This convenient arrangement could be so much more! Two popular marriage of convenience stories—in one convenient volume!—from New York Times bestselling author Donna Alward and Liz Fielding.

Hired by the Cowboy

Alexis Grayson can look after herself—even if she's alone and pregnant. But gorgeous cowboy Connor Madsen seems determined to take care of her. Since he needs a temporary wife, Alexis decides she can help him. A short-term marriage will solve their difficulties…until this wife-for-hire wants a marriage for real!

SOS: Convenient Husband Required

May Coleridge must marry to inherit her family home and keep her new business afloat. Adam Wavell has turned his life around and is a corporate success story. But when his sister leaves him with her screaming baby, a deal must be done. May will help Adam with his niece if he'll answer her SOS!

A Deal at the Altar
Hired by the Cowboy
Donna Alward
SOS: Convenient Husband Required
Liz Fielding

www.millsandboon.co.uk

HIRED BY THE COWBOY Donna Alward

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

SOS: CONVENIENT HUSBAND REQUIRED Liz Fielding

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hired by the Cowboy

New York Times bestselling author Donna Alward has the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mother and romance novelist. In 2001 she penned her first novel, and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes heartwarming stories from her home in Nova Scotia, Canada. Donna loves to hear from readers; you can contact her through her website at donnaalward.com or through her publisher.

Look for more books by Donna Alward in Harlequin series.

For Subcare—keep the faith. It does happen! And with special thanks to Michelle Styles and Trish Wylie for their unwavering support and guidance.

CHAPTER ONE

“MISS? WAKE UP. Can you hear me?”

The deep voice came first, then Alex’s vision gradually started to clear.

“Oh, thank God. Are you all right?”

Alex’s eyes followed the sound of the voice as she looked up, dazed. Trying hard to focus, she found herself staring into the most beautiful set of brown eyes she’d ever seen. They were stunning, dark brown with golden flecks throughout, large and thickly lashed.

Men shouldn’t have eyes that pretty, she thought irrationally, realizing with a jolt that she was captured in the arms of the eyes’ owner.

“Oh, goodness!”

The eyes crinkled at the corners at her exclamation, and she felt his hands on her arm and behind her back, helping her to rise.

“Slowly, now. You fainted.”

Really? I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy being unconscious. She bit back the sarcastic retort when she saw the genuine concern in his eyes. He even made sure she was standing firmly on her feet before releasing her—and then stayed close, as if he didn’t quite trust her to remain steady.

He would have fainted too, in her condition and with this heat…and the lack of air-conditioning in the convenience store hadn’t helped much either.

“I’m so sorry,” she blustered, brushing off her pants and avoiding his eyes. It had only taken a moment, but she could even now see him completely in her mind. Not just the eyes, but thick, luscious black hair, just long enough to sink your fingers into and slightly ragged at the edges. Crisply etched lips and a large frame in a grey suit.

Someone who looked like him was so far removed from her world it was laughable, and she avoided his eyes from simple embarrassment. She stared instead at his shoes…shiny, brown leather ones, without a smudge of dirt or a blemish. A businessman’s shoes.

“No need to be sorry. Are you sure you’re all right?”

She bent to retrieve her bag and purse. The first time she’d bent to pick up her dropped crackers everything had spun and then turned black. This time she gripped the bench for support, just in case. To her dismay she realized that she’d spilled her apple juice, and it was running down a crack in the sidewalk. She folded the top over on the paper bag, picked up the juice bottle and looked around for a recycling receptacle.

“I’m fine,” she said, finally looking him in the face. Her heart skipped a beat at the worry she saw there. It had been a long time since anyone had been concerned over her. He was a complete stranger, yet his worry was clear in the wrinkle between his brows. Gratitude washed over her for his gallantry. “I haven’t even thanked you for catching me.”

“You turned white as a sheet.”

She chanced a quick look around. Any passers-by who had seen her little episode were gone, and now people went about their business, not paying any attention to them whatsoever. Another face in the crowd. That was all she was. Yet this man…Mr. GQ…had seen her distress and come to her assistance.

