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

by Lacy Williams, Julie Jarnagin, Robin Patchen

  When she got to the kitchen doorway, it was clear that someone had embarked on a massive baking spree. Mixing bowls, packages of flour and sugar, and all manner of other ingredients littered the counter. Two racks of cookies cooled atop the counter on the other side of the sink. Slater was nowhere in sight, but Bonnie sat at the table with her back to Morgan. Was she sniffling?

  Morgan padded in and saw that Bonnie held a photograph of herself and her late husband. She startled when Morgan pulled out the chair beside her. She quickly laid the picture down, swiping a finger beneath one eye and then the other. “Well aren’t you just quiet as a church mouse. Did you sleep well?” Her voice was overly cheery.

  Morgan nodded, not sure what else to say.

  “Now quit lookin’ at me like I’m fragile.” Bonnie gave a dismissive wave and a grin, and then picked the photo back up and held it toward Morgan. Love and loss mingled in her eyes as she kept her gaze fixed on the man in the picture. “This day is always hard for me. We spent thirty-two Valentine’s Days together, and he always went out of his way to make it special. I just miss him extra hard on February fourteenth.”

  Valentine’s Day. Morgan had completely forgotten. “After thirty-two years, I can only imagine.” She glanced at the mayhem on the counters and attempted to lighten the mood. “Did he really like cookies, or does baking make you feel better?”

  Bonnie smiled. “Oh, he loved cookies, but what I’m baking them for is what really makes me feel better. The Ross Valentine Extravaganza is tonight, and it is good for my soul.”

  Morgan detested Valentine’s Day. With no reason to celebrate, it just felt oppressive. She couldn’t imagine how a party, especially one in Ross, could make anyone feel better. “Extravaganza, huh? Won’t the icy roads keep people away?” They wouldn’t keep her stuck in Ross, but how committed would folks be to attending a party?

  Bonnie gave a dismissive wave. “Heavens, no. It’s already warming up out there. The roads will be passable by lunchtime, and most people around here won’t let a pesky bit of weather keep them home. I’m telling you, you’ve never seen anything like this party. All the widows and widowers in town are invited to be the special guests of honor, and everyone else pitches in to help. It is such fun!” Bonnie’s eyes widened as though she’d just had the most brilliant idea. “You should come!”

  “I don’t know.” Except she did know. There was no way she was crashing a party in Ross—a Valentine party, no less.

  “You have to. I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, it’ll take hours for Slater and his boys to clear the tree out of the driveway, so I’ll need some extra help to finish all my baking.” She reached over and clasped Morgan’s wrist. “Save yourself the trouble and go ahead and say yes. I’ll wear you down eventually anyway.” Laughter sparkled in Bonnie’s eyes.

  If this was what it was like to have a family, Morgan wasn’t about to refuse. “You win.”

  “That a girl.” Bonnie released her wrist and turned the photograph over on the table. “Baking is my creative outlet. Sort of like your art, I guess. Do you paint or draw or…?”

  “I sketch some, but I love to paint. Oils, acrylics, mixed media… I’m not as good with watercolor, but I enjoy it all.” Since she hadn’t created a single piece of work in ages, any answer in the present tense felt like a lie. But the landscape that had inspired her yesterday revisited her imagination now, and she was determined to bring it to life on canvas as soon as she returned home.

  “How wonderful. I’d love to see your work sometime.” Bonnie snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot. I washed your clothes. They’re hanging up in the laundry room.”

  Warmth seeped into Morgan’s cheeks. Her suspicions about Slater scheming against her felt silly now. And she was genuinely moved that Bonnie would do something so thoughtful. Morgan’s own mother had never cared for her in practical ways like that. Gratitude formed a lump in the back of her throat.

  Bonnie’s eyes went wide. “I hope that’s okay. Did I overstep? Slater’s always getting onto me for—”

  “No, no,” Morgan assured her. Suddenly, she couldn’t imagine anywhere she’d rather be than in this kitchen with this woman. What would it be like to bake alongside a mother? Okay, so it wasn’t her own mother, but maybe that didn’t matter so much. To feel at home, to be surrounded by the love she sensed in this house—the hope of it was too heady to resist. “That was so kind of you. I really appreciate it.”

