A Cowboy's Fake Fiancée

by Savannah McCarthy

  “No, no, no!” Frenchie joked before they could head out. The already tipsy agent pointed at Nash’s black hat. “Don’t you have anything in a ‘lighter’ shade? You’re supposed to be the good guy now; good guys don’t wear black hats.”

  Nash hadn’t even thought about that. Truth was, he’d always worn beige Stetsons in the past, but once his public image started to descend into villainy, he had decided to embrace it just enough took keep the journalists at bay, and that included darkening the shade of his hats. He’d figured the press wouldn’t bug him as much if he looked the part that they were writing him into—and he was right, but, oh, how wrong he had been to do that.

  “I might have something lighter in the back,” Nash said, as he rummaged through his office closet again. Sure, enough, hidden behind a couple of old boxes, was a cache of beige Stetsons. He threw off his black hat for the new, old headgear.

  “There we go!” laughed Frenchie when he saw his friend’s new look. “The plan is ready to be put into action!”

  Nash was physically much bigger than his old friend, so he was feeling the effects of their little pre-drink fest far less, but still, Frenchie’s exuberance imbued him with a new sense of confidence.

  He could do this.

  Sure, he hadn’t had much success with love in his life so far, but he wasn’t going out looking for love right now. He was looking for a business partner, and that meant a lot less heartbreak. Growing up rich and famous meant he’d never been able to tell if someone truly liked him more for who he was deep down inside or for his name and his money—but a business deal was all about his name and his money; it became leverage, instead of an obstacle.

  Nash forgot about all the times he had been burned by love as he and Frenchie walked down to the after-hours entertainment strip of the ranch in the soft heat of the summer night. He kept his sleeves rolled up and his Stetson pulled low. His attire might have screamed casual, but his intentions were all business—it actually put him at ease to be playing this new role, it somehow felt right. He knew he was a decent guy, now all he had to do was trick the world into seeing the truth.

  Chapter 6

  Heather

  Heather had to physically hold back Stacey’s hand from pouring another beer down her throat.

  “I’m good, girl!” she shouted at her tipsy co-worker.

  Stacey just shrugged and took the drink for herself.

  “You guys are crazy!” giggled Lola, just before she leaned down over their pool table and got ready to take her shot.

  “You wish you were this crazy!” Stacey replied, swishing her bottle around in front of her.

  It hadn’t taken long for Heather to figure out that Stacey was a true heavyweight. When they’d first gotten to Chacho’s, the college-aged waitress had ordered two beers, and Heather had been touched that her co-worker would buy her a drink, but when they came, Stacey had immediately chugged the both of them.

  Heather wasn’t going to be pressured to try and keep up with her, but Stacey’s looseness was definitely contagious. She had just finished her second beer and her mind was already swimming.

  “Aren’t you glad you can’t drink yet?” Heather playfully asked Lola, after she’d taken her shot.

  Lola giggled. “I think it’d be fun to try, but I can’t see myself ever getting as crazy as Stacey. I figure I’ll be more like you.”

  That made Heather’s heart warm. She liked these girls.

  “Your turn,” Lola said, handing her the pool stick.

  Heather looked around for Stacey, but she was already off ordering another drink. She was awful at pool, but just hanging around with some friends, talking about whatever, was great.

  She took her shot, and even managed to hit a ball, but then quickly handed the stick back to Lola, who was much better at the game than she was. It didn’t take long for Stacey to appear back by their sides.

  “You can sure pound those back,” Heather joked, but Stacey’s attention was fixed on something else. She followed her new friend’s gaze to a TV in the far corner of the room. Her lips immediately pursed at the image on the screen. It was a replay of Nash Winthrow announcing his retirement. She rolled her eyes and looked away. She didn’t need a reminder that she worked on his ranch. She was having a good time, the memory of what he’d done to her family would only bring her down.

  “Man, could I go for a piece of that,” Stacey mumbled.

  Heather couldn’t help but laugh. Lola had clearly heard Stacey’s confession as well. “Ew,” said the younger waitress.

  That caught Stacey’s attention. “Ew!? Are you serious? Look at that man! He’s gorgeous. Definitely not ew.”

  “I’m not saying he’s not handsome,” lilted Lola, polishing off the tip of her pool stick. “I’m just saying he’s not the kind of guy I ‘want a piece of’. I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Jax Shepard.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” teased Stacey. “Sax Jhepard Shmepard. Who cares? You’re telling me if that man,” she pointed up at the silent TV screen, “came in here right now and offered to buy you a drink, you wouldn’t take him up on the offer?”