“I’m fine. Thanks for your help. I’m just going to sit a moment.” She coolly dismissed him; his duty was discharged.

Solicitously he stepped back to let her by, but once she’d sat, surprised her by seating himself as well. “Do you need a doctor?”

Alex laughed. Oh, she did. But a doctor couldn’t cure what was wrong with her. “No.”

The answer was definitive. By the way his shoulders straightened she knew he’d got the message loud and clear. Briefly she felt guilty for being blunt, so she offered a paltry, “But thanks again, Mr…?”

“Madsen. Connor Madsen.” He held out his hand, undeterred, inviting her to introduce herself.

She took his hand in hers. It was warm and solid and a little rough. Not a banker’s hands, as she’d thought. Working hands. Solid hands.

“Alex.”

“Just Alex?”

His eyes were boring into her, and she stared straight ahead at the office building across the street.

“Yes. Just Alex.”

It wouldn’t do to encourage him. In the early June heat her T-shirt clung to her, the hems on the sleeves heavy on her arms and the fabric pulling uncomfortably across her breasts. And what had possessed her to wear jeans today, of all things? Apparently such a heatwave this early in summer wasn’t that uncommon, but for her the temperature only compounded the light-headedness and nausea.

Necessity had forced her wardrobe choice, plain and simple. Her shorts weren’t comfortable any more, and at least in her jeans she could breathe. As silence fell, thick and awkward between them, the world threatened to tilt again. The feeling slowly passed as she took slow, deep breaths. “For the love of Mike…” she mumbled.

He laughed, a full-throated masculine sound that sent strange waves through her stomach. “So, just Alex? Intriguing name. Your parents want a boy or something?”

“Probably.” She couldn’t believe he was still here. After all, beyond the first fuzzy moment that she’d succumbed to his arms, she hadn’t encouraged him at all. His attempt at polite conversation had done nothing but awaken an all-too familiar sadness, the heavy weight of regret every time she thought of her parents. “My full name is Alexis MacKenzie Grayson.”

“That’s quite a name for a small thing like you.” His eyes were warm on her and he twisted, angling himself toward her and bending a knee.

“Alex for Graham Bell and MacKenzie for the prime minister, you know? You planning on using it for the paramedics later? In case I faint again?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You look much better, thank goodness. But you spilled your juice. Can I get you something else cool to drink?” His eyes wandered to the convenience store behind them.

Her stomach rolled at the thought of a sugary sweet, slushy drink. Every teenager in a ten-block radius had been buying them today. The very idea of them had Alex’s tummy performing a slow, sickening lurch. She pressed her lips together.

“Or are you hungry? There’s a hot dog cart down the street.”

She stood, desperately trying to get some fresh air while exorcising the thought of greasy hot dogs from her mind. But she rose too quickly, her blood pressure dipped, and she saw grey and black shapes behind her eyes once again.

His arms were there to steady her, but she dropped her paper bag to the ground, the contents falling out as they hit the concrete.

His fingers were firm on her wrist as he helped her sit back down. “Put your head between your legs,” he demanded quietly, and for some reason she obeyed.

Alex avoided his eyes as she sat up moments later. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, completely mortified at the awkward silence that fell between them like a ton weight. This had to be an all-time low. Blacking out not once, but twice, in front of her own personal Knight in Shining Armor. And wasn’t he annoying, this Mr. Perfect Chivalry, sitting there calm as you please?

She expected him to mumble his apologies and hurry away. Instead he knelt and began picking up what she’d dumped on the ground in her haste.

Oh, God. Her humiliation was complete as he paused, his hand on the plastic bottle of pre-natal vitamins. His eyes darted up, caught hers. In them she saw sudden understanding. Now, of course, it all made sense. At least it made sense to him. She was still trying to assimilate everything.

“Congratulations.”

Her smile was weak. He couldn’t know. Couldn’t know how her life had been turned completely upside down with a three-minute test only a few short weeks ago.

“Thank you.”

He watched her carefully as he sat again on the bench. “You don’t sound happy. Unplanned?”