  “Good.” Bonnie reached across the table and gave her hand another pat. “It was my pleasure. Kinda nice to wash something besides stinky ranch clothes for a change.” A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Now, we better get after those cookies.”

  8

  Later that evening, Morgan stood at the back of the gym-turned-banquet-hall at the Ross Community Center in awe of the party the town had organized. Slater and the weathermen had been right—the sun had broken through to melt the ice on the roads enough to make them slushy, but passable. Slater and his crew had gotten the driveway at the ranch cleared by early afternoon, just in time for him, Bonnie, and Morgan to make it into town and help with set-up.

  Throughout the day, Morgan had questioned her decision to stay for the party, but by the time the baking was finished, she was having so much fun with Bonnie that she didn’t want to be anywhere else. And even though Morgan hated Valentine’s Day with a white-hot passion, this was a party she could get behind. Besides, the cost of admission was canned goods to help stock the food pantry that was scheduled to open next month, so it only made sense for her to attend.

  With so many people expected to be there, Morgan might have a chance to ask around about RancherJack. He’d sent her a message of apology after their bust of a date at the Coffee Bar—a work emergency, he’d said—and she’d accepted, but she’d stopped short of suggesting they reschedule. They hadn’t had any contact since, but maybe she should reach out to him and try again. The reunion girls were bound to ask for a dating progress report at the next meeting, and Morgan wanted it to seem like she’d at least tried, even though the idea of getting to know this mystery man held zero appeal at the moment.

  A picture of Slater, relaxed and cozy on his couch last night, filled Morgan’s mind. The dreamy look in his eyes when he’d talked about being a rancher. The consuming love he had for his family. The sacrifice he’d made to care for them.

  Taking a guy like that to the reunion? That held significantly greater appeal.

  Okay, now she’d lost it. No way was she actually considering spending more time with her archrival. RancherJack was her only option.

  The Community Center’s gym bustled with activity as partygoers streamed in. The distinguished guests of honor—widows and widowers of Ross—had been picked up at their homes and chauffeured to the party, where dozens of volunteers served as cooks, wait staff, and other personnel. Upon arrival, the guests were introduced like celebrities and entered the gymnasium on a red carpet banked with cheering townspeople.

  Each place at the banquet table had a photo of the guest’s late spouse mounted on a cardstock heart. The number of years they were married was written in a scrolled font along the bottom. Most of the people seated at the table were older, but there were a handful of women Morgan guessed to be in their thirties and forties, and one man who couldn’t have been more than twenty-eight, same as her.

  Just looking at the people around that table made Morgan’s heart ache. She knew a little of Bonnie’s story, but she wished she could sit down with each of these precious souls to hear theirs. What kind of tragedy had they each walked through? What heartbreak? The thought jarred her. Suddenly the things she’d faced didn’t seem so tragic.

  A woman in a tailored red blazer stood at the front of the room and spoke into a handheld microphone, welcoming everyone to the party. She gave the details for the evening: There would be a three-course meal, karaoke and games, a photo booth with props, and door prizes. But first, she explained, a few of their guests of honor
would be sharing their own special Valentine stories.

  She turned the mic over to an adorably round man with one small tuft of silver hair atop his otherwise bald head. He stood and spoke from his place at the table. "Most of you know me, but for those who don't, I'm Wilson." He grabbed the heart card in front of his place setting and gazed at it lovingly before holding it up for the others to see. "This was my Lena. Isn't she beautiful? Our love began as a whirlwind. I knew I loved her the first time I laid eyes on her when I was just nineteen years old. I had fifteen days before I was to ship out for my first tour of duty, and somehow in those two weeks, I managed to convince her to marry me. We said ‘I do’ the day before I boarded the bus and rolled out of Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. I still don't know why she agreed to that."

