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

by Lacy Williams, Julie Jarnagin, Robin Patchen

  This is my 30th book. If this is your first taste of my work, I’d invite you to try out KISSED BY A COWBOY or ONCE UPON A COWBOY, two free first-in-series.

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  Thanks for reading!

  Connect with me online:

  @lacy_williams

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  Also by Lacy Williams

  Triple H Brides series (contemporary romance)

  Kissing Kelsey

  Courting Carrie

  Stealing Sarah

  Keeping Kayla

  Catching Cate

  Melting Megan

  Cowboy Fairytales series (contemporary romance)

  Once Upon a Cowboy

  Cowboy Charming

  The Toad Prince

  The Beastly Princess

  The Lost Princess

  Heart of Oklahoma series (contemporary romance)

  Kissed by a Cowboy

  Love Letters from Cowboy

  Mistletoe Cowboy

  Cowgirl for Keeps

  Jingle Bell Cowgirl

  Heart of a Cowgirl

  3 Days with a Cowboy

  Prodigal Cowgirl

  Wyoming Legacy series (historical romance)

  The Homesteader’s Sweetheart

  Courted by a Cowboy

  Roping the Wrangler

  Return of the Cowboy Doctor

  The Wrangler’s Inconvenient Wife

  A Cowboy for Christmas

  Her Convenient Cowboy

  Her Cowboy Deputy

  Not in a Series

  How to Lose a Guy in 10 Dates

  Santa Next Door

  The Butterfly Bride

  Secondhand Cowboy

  Wagon Train Sweetheart (historical romance)

  Marrying Miss Marshal (historical romance)

  Counterfeit Cowboy (historical romance)

  A Package Deal by Robin Patchen

  1

  A thousand packages, a thousand destinations, a thousand places Josephine Domani would never see. She smiled at the woman across the counter. "It should be there by Wednesday. Will that work?"

  The customer, a frazzled mother fighting to keep her twins from climbing the card rack by the window, nodded. "Wednesday's fine. Cody, stop that!"

  The little boy shot his mother a who, me? look while the other boy darted across the lobby of the UPS store and hid behind an oversize box.

  Jo stifled a laugh while she rang up the transaction.

  The woman managed to grab her receipt, corral the boys, and shuffle them out the door, nodding her thanks to the man who held it open for them.

  Oh, it was that man, the one with the dark hair, the trimmed beard, and the sky-blue eyes. Every week or so, he came in carrying the oddest assortment of boxes addressed to the oddest collection of places. He crossed the lobby and set a large box on her scale.

  "Hey there," she said. "What's inside today?"

  "Same as always. A mold."

  She typed the information into the system, then read the address he'd scrawled on the top of the box. It was going to Shanghai.

  Another place she'd never see.

  She ensured he'd filled out his customs form correctly, then entered the information into her system. "Is Friday all right?"

  "Perfect."

  She nodded toward the sticker as she adhered it to the box. "Have you been there?"

  He smiled. "Had to go to get the measurements for the mold."

  "What was it like?"

  "Crowded." He shrugged. "Loud. Busy."

  "I bet you stood out."

  His eyebrows lifted over those beautiful eyes, and heat crept into her cheeks. "Because you're so tall. And those blue eyes..." Holy babbling brook, shut up! "Maybe that's a stereotype, though. What do I know? I've barely left Oklahoma." Her face burned all the way to her hairline.

  "No, you're right." His smile was somehow both kind and amused. "I did stick out. The owner of the plant was a big fan of Hollywood. Kept calling me James Bond."

  She giggled, then forced her mouth shut. So professional. Sheesh. And anyway, this guy was way more handsome than the latest 007. She pushed the thought away, finished the transaction, then handed him his credit card and receipt. "Have a nice evening."

  He lingered until a customer behind him cleared her throat, then he said, "You, too," and turned to go.

  Jo watched until he reached the door, where she noticed her mother, Lila Domani, standing right inside. Mom smiled at the man, then eyed Jo with that telltale sparkle in her eyes.