She should end this conversation right here and now. He was, after all, a complete stranger.

“That’s none of your business.”

He had no cause to know her personal troubles. It was her problem. And she’d solve it. Somehow.

“I beg your pardon. I was only trying to help.”

She grabbed the vitamins and shoved them into her purse. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

The pause was so long her scalp tingled under his scrutiny.

“No, you didn’t. But I offer it anyway.”

And who else was going to step up and give her a hand? She was alone, nearly destitute, and pregnant. She had no one waiting for her at home. Home, she thought sardonically. Now, there was an idea. She hadn’t had a real home in a long time…too long. Five years, to be exact. Five years was a long time to be at loose ends.

At present she was sleeping on the floor of a friend of a friend. Her back protested every morning, but it was the best she could do for now. She’d find a way, though, she thought with a small smile. She always did, and had done since being left alone and without a penny to her name at eighteen.

Connor was a friendly face, and also the first person who actually seemed to care. Perhaps that was why she made the conscious choice to answer his question.

“Yes, this baby is unplanned. Very.”

“And the father?”

She looked out over the bustling street. “Not in the picture.”

He studied her for a few moments before replying, “So you’re alone?”

“Utterly and completely.” Despair trickled through in her voice and she shored herself up. No sense dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Her voice was again strong and sure as she continued, “But I’ll manage. I always do.”

Connor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Surely your family will help you?”

“I have no family,” she replied flatly, discouraging any further discussion of that topic. She had no one. Loneliness crept in, cold and heavy. Not one soul. Anyone she’d truly cared about in the world was gone. Sometimes she almost forgot, but now, faced with a pregnancy and no prospects, she’d never felt more isolated.

After a long silence, he spoke again. “Are you feeling better? Would you like some tea or something?” He smiled at her, friendly, and her heart gave a little foreign twist at this complete stranger’s obvious caring and generosity.

“You needn’t feel obligated. I’m fine now.”

“Humor me. You’re still a bit pale, and it would make me feel better.”

It was a lifeline to hold on to. It wasn’t like her life was a revolving door of social invitations. “Tea might be nice, I guess.”

She looped her purse over her shoulder. “So where are we off to, Connor Madsen?”

“There’s a little place around the next corner.”

She chuckled a little. “You use that line often?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever used it before, as a matter of fact.” He adjusted his long stride to her much shorter one.

“I wouldn’t recommend using it again,” she remarked dryly.

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” Connor shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over an arm. “To be truthful, I don’t spend much time in the city, picking up women. Or for any other reason, for that matter.”

He was wearing a white dress shirt that fit snugly over wide shoulders, then tapered, tucked into slim-waisted trousers. Alex hadn’t believed men that good-looking actually existed, and here she was going for tea with one. One who had already seen her faint. She shook her head with amazement.

“So, if you’re not from the city, where are you from?” Small talk. Small talk was safe and not too revealing. She could handle niceties.

“I run a ranch about two hours northwest of here.”

“Ah.” Well, she certainly wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again after today. She’d be able to look back on it as a bizarre, fantastical dream. A Knight in Shining Chaps, it would seem.

She giggled, then clamped her mouth shut at his raised eyebrow. “Is this the place?” she asked, changing the subject.

“It is.” He held the door—more good manners, it seemed—seated her at a table and went to get drinks.

The coffee shop was trendy, and didn’t seem to suit either of them. She pictured him more as a local diner type, drinking black coffee from a thick white mug while some middle-aged waitress named Sheila read the specials of the day. Despite his formal appearance today, she got the impression that he wasn’t totally comfortable in a suit.

In moments he returned with two steaming mugs…one of peppermint tea and one with straight black coffee. The café didn’t suit her much either. She usually bought coffee from a vending machine, or drank it thick and black from behind the bar—not that she’d been drinking much lately. Still, she was touched and surprised that he’d thought to get her something herbal in deference to her pregnancy.

“Thanks for the peppermint. It was thoughtful of you.”

“I’ll admit I asked the girl behind the counter for something uncaffeinated. And the peppermint might be, um, soothing.”

