Matched Online: Anthology Bks 1-4 (Contemporary Romance)

by Lacy Williams, Julie Jarnagin, Robin Patchen

  Oh, for crying out loud. Morgan Drake on a farmer dating website? She was a funky, city-loving, artist. But could she really call herself an artist if she hadn’t created any art in eight years? She shooed the pesky thought away. No matter, the notion of her dating some kind of farm boy was so ludicrous it was laughable. She might’ve thought the email was a mistake, but she had a hunch it had been delivered correctly, and she knew exactly who to blame.

  Morgan had agreed to the online dating pact with the other girls on the reunion committee, but she’d avoided following through on it. Her friends had decided her time was up, so they’d threatened to sign up for her, which was fine—one less thing for Morgan to do—but it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d needed to specify which websites were off limits.

  She tapped out a text and sent it in the reunion committee group message.

  You signed me up on a website for FARMERS???

  Within moments, Angela responded. That’s what you get for letting us be in charge of your love life! Lol. We thought you could find a hunky cowboy date.

  Morgan shot back. Hunky cowboys don’t find dates on the Internet! I just hope I can find one that has all his teeth.

  Seconds later, her phone buzzed with messages from Jo and Mary Beth, too, and the conversation quickly descended into hilarity. Morgan wasn’t exactly looking forward to this little dating adventure, but she had to admit it was funny. These three women had become Morgan’s only bright spot in Ross. Why not play along?

  The other committee members were filing in and filling the chairs around the conference table. Typical Ross folks—cookie-cutter small-town types who never did anything that would make them stand out from small-town group think. In a place like Ross, conformity was exalted. Together, the folks formed this perfect, quaint little town with no rough edges or messy strokes that ventured outside the lines. Everyone simply fit.

  Everyone, except Morgan.

  Mrs. Becker called the meeting to order, so Morgan stuffed her phone, still buzzing with incoming messages, into the side pocket of her bag. She’d have to catch up on the chatter after the meeting.

  “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for being here,” Mrs. Becker said. “We’re still missing one committee member, but he had a previous engagement and will be here soon. Let’s go ahead and get started.”

  After introducing everyone, Mrs. Becker asked Morgan to discuss the process of starting a food pantry in Ross, so she passed out the information she’d brought detailing the steps to becoming a partner agency with the State Food Bank.

  While she was speaking, the door to the conference room swished open, and all heads turned to see the latecomer.

  The man closed the door behind him and greeted the group with a quick nod. He was tall and bulky, built like an athlete. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, even though it was nowhere near five o’clock. No two ways about it, the guy was hot.

  He unbuttoned his coat as he walked toward the table, and recognition slammed into Morgan.

  Slater Hensley, Morgan’s archrival from high school. What was he doing here?

  “Sorry I’m late.” His voice sounded different than Morgan remembered. More like a man now than a boy, but even in those three words, she swore she could still hear a hint of that mocking tone she’d heard so often.

  He slipped into the seat at the far end of the table and shrugged out of his coat.

  “No worries,” Mrs. Becker said. “We’re just getting started.” She reached over and grabbed an information packet from the table in front of Morgan and slid it to him.

  Morgan fought to keep her expression neutral. What business did he have sitting in on a food pantry meeting?

  Stupid Slater Hensley. Evil Slater Hensley. She’d finally moved on, had even forgotten about him for a time, but seeing him brought it all back in an instant. Nine and a half years had done nothing to dull Morgan’s anger. If not for him, her life would’ve turned out differently. Better. Like she’d planned. She would’ve gone to art school. Maybe by now, she’d own her own gallery. One thing was sure—she’d still be painting.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Drake?” Mrs. Becker was staring at Morgan, brows lifted, waiting for her to continue.

  Morgan shifted in her chair and tried to remain professional while she scraped to recall the next point of her presentation. The last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of these people. This was her job, after all, and she wasn’t about to let Slater’s presence affect her performance. He’d done enough already.

  “Once your application packet is submitted,” she said, “we’ll schedule a walk-through of the facility, which will include inspections of all food storage and distribution areas. It usually takes four to six weeks for the application to be processed, and once you’re approved, I’ll work with you on ordering procedures and show you how to access all the resources you’ll have available as a partner agency.”

  She continued through her material for the next twenty minutes and then fielded questions from the committee for thirty minutes more, avoiding eye contact with him for the duration. Every committee member had at least one question about the process, except Slater. For whatever reason, he hadn’t spoken again since he’d arrived. Thank goodness. She had nothing to say to him.

  When it seemed everyone was satisfied with the information, she turned the meeting back over to Mrs. Becker.

  “Thank you, Morgan.” Mrs. Becker’s smile was warm, and kindness lit her eyes. “This has been so helpful, and your passion for feeding the hungry just shines through you.” The woman reached over and gave Morgan’s hand a quick squeeze before glancing around the table. The simple touch and her encouraging words flowed over Morgan like honey. “We’ll need a point person to head this up, complete the application, and stay in communication with Miss Drake. Any volunteers?”

  Without even a microsecond of hesitation, Slater spoke. “I’ll do it.”