  Jo kept the groan to herself and helped the next customer.

  When the store had emptied and Andrew, Jo's only employee, had flipped the sign to Closed and headed to the back to sort packages, Mom stepped to the counter. "Busy day?"

  "Busy few minutes anyway."

  Mom turned toward the door, then turned back, fanning herself despite the November chill seeping in through the old windows. "That man. Ooh-eee, what a looker." Her Louisiana accent was especially pronounced when she got excited. Her words were dripping with it right now. "And he seemed quite taken with you."

  "He's just a customer."

  "Don't tell me you didn't notice."

  As if anybody could have missed the guy. He looked like the blue-collar equivalent of GQ. "Do you need something?"

  "I do." She hoisted her giant yellow purse onto the counter, slipped out her laptop, and opened it. "I was looking over that dating site, the one you supposedly joined."

  "I joined. I said I would, didn't I? And anyway, what are you doing on a dating site?"

  Mom unwound her red wool scarf and brushed her silver hair behind her ears. "Maybe I was thinking of joining too."

  "Were you? Oh, Mom, you should. It's been five years since Daddy died."

  "As I'm well aware." Mom navigated to a website. She shifted the screen for Jo to see. "As far as I can tell, this is you. It says Josephine Domani."

  Jo crossed her arms. "What's wrong with my profile?"

  "Where's your photograph?"

  Jo lifted her hair as if to push it away from her face—a nervous habit that should've fallen away when her hair had. The short strands slipped through her fingers, and she dropped her arm to her side. "I decided to skip—"

  "You promised your friends you'd join a dating site."

  "I did." She pointed to the screen.

  "Without a picture you'll never get a single date. No picture, and all the men will think you have a big wart on your nose."

  Whatever. Who wanted to date a man that shallow, anyway?

  "Having a photograph increases your shot of finding a date by eighty-three percent."

  "You made that up."

  "And your chances of getting married by ninety-seven percent."

  "Did you pull those numbers out of your hat?"

  "I'm not wearing a hat, darlin'."

  Online dating. The idea had sounded fun back in August when she and her friends had agreed to it. And Angela's escapades earlier that fall had been hilarious, though she'd never tell her friend that. But Angela'd dealt with a lot of rejection, and Jo couldn't handle that. She was barely holding it together as it was.

  She circled the counter. "We're closing. I'll take you to dinner, if you promise not to talk about this anymore."

  "I'm not sure I can promise that."

  Jo stepped behind the computer and tried to pretend the conversation didn't matter. "Suit yourself."

  Mother slipped the laptop back into the bag, then hefted it over her shoulder. "I have a number of lovely photographs we can use." She tapped the side of her bag. "I brought 'em with me. I thought—"

  "G'night, Mom." Jo escaped to her office and shut the door. She hated to be rude, and she'd love to eat dinner with her mother, but not if it meant enduring another lecture about getting on with her lif
e.

  What did Mom think Jo was doing here, anyway? She'd bought a franchise. She owned her own business. Now, she just had to figure out how to make money. She'd been in business less than a year. It took time to turn a profit. Christmas season was creeping up, and more locals would stop in, if for no other reason than to avoid the lines at the post office. But she'd need to attract more local businesses. Otherwise, she'd have to dip into the dwindling trust fund her father'd left for her to pay the bills this year. There was only so much left.

  So the future looked not grand, perhaps, but not bleak. Not like her past.

  Her mother kept telling her she had to put the past behind her.

  She ran her fingers over her short hair. Every time she saw her reflection in the mirror, the past stared her down like an outlaw in a bad western, daring her to draw.

  She tried that once, hadn't she? Tried living her dreams, and life had smacked her down hard for the effort. She was a small-town girl, and any dreams to the contrary had burned away with each drip of the IV, leaving her with nothing but aching emptiness and new dreams that would never be realized. A man to share her adventures with, children to raise and love. Funny how she hadn't considered that last dream until its possibility was snatched from her grasp.