He handed her something wrapped in waxed paper. “I got you a cookie, just in case your blood sugar was low.”

Alex wondered how he knew so much about the biology of pregnancy as she unwrapped the long, dry biscotti and tried a nibble. It seemed safe. A sip of the peppermint tea confirmed it. “Thanks. I think we’re good.”

His shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad. I’d hate to have a repeat of earlier.”

She laughed a bit. “You’ll have to find another method for your next damsel in distress.”

Connor sipped his coffee, sucking in his lips as the hot liquid burned. “You seemed to need it. Plus, my grandmother would flay me alive if I didn’t help a lady in need.”

“I thought chivalry was dead?”

“Not quite.” His smile was thin. “And this way I can procrastinate.”

“I beg your pardon?” She put down her mug and stared at him.

“I have a meeting this afternoon. I’d rather spend the afternoon shovelling—Well, you get the idea. I’m simply not looking forward to it.”

“Why?”

He avoided her prying eyes and stared out the window. “It’s a long story.” He turned back. “What about you? What are your plans for you and the baby?”

She took another long drink of tea to settle the anxiety brewing in her belly. “Our plans are pretty open. I’m working for now. Trying to figure out what to do next. It’s temporary.”

“You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent.”

“No. Ottawa.”

He smiled. “I thought I sensed a little Ontario,” he teased. “But there are so many easterners here now that for all I knew you could have lived here for years.”

“Three weeks, two days and twenty-two hours,” she replied. “I’m working at the Pig’s Whistle pub for now.” She needed to find something else, away from the second-hand smoke. But her tips were good, and she’d have a hard time finding a boss as accommodating as Pete had been.

He didn’t have to answer for her to know what he was thinking. It was a dead-end job, and hardly one she could support herself and a baby on. She knew right away she’d said too much.

His brow furrowed a little, and she somehow felt she’d failed a test. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t even know her, and they wouldn’t meet again, so his opinion shouldn’t matter at all. She was working on coming up with a solution. Just because she hadn’t come up with one yet, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t. Heck, she’d been finding her way out of scrapes for years. This one was going to take a little more ingenuity, that was all.

It was time to end this whole meet-and-greet thing. She pushed away her tea. “Listen, thanks for helping this afternoon, and for the tea. But I should get going.”

She stood to leave and he rose, reaching into his pocket.

“Here,” he offered, holding out a card. “If you need anything, call me.”

“Why would I do that?”

His face flattened and he stepped back at her sharp tone. “I’d like to be of help if I can. I’m at Windover Ranch, just north of Sundre.”

She had no idea where Sundre was, and had no plan to discover the wonders of Windover Ranch, so she figured there’d be no harm in responding to his solicitude by being polite. She tucked the small white card into her jeans pocket.

“Thanks for the offer. It was nice meeting you, Connor.”

She held out her hand, and he took it firmly.

Her eyes darted up to his and locked.

Another time, another place. She lost herself momentarily in their chocolaty depths. Perhaps in different circumstances she might have wanted to get to know him better. It was just her luck that she’d fainted in front of the first hot guy she’d seen in a good long time.

And it was the height of irony to meet someone like him when she was obviously unavailable. She was pretty sure that being pregnant with another man’s child was probably number one on a guy’s “not in this lifetime” list.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, pulling her hand away from his grasp.

Her steps were hurried as she exited the shop, but she couldn’t escape the gentle and understanding look he’d given her as she’d said goodbye.

CHAPTER TWO

“HAVE YOU SEEN today’s paper?” Connor stopped his agitated pacing and faced his grandmother.

Johanna Madsen looked coolly over the rims of her glasses, her shrewd eyes assessing. Not a single white hair was out of place, curled back from her temples stylishly and stopping at her collar.

“Yes, dear, of course I have.”

Connor started pacing the elegant sitting room again, feeling fenced in among the classic furniture and expensive knickknacks. His head was ready to implode. How could she sit there so implacably, a study in calm? This was big. It was huge. It was probably the end of Windover.