  Not him. Anyone but him. If he thought he was going to get close to her and pull some of his ridiculous shenanigans again, he was even dumber than she thought.

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Becker said.

  It was all Morgan could do not to glare at Slater. There was no way she was working with him on this. Or anything. Ever. “Actually, Mrs. Becker, you and I have already been in contact, so there’s really no reason to bring another person in.” Morgan forced a grin and a chuckle. “You know what they say about too many cooks in the kitchen.”

  “I agree,” Ernie groused from the end of the table. “Hensley won’t take this seriously. He’ll just monkey around with it. You’d better do it, Doris.”

  At least someone was on Morgan’s side, even if it was cranky Ernie.

  “Our town needs this food pantry,” Slater said, his tone surprisingly non-defensive. “I’m one hundred percent committed to seeing it through.” He sounded passionate about it, but that didn’t change anything. Charm and commitment were two very different things.

  The town did need the pantry. Desperately so. If Morgan and her mom’d had access to a food bank, her childhood may have been radically different. Morgan was committed to getting it operational, too, but not by working alongside the guy who’d ruined her life. Slater Hensley was an A-1 joker who couldn’t be trusted with anything of consequence. Hopefully, Mrs. Becker would rethink her decision.

  “Slater will be perfect,” Mrs. Becker said, completely ignoring the only two protests.

  Before Morgan could utter another word, the woman gave details for the next meeting and dismissed the committee.

  As everyone gathered their things and moved toward the door, Slater made a beeline for Morgan. Latent anger boiled up from her core, kicking her pulse into overdrive. Franticly, she stuffed her things into her bag.

  “Hey,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

  Was he really going to act casual and chummy? “Not long enough,” she said through clenched teeth. She shoved the last of her papers into a blue file folder, crammed it into her bag, and
retrieved her coat from the back of the chair.

  “Morgan, listen…” He stepped closer, invading her personal bubble.

  She snapped her attention to his face and jabbed an index finger in his direction. “You listen. This is not happening. I will not work with you. I don’t know what kind of scheme or prank you’re dreaming up, but you’re not doing it here. This is my job we’re talking about, not to mention a social service the people of Ross desperately need, and I will not allow you to make light of it or sabotage it in any way.”

  She was mildly aware of the other committee members who’d remained in the room, but she was too flustered to care what they thought of her outburst. Stepping around Slater, she headed for the door.

  He trailed after her. “I don’t want to jeopardize this project. I’m not a dumb high school kid anymore. Will you just stop for one second?”

  His words found no footing with her. She exited the conference room and turned left, marching toward the main foyer.

  “I’ve wanted to apologize to you for a long time,” he continued, his voice coming at her from behind.

  Slater Hensley, apologize? Like she believed that. He wasn’t sincere, but even if he were, it was too late. If he’d truly wanted to get in touch with her, he could’ve done so with no trouble at all. At any time in the last decade. His empty declarations didn’t even dignify a response.

  “Give me a chance to show you how sorry I am. Let me make it up to you.” His fingertips brushed her elbow. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant to reach for her or not, but she yanked away.

  “You can’t make it up to me, Slater.” Her words came out as forcefully as she’d intended. Good. He needed to know she wasn’t playing around. She pushed through the first set of doors into the vestibule and immediately felt the mid-January cold seeping through the wall of windows. Juggling her tote from one arm to the other, she wrestled into her red wool coat as she walked. No way she was about to slow her pace. Not with him trying to pounce on her. She reached the exit and leaned into the door to push it open.

  The freezing wind hit her immediately, blowing her hair in all directions. She pulled her coat tightly around her and ducked as deeply into the collar as she could manage, all while blazing a path across the parking lot to her car. She hit the unlock button on her key fob when she was still yards away from the safe haven of her Ford Escape.

  How fitting. Escape was exactly what she wanted to do.

  2

  Slater watched Morgan sprint across the parking lot with the speed of an aspiring Olympian.

  He’d had no idea she would be the representative from the State Food Bank. Her presence, and her still-seething anger at him, had caught him off guard, and he’d lost all concentration in the meeting. Seeing her again had sparked something in him. She was even more beautiful than she’d been in high school. So different from everyone else in Ross, in the very best way. Slater had always admired her for her courage to be herself. It was why he’d pulled so many dumb pranks on her—any excuse to get near her.

  She reached the blue SUV and climbed inside, then slammed the door as though she were shutting herself into a steel safe-room.

  In his haste, Slater had forgotten his coat in the meeting room. The frigid wind sliced through him, but the guilt he’d been ignoring for ten years now simmered hot in his chest. He’d never intended for the prank to go sideways and ruin her plans. But like his father always used to say, “Actions count. Intentions don’t. You may have a heart of gold, but so does a hard-boiled egg.”

  The thought of his father brought a stab of grief. Slater missed him. If he were here, what would he say about Morgan? About Slater’s foolish antics?

  Slater didn’t have to deliberate too long on that question.

  Make it right.

  Slater wanted to, but Morgan had made her position clear. She wanted nothing to do with him. Still, he had to try. If she’d just hear him out, maybe she’d forgive him.