  After she finished closing for the night, she turned to the giant map she'd hung on the office wall. She searched the image of China while she thought about the man who'd visited there, the way his icy blue eyes had danced in amusement. A man like that… She ran her fingers through her short hair and remembered why there'd never be a man like that in her life.

  She grabbed a thumbtack and stuck it in the word Shanghai. One more dream she'd never realize.

  2

  Carter James parked his pickup in the driveway of his parents' sprawling ranch and jogged to the foot of the steps, barely reaching the bottom before the door burst open with a squeal and a shout of "Daddy's here!"

  Sara launched herself off the porch and into his arms.

  He caught her easily but staggered backwards. "Oomph. You're getting so big, I can hardly carry you anymore."

  "Silly Daddy." She placed both hands on his cheeks. "Did you have a good day?"

  "I had a terrible day. All day long, I looked for my favorite girl around every corner, but she wasn't there."

  "What does she look like?" Sara asked. "Maybe I can help you find her."

  Carter leaned back from his daughter, studied her pert little face, and said, "She has brown curly hair and beautiful blue eyes and the prettiest smile in Oklahoma."

  Sara shook her head solemnly. "I've never seen anybody matching that description."

  Matching that description? Carter's mother had been watching too many detective shows. He feigned shock at his daughter's words. "Never? Not even...in the mirror?"

  "Never."

  He couldn't help himself. He tickled her belly until she squealed, and they both roared with laughter.

  The screen door squeaked open. "This is why we have to live in the country."

  Carter's father stood in the doorway, a silly smile on his face.

  Sara had that effect on people, at least most people.

  Her own mother'd been immune.

  "We making too much noise, Pop?"

  "Nah. Cattle don't mind. You coming in?"

  Carter threw his five-year-old over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried her up the stairs and into the farmhouse. Country life agreed with his parents. Since Carter and Sara had relocated to Ross, he'd realized how much it agreed with Sara too. He was the holdout. Not that he didn't love the wide open spaces, the fresh air, the laid-back lifestyle. But life had to be more than work and parents and a child. Back in the city, he'd had friends, even if he hadn't found a companion to share his life with. Here, even surrounded by his family, he was lonely.

  He had to find a way to rectify that, to make Ross, Oklahoma, feel like home. Because this was a good life for his daughter. They both needed to be close to his parents. Sara especially needed them, since he traveled so much. He had to find a way to make a life here.

  His mother rounded the corner from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "I have chicken frying."

  "Mom, you don't have to feed us."

  "Oh, pshaw," she said. "I don't mind a bit."

  Sara squirmed. He set her down and watched her take off to the living room where a cartoon was playing on TV. He followed his parents and the unmistakable scent of frying chicken into the kitchen and sat at the round table beside his father, who immediately snatched up the newspaper.

  "You don't have to feed us every night, Mom." He spoke over the sizzle of the oil, which popped a symphony of delicious sounds. "I am capable of cooking dinner. Remember, I managed for four years before we moved here."

  "Hush up, son." Pop glared at him over his reading glasses. "If y'all don't stay, she feeds me canned soup."

  "It's too much trouble cooking for two," Mom said.

  Pop lifted his eyebrows as if he'd made an important point.

  Carter didn't mind not having to cook when he got home. Frankly, he felt guilty for feeding his daughter the way he did most of the time—hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese sandwiches. Every meal came with cut-up vegetables, the kind in those little plastic bags they sold at the grocery store. Never cooked vegetables, though. Sara turned her nose up at those. The fresh ones were healthier anyway. And who had time to introduce her to mahimahi and sushi, like some parents he'd known in the city did with their kids?

  Mom set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and called out, "Dinner's ready, Sara. Go wash your hands."

  Carter helped his mother set out the rest of the food, then settled Sara in her seat. She helped herself to a piece of chicken and a small spoonful of mashed potatoes. He added a serving of green beans.