“We almost lost the farm after the last scare. This’ll put the final nail in the coffin, Grandmother.”

“My, you are upset,” Johanna replied with a tiny smile. “You never call me Grandmother unless you’re piqued at me.”

“Whatever.” Connor stopped pacing and faced the elderly woman squarely. “I want to know what you’re willing to do to help me save our heritage.”

She laughed, a raspy, rusty sound that made Connor’s lips twitch even as he waited for her answer.

“Our heritage? You’ve been thinking about this all day, I can tell.”

On the contrary. For a few hours that afternoon he’d forgotten about his current troubles, focusing on another’s issues. A slight girl with jet-black hair and astonishing blue eyes. With a baby on the way. Where was she now? He hoped she was still all right. When her face had paled and she’d wavered, he’d simply acted, while no one around had batted an eyelash.

And even at her worst she’d still maintained a sense of humor. He admired that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was in a bad way. For the father to simply disappear like that…Connor frowned. He had no compassion for cowards. A real man stood up and did what needed to be done.

And so, apparently, did Alex. Because the only sense he’d got from her today was that of strength and stubbornness, not hopelessness and self-pity.

And why, considering the current pickle he found himself in, was he thinking about her when he should be focusing on convincing Gram to release his trust fund?

“Connor?”

“Yes, Gram,” he answered sharply, turning back to the woman who looked so much like his father. Right now her expressive eyes were troubled, and the mouth that always looked like it held a secret joke was a thin line.

“Look,” he relented, “you know as well as I do why I’m here. There’s already a ban imposed on beef exports. It’s the same scenario as before, only this time it’ll be harder to convince the world our beef is safe. Meanwhile I have a herd, a growing herd, that I can’t slaughter but that still has to be fed and cared for.”

“And you want the cash?”

“My birthday is less than a year away. Surely you can release it a little early?”

Her blue hawk-like eyes bored into his as she folded her hands in her lap. Hands that had once been rough and workworn but now held a small smattering of delightful rings. “No, my grandson, I can’t do that. Your parents’ will clearly states that those monies be held in trust for you until your thirtieth.”

Connor cursed fluently; Johanna merely raised an elegant eyebrow. He glared at her, and she stared him down.

Damn it. She was strong—too strong. She’d lived her life, worked the ranch herself, knew what tough meant. She’d chosen comfort, a condo with a mountain view for her retirement. But she’d lost none of that prairie woman’s steel.

“Gram. I can’t do it. Not without the resources.”

“You are your father’s son. You can.”

“He never had to deal with this.” He said it and knew without a doubt he was right. The last scare had nearly bankrupted them, and they’d kept going by the skin of their teeth. But now…there was nothing in reserve. The only way to keep Windover running was with cold, hard cash. And it was clear now she wasn’t going to give him any. His heart sank. He’d fail after all.

Like hell I will. His lips thinned with frustration and determination.

“Legally I can’t release the money, Connor. You know I would if I could.”

Her eyes softened just a little, and he saw the deepening wrinkles there.

“I don’t want to see Windover go under either,” she continued. “It means as much to me as it does to you. You know that.”

He did know it. She’d spent all her married life there, had delivered his father, seen grandchildren grow and thrive.

“I’m just trying to find a way, and everywhere I turn there seems to be a roadblock.” Exasperated, he ran his fingers through his hair.

“There is one other provision, remember?” she remarked blandly.

She couldn’t be serious.

“The one other way for me to claim that trust fund is to get married. Gram, I’m not even seeing anyone! What do you want me to do? Post an ad at the general store? Perhaps I could find a mail order bride on the Internet!”

She shrugged, undaunted by his sarcasm. “Mail order brides have worked in the past, as you well know.” She rose from her chair and stood, her five-foot-ten frame slim and imperious, but mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I suggest you get busy, my boy.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

She laughed again, throwing him a flirtatious wink. “Why, courting, of course!”

* * *

COURTING. HMMPH. Connor snorted as he accelerated through the exit ramp onto Highway Two. The idea was as preposterous as the old-fashioned word. Courting. As if he had time to romance a woman, entice her to marry him and have the ceremony before the banks called in their loans. Besides, who did he know that was single?