  The Escape’s engine fired up, and she threw the car into reverse, and whipped out of her parking space.

  And right into Ernie Hankins.

  The man shouted an obscenity as he struck the car’s back window with his fist. Morgan slammed on the brakes, but not before Ernie did a slow-motion tumble to the pavement.

  Slater jogged over to help, and by the time he got there, Morgan had gotten out of the car and was leaning over Ernie with panic-filled eyes. She half whispered, half cried. “I’m so sorry, Ernie. I didn’t see you. Let me help you up.”

  Morgan offered her hand, but Ernie shoved it away. “Don’t touch me. You’ve done enough.”

  Her face fell even more. Slater felt for her. He grabbed Ernie’s hand and helped him to his feet. When he was upright, Slater kept a hand on his shoulder to make sure he was steady. As far as Slater could tell, he was perfectly fine. In fact, it was quite possible that the only part of the old grouch that had actually made contact with the car was his fist. But a fall was always unnerving, especially for an older man.

  “You almost killed me,” Ernie grumbled, shaking a thick finger at Morgan. “Other people are in this parking lot, too, young lady. I swear, your generation is so self-absorbed, they expect everyone else to cater to them. You ever heard of a rearview mirror? You ought to be using it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “Are you hurt?”

  “I could’ve been,” the man snapped. “If I hadn’t slapped your window when I did, you would’ve flattened me like a pancake.” He shook his head and continued a mumbled diatribe about the downfalls of young people today.

  She reached out to him. “Please forgive me, Ernie. I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.”

  “You’d better be. I hope you do your job better than you drive, or this food pantry project will be in a world of hurt. The people of Ross will starve to death.”

  Slater bit back a bark of laughter. Now it was clear the old grump was just being melodramatic. “It was an accident, Ernie. She wasn’t aiming for you. And she’ll do a great job on the food pantry project. Let’s give her a chance.”

  Ernie huffed about a few more things before finally shuffling off to his car.

  Morgan wrapped her arms around her middle as she watched him go, her forehead creased with worry.

  “You should take that dressing-down with a grain of salt,” Slater said. “This is grouchy Ernie we’re dealing with. Remember all the stories about him? He’s been known to complain about everything from the church’s climate control settings to the Christmas pageant to the barstool height at the ice cream parlor.”

  “If I’d actually injured him, I’d never forgive myself.”

  Then she’d know how Slater felt. He took the opening. “Speaking of forgiveness…”

  She tore her gaze away from Ernie and leveled Slater with a glare.

  He conjured up an overly innocent smile and flashed it at her.

  “Totally different situation,” she said. “Apples and oranges. I didn’t mean to run over Ernie. But you definitely meant to ruin my life. It was a pre-meditated life-ruin.” She walked back to her car’s open door.

  “But it wasn’t, I swear.” Slater followed her. “I never meant to mess your life up. How can I prove to you I’m sorry?” He reached for her door to keep her from shutting him out. “What can I do to make you forgive me?”

  “Nothing. Move.” She pulled at the door, but he held it.

  It shouldn’t have mattered so much. It was in the past, and he should’ve left it there. But something about her—the vulnerability behind her eyes—combined with his long-held guilt made him push forward. “What if I do some good deeds? Then will you believe I’m a decent human being?”

  She stared ahead like she hadn’t even heard him.

  He barreled ahead. “Five ought to do it. I’ll do five good things and prove what a great guy I’ve turned out to be.” He was mostly kidding. Knew how ridiculous it sounded, but he was desperate to keep the conversation going.

  She ro
lled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. That’s not how life works. Decent humans don’t have to prove they’re decent. They just are. And even if it did work that way, it’d take way more than five good things. Serial killers have probably done five good things, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re, you know, serial killers.”

  “Fine. Will ten get me above serial killers?”

  “No.”

  “Fifteen?”

  “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe you’re seriously talking about this. Why do you even care?”

  “I told you. I want to make things right.”

  Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t say anything. Was she softening?

  “Twenty then. I can do that many in my sleep.” The joke fell flat.

  Silence.

  “Twenty-five. I’ll do twenty-five good things, and then you”—he pointed to her—“forgive me.” He pointed to himself and kept his winsome smile in place.

  “If I say I forgive you, can we forget this whole thing?” She tried to shoo him away, but he didn’t budge. “Fine, I forgive you.”

  “No, because you don’t mean it.” He sobered. Wanted her to know he was sincere. “I want real, actual forgiveness. The kind where you don’t hate my guts and want to run the other way every time you see me.”

  Morgan closed her eyes and sighed. “So you do twenty-five good deeds, and then you’ll leave me alone?”

  “I do twenty-five good deeds, you forgive me, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  She tossed her head back against the headrest. He had her. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

  He couldn’t, either, but he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. “How about we meet in two weeks at the coffee shop? We can go over the next step in the food pantry project and talk about all the awesome good deeds I’ve done.”

  “Fine.” Her voice was dull with defeat.

  Slater’s fingers and toes were half numb, and his face was burning from the cold, but he hardly cared. He was finally going to get a chance to make the worst wrong of his life right again.