  She gave him a please-no look, but he ignored it. "Gravy?"

  "All over everything," she said.

  He dribbled gravy on her plate, then served himself. His father said grace, and they dug in.

  "So Sara, did you do your homework?"

  "Daddy, I'm in kindergarten."

  "So, you're probably learning algebra, right?"

  She rolled her eyes, and the tiny movement stabbed him. On Sunday, the pastor had talked about the golden years of parenting. "Between two and five. That's when you're a superhero. After that, it all goes downhill." Was Carter falling off the superhero perch so soon? How could she be in kindergarten already, when it seemed only yesterday she'd been a baby girl, staring up with those innocent blue eyes, crying for her mother?

  How did you tell a baby her mother was gone?

  Her voice pulled him away from the dark memories as she recounted her day at school. He listened and ate, thankful she didn't expect him to respond too often.

  She finished her green beans and set her fork down. "Daddy?"

  "Yeah, punkin?"

  "If you're finished with your chicken, we made a surprise for you."

  He'd been considering a third piece, but he'd better leave room for the surprise. "I'm all finished."

  Sara helped Mom clear the table. She put the leftover chicken in a plastic bag, then covered the gravy dish with a lid. She put them both in the fridge, then dumped the leftover green beans in the trash.

  She caught him watching her as she scraped out the last stubborn bean, and her eyes widened like she might get in trouble for wasting food. Then she winked at him.

  His five-year-old winked at him, and it was the best moment of his day. Long as she saved all her winks for him.

  She grabbed a pan off the counter, set it in the middle of the table, and removed the foil with a flourish. "Chocolate cake!"

  He gasped. "My favorite."

  Hmm, fried chicken and chocolate cake? What was going on here? His father looked distracted, as usual. So whatever this was, it was Mom's deal. She'd tell him eventually. Until then, he'd enjoy the treat. He'd probably pay for it during the talk that was surely to come.
>
  They dug in while Sara told him and Pop how she'd helped. "First I measured out the flour and the sugar." She looked at Pop, who was focused on his cake. "Gramps, are you listening?"

  Pop nodded. "Go on."

  She told them every step of the process. Smart and beautiful, just like her mother.

  But she wouldn't have the daddy issues her mother'd had. Nope, because Carter would be there for her. Always, and nobody would come between them. Mommy issues, though—he didn't know what to do about that. Maybe his mother's influence would fill that void.

  After the cake, he stood and took their plates to the sink, rinsed them, and slid them into the dishwasher. "You ready, punkin? We better get out of Grammy and Gramps's hair."

  "Actually," Mom said, "why don't you run upstairs and play with your dolls for a minute. I want to talk to your father."

  "Okay." Sara bolted up the stairs, her little feet pattering like a kitten stampede.

  Carter took a deep breath and turned to his mother, but she'd disappeared. She returned a moment later with her laptop.

  "I've been thinking—"

  "I've got some work in the shop." Pop slipped out the back door.

  If only Carter had an excuse to follow. Whatever his mother was about to say, he could already tell he wasn't going to like it. "Look, I know it's been hard on you, watching Sara every afternoon. Do you want me to enroll her in one of those after school programs?"

  "Pshaw. It's a couple of hours a day. I'd miss her if she weren't here."

  "So...?" He squared his shoulders for the firing squad.

  "You need more in your life than your parents and your daughter."

  "Not this again." She started to argue, but he lifted his hand to stop her. "I'm trying, okay? I joined a small group at church. And next week, I'm going to this prayer breakfast thing they have. I'm getting out. I'm meeting people. It takes time."

  "Carter, sweetie, you need to start dating."

  He blew out a long breath while the image of the woman from the UPS store filled his mind. If only he could work up the nerve to ask her out. But she was probably taken. Or hated kids. And anyway, he wasn't up for another rejection. The only two women in the world who hadn't rejected him were in the house at that moment. "Mother, I would love to date, but in this small town, there's not a long line of single women, and in my line of work—"