He came from a community where everyone had known each other from diapers. Most of the town women he knew were married, or on their way to the altar. There was no one he could think of that he would consider marrying. And if it got out that he was looking for a stand-in wife he’d be laughed out of town. And what woman would settle for that anyway? What woman should have to?

Nope. He’d simply have to come up with a different solution.

There would be government money—aid for farmers affected. At least he wouldn’t have to cull—for now. But the aid cheque wouldn’t be enough to cover the growing mountain of expenses while on-the-hoof prices cratered.

He could sell the southwest parcel.

Just the thought of parting with that spectacular piece of land caused physical pain to slice through his gut. His father would never have split up the farm, and Connor knew he couldn’t either. Even in the lean years, during the Depression, when farmers had left their land behind to look for work, the Madsens had stayed and made it through. It was what they did.

He missed the sound of his dad’s voice, and his strength. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for that wisdom now, to sit at the kitchen table working through it. Together—Connor, Jim, and Dad—they would have come up with a plan. Only now it was up to him.

He turned up the radio to drown out the thunder that was exploding around him. It had been stuffy, sweltering today. The rain would cool things down, and hopefully there wouldn’t be any hail. He was going to need all the feed crops he could get. When you couldn’t sell beef, you still had to feed it.

Connor sighed, wrestling with his tie with one hand while steering the truck with the other. He’d put on the suit to meet with the bankers—and, yes, he admitted it, to impress his grandmother. It hadn’t worked, in either case.

Which brought him right back to courting.

Marriage was for a lifetime. Or at least he intended it to be. And as such it wasn’t something he glibly approached. It would be a huge mistake to find someone suitable and marry her in haste. He wanted to be in love with his bride. He wanted it to be someone he cherished and honored and wanted to build a family with. And he didn’t want to be pushed. He wanted it to be in his own good time, and when the time was right.

There had to be a way. A way he could bring the ranch back from the brink. His parents had been smart when they’d set up the trust the way they had. There was more than enough money in the trust account to keep things afloat while he restructured, figured out where to go next. If he were careful. But how to get his hands on it…?

“I suggest you get busy, my boy.”

His grandmother’s words rang in his ears as he headed north. What he needed was a practical solution. Something black and white and easy—something that made sense. What he needed to do was stop worrying and take action.

He envied the optimism that Alex had shown today… “I’ll manage. I always do.” Even in her dire straits she seemed capable, even though he knew she was pregnant and alone and without her own place to call home. She had an intrinsic faith that things would work out in the end.

The idea hit him fast and hard, and he almost steered the truck into the ditch as lightning forked in the sky ahead of him.

Alex. He needed a wife. She needed a place to call home for a while, and resources. They could help each other. He hadn’t been mistaken in the connection they’d made today as she’d held out her hand and he’d taken her smaller one in his. They could become friends, he was sure. He could do her a favor and she could help him save the family spread.

He remembered how they’d parted. He’d given her a business card.

“Why would I do that?” she’d asked, and he’d known she was too independent to rely on a stranger for help.

But perhaps if she knew he needed her help as much as she needed his…

He changed lanes, steered the truck over the grass median, and gunned it out on the highway in the opposite direction, heading back to town. His heart pounded with anticipation and apprehension.

How did you propose marriage to someone you’d met only hours before?

* * *

THE PHONE RANG as Alex came out of the bathroom, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She answered it, expecting it to be someone for one of her temporary roommates. Instead it was the pub—asking her to cover a shift. Peggy had up and quit with no notice.

She looked out the window at the rain streaming down the pane. The walk would be hell, even if it was only a few blocks. But it was extra money…and the tips were always better in the evenings.

With a sigh she agreed, and changed into a pair of jeans and her work T-shirt: snug white, with a picture of a whistling pig on the front. She gathered her hair into a careless ponytail, the black ends touching the top of her spine. For a moment she paused, watching as lightning forked across the sky. If she didn’t need the money…