  "Temporary insanity?" someone called from the other end of the table. The room erupted with laughter, and the man chuckled. "That's the truth. Lucky for me, she was crazy enough to stick around for the next sixty-one years. We had a beautiful life together." His eyes brimmed with love. "We weathered some tough storms…lost two babies, buried our son far too soon, and fought the cancer monster with all our might. But we did it all together. Love always brought us through the darkness." His voice cracked.

  Morgan blinked back her own tears.

  "Lena was one of the greatest gifts of my lifetime, and I'll be eternally grateful. It's my hope and prayer that each and every person in this room would find such a gift. Thank you for letting me honor her tonight. Happy Valentine's Day."

  Morgan applauded along with everyone else in the room. What a precious tribute. How she longed to find a love like that.

  The hostess handed the mic to a petite woman across the table from Wilson. She shared a similar story of love and loss, and Morgan managed to hold it together until the woman described her husband's last moments on earth. How she curled up next to him and sang him into the arms of Jesus as he took his final breath, saying it was the most sacred moment of her life.

  Hot tears pooled in Morgan's eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She swiped at them, but it didn't do much good. These people were wrecking her.

  She stole away into the kitchen to try and regain her composure. Luckily, everyone was in the banquet hall, so the room was empty. She grabbed a pink napkin from the stack of spares on the counter and dried her eyes.

  "You okay?" Slater peeked around the edge of the door.

  Apparently, she hadn’t been as stealthy as she’d thought. "Fine. Those stories just got the waterworks going." She was embarrassed at the depth of emotion it had tapped.

  "Oh, good.” He stepped into the kitchen and let the door close behind him. “I thought maybe you saw Mabel Groves pinch my butt and got jealous."

  Morgan bit back a grin. “She did not.”

  “You think I’d joke about a ninety-two year old woman touching my backside? She did it, and I’m pretty sure she liked it. That one's definitely going in the binder." He grabbed a marker from the dry erase board mounted on the wall and wrote “butt pinch” on a red napkin. After folding it in half, he stuffed it in his back pocket. “So I don’t forget.”

  He placed the marker back in its place and strode across the room, where he leaned against the stainless-steel counter, mere inches from Morgan. “Those people out there are pretty amazing, huh?" His expression was serious now.

  “They really are. How long has Ross been throwing this party?"

  "This is the eighth year." He answered without any hesitation. He didn't even have to think about it?

  He must've read her quizzical look. "We started the year after my dad passed away."

  There was more that he wasn't saying. After he’d glossed over his selflessness in the information he’d shared with her last night, she wondered if he might be doing the same now. "Do you mean you started it that year?"

  He lifted a shoulder. "It wasn’t much, but it was all I could think of to help my mom through her first Valentine’s Day without Dad.” His eyes shone with sincerity. This wasn't the same old mocking demeanor she'd come to expect. “Valentine’s Day was always a big deal for them. Every year, he’d get her something special and cook her a big dinner and they’d go through photo albums from all their years together, beginning with their wedding. I couldn’t let my mom spend her first Valentine’s Day with her head buried under the covers, so we invited some others who were in the same boat out to the ranch and tried to have some fun for a few hours. They instantly bonded with each other.”

  Morgan’s admiration for this man grew exponentially. “Shared grief has a way of connecting people, I guess.”

  Slater looked toward the ceiling for a moment, and Morgan could tell he was miles away. Finally, he dragged his gaze back to her. “Anyway, they all enjoyed the party, and it turned into an annual thing. After the first few years, it took on a life of its own and grew to the monstrosity you see tonight. Kinda crazy, but it's actually become one of my favorite things."

  "Seems like it's one of everyone's favorite things." Morgan could give credit where it was due. "And for good reason. It's amazing. Take it from a girl who detests Valentine's Day with every fiber of her being."

  "You too?"

  "It's just an overdone commercial holiday exploited by big corporations to make a bunch of money. I don't need them to tell me when or how to express my love, or make me feel like I’m somehow less-than because I’m single.”

