her tail didn’t move. It was permanently shaped to resemble a heart.
    The sexually explicit billboards were double-sided, so anyone traveling the Southwest Freeway either coming or going from Pegleg, Texas, could see the manly bull and swooning cow.
    Clay’s ideas had sounded good in theory, and had even looked good when he presented the mock-up. But except for being from the right species, what was displayed across the freeway was nothing even remotely similar to the mock-up.
    Rex had suggested the billboards use solar power for the cattle’s moving parts. But he certainly hadn’t expected the bull to be moving in such obscene glory or the cow to have such a provocative sway. And move and sway they did. The bull’s tail slowly swayed back and forth while its front right hoofstomped up and down. Thick smoke blew out of its nostrils. He could swear the cow’s udders rippled with excitement.
    Even for the short time he stood in front of the bull billboard, passengers in cars and trucks traveling in both directions honked horns or rolled down windows, shouting out greetings that were not, by any stretch of the imagination, G-rated. The “woo-woos,” and “hubba-hubbas,” were harmless enough. However, one woman—her car went by pretty darn fast, but Rex got a good enough look to be certain it was Clara Dempsey—yelled out, “I want a man that has what that bull has, Dr. Noble.” Her arm pointed through the wind in the general direction of the bull’s, er, jewels. If Clara’s mama knew what her daughter had said, she’d have herself a stroke.
    One of the worst things about the porno-bovine billboards, as far as Rex was concerned, was the distraction they created on the busy freeway. Someone was sure to get in an accident. He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt or killed. Especially not over obscene cattle. He didn’t want to explain to some teenager’s parents why those billboards were up there in the first place. He didn’t want to be responsible for a family’s anguish. He certainly didn’t want to give any of those smarmy ambulance-chasing lawyers a reason to come after him. And as long as the words Noble Sperm Bank Association were painted larger than life along the cow’s back, and Where Pedigree Counts and That’s No Bull was up there on the bull’s back for all the world to see, there would be no doubt who to serve with the subpoena. Him. Rex Noble.
    He took the cell phone from his pocket and punched in Clay’s number. “I’m out on the freeway looking at the billboards,” he said. “You need to get out here now.”
    â€œI’m having a massage.”
    â€œMassage?”
    â€œIt’s been a stressful month, getting those ready. Need to get the kinks out.” Rex heard a muffled “Hey, Patty, baby, not so rough.” Then Clay said into the mouthpiece, “They look great, don’t you