  He dipped his chin and chuckled. "Wow, you’re pretty lathered up over this."

  “It's a dumb holiday, and I don’t want any part of it.” She glanced at all the red and pink surrounding her. “Well, at least not until today.”

  “Have a bad experience?” Humor danced in his eyes. “Did some yahoo dump you on Valentine’s Day or something?”

  “No.” She was simply tired of sitting at home alone every year while the rest of the world celebrated being loved, but she wasn’t about to say that out loud. “I just don’t like it, that’s all.”

  He made that grunting sound men often used when they didn’t understand the words a woman was saying. “No man with any brains in his head would let you get away anyhow.”

  The compliment shocked her. Did he mean it, or was it just macho flattery?

  Their gazes locked, and as she lost herself in his dark chocolate eyes, a realization struck her. The piece of her heart labeled “Slater Hensley,” which had been frozen solid for years, was rapidly thawing.

  Slater stepped closer. Lifted his hand like he was going to touch her, but then he thought better of it and stuck it in his pocket. "I'm really glad you stayed."

  Her stomach fluttered and surprisingly, she ached for the caress he'd withheld. "Me, too."

  His grin was lazy, his gaze intimate.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think he wanted to kiss her. What would that be like? She flicked a glance at his lips.

  He inched closer. Dipped his chin. “Happy dumb Valentine's Day, Morgs." His deep voice and woodsy scent engulfed her like a fog rolling in ahead of a storm.

  “Happy dumb Valentine's Day to you, too." She attempted to sound light-hearted, but her voice came out breathy. She lifted her face to his and slowly, the space between them narrowed. The quick, rhythmic beating of her heart pounded in her ears.

  Suddenly, the kitchen door banged open. Morgan startled and turned away, crossing her arms over her middle. Party staff poured into the room, and someone pulled Slater toward the banquet hall. Their eyes found each other once more, and he winked at her just before he pushed through the door.

  Morgan tried to calm her racing heart while she helped with the food prep, busying herself by filling little dessert plates with slices of red velvet cake. Her hands were occupied, but her mind remained fixed on the moment she and Slater had just shared. She didn’t want to like it, but her pulse had apparently missed the memo. This was Slater Hensley she was dealing with. She hated him, for goodness’ sake. He’d ruined her life!

  Maybe it’s time to stop thinking of him tha
t way.

  The thought was the tiniest of whispers in her heart. So quiet she almost didn’t hear it.

  Anger over what he’d done had been ingrained in her for so long, she didn't know if it could ever be fully extracted. Forgiveness was a nice notion—simple and noble until it required something of her, instead of someone else.

  Was it possible to forgive him?

  And if she could, would she ever be able to trust him?

  9

  The first weekend of March was blessedly warm, a hint that the promise of spring was just around the corner. Slater glanced past the Community Center roof to the vivid blue sky dotted with white cotton clouds.

  “We couldn’t have asked for a better day for the Grand Opening,” Mom said as she climbed out of Slater’s pick-up.

  She was right, it was a nearly perfect day, marred only by the breeze. He was glad the weather had cooperated for the food pantry opening, but admittedly, he was more excited about what was on his schedule when the event was over.

  Morgan had agreed to have dinner with him tonight.

  He planned to do two things: tell her the truth about the dating website and go over his now complete binder of good deeds, thereby officially putting his past mistakes to rest. In the two weeks since he’d almost kissed her at the Valentine’s party, he and Morgan had spoken often, and he knew without a doubt they’d turned a corner. But he’d chickened out of telling her the truth about his online dating profile. Again. And every day for the next two weeks. Even though she hadn’t messaged him again since accepting his apology for the coffee shop date, she deserved complete honesty, so he’d do it tonight. No more cowardice.

  As for redemption over the prank he’d pulled ten years ago, it seemed she’d finally moved past it, and he was thrilled. But silly as the binder was, he needed to know she truly forgave him. Needed to hear her speak the words. He couldn’t live with the haunting guilt anymore and didn’t want to deal with it ever again.