  “I can’t drink,” Lola smiled, turning away from Stacey.

  Stacey just rolled her eyes and turned to Heather. “You understand, right? Rich, handsome, athletic. He’s the full package!”

  “Not the full package...” Heather pointed out, thinking about what Lola had just said. Jax Shepard...

  “Oh, what, because he hurt Denver’s star QB that one year? We weren’t going to win the championship anyway. Nash was just a convenient scapegoat.”

  Heather was sure that Stacey was right, but Jax Shepherd’s injury had affected her and her family more than just depriving them of watching the Outlaws win a championship. Her problem with the man was a little more personal than that.

  “At least admit he’s handsome!” Stacey begged Heather. “Tell me I’m not crazy!”

  Heather laughed. She looked up at the screen and gazed at the burly football player’s image. He was handsome, almost unfairly so. Who was that rich and that talented and that good-looking? A guy like that had to be a villain. No one should be so lucky in life.

  Truth was, though, Heather didn’t care about the money or the fame, she just cared about what Nash had taken from her family, even if it was indirectly.

  “Yeah, he’s handsome,” Heather assured Stacey.

  “Thank you!” the waitress sighed with great exaggeration. “I feel like people let their emotions get in the way of the truth. He is fine, no matter how badly he’s messed up in the past.”

  “Your turn,” Lola interrupted, handing the pool cue to Heather.

  Heather half-hazardly took the stick from her new friend—she was lost in her own thoughts. That night, all those years ago, when Nash Winthrow had hit Jax Shepherd so hard that it had put the star quarterback out for the rest of the season, meant so much more to her and her family than any championship ever could. She was sure that it had been the start of all her troubles and it wasn’t something her mother, or her uncle, would ever let her forget.

  Heather didn’t want to think about her mother or her uncle right now. She wanted to let loose and have some fun. So, she handed her pool stick to Stacey. “Take this shot for me,” she asked her new friend. “I’m going to get another drink.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Stacey said, still faux-mad at Heather and Lola for not immediately agreeing with her about how nice of a catch Nash Winthrow would be.

  Heather grinned and brushed by Stacey, heading straight for the bar. She’d already eaten a full burrito, but she was still famished. There was something missing deep inside of her and she wanted to fill it quick, so that she could get back to forgetting all of her troubles. Maybe an ice-cold beer and a side order of cheesy nachos might help?

  She placed her order and took a quick glance back at the TV screen in the corner of the bar. Thankfully, Nash’s image was long gone, and some highlights were playing instead. That was
a welcomed relief, now Heather could get back to forgetting. She leaned against the bar counter and studied the hazy establishment. She had been to Chacho’s before, when she was younger, but only ever during the daytime. It was a whole different place after the sun went down. She liked it; the grit of the decor seemed to match her spirit.

  The bar was clearly a favorite spot for workers to gather after their shifts. Heather saw employees still in uniform galivanting with cowboys and ranch hands she recognized from her drive in. There were some good-looking men in these parts of the woods. Heather had always been partial to the cowboy-type. Big burly men with thick forearms and callused fingers made her knees weak, but she hadn’t had much luck on that front in so long she that had given up hope on trying. Maybe tonight was the night she put herself back out there?

  Through the music and the chatter and her own daydreams, Heather heard the front door to the bar open. She let her eyes wander over to the new visitors. She bit her lip at the sight. A tall, beefy cowboy, with a beige Stetson draped low over his eyes, and a tight plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, walked into the bar. A smaller, thinner man in a suit followed close behind him. The dim lighting of the bar hid their faces, but Heather had seen enough. The bartender slid her a beer and she took a big swig and then a deep breath before sauntering over to the table the two new customers had set up shop at.

  She came up behind the broad-shouldered cowboy and leaned against his rickety table.

  “Hey there, stranger,” she said, as salaciously as she could manage.

  The mystery man looked up at her, revealing his face from underneath the brim of his hat.

  Heather’s beer slipped from her grip and shattered on the floor. The whole bar came to a screeching halt. Her heart stopped.

  There, just inches from her face, sat Nash Winthrow. She could see her reflection in his steely blue eyes; she was completely frozen.

  “Hi,” said the young billionaire and former football star. He reached his big hand out to Heather, but she was too stunned to take it.

  “You’re...” she started, hardly able to finish.

  “Nash,” he said, taking her limp hand and shaking it lightly. His fingers were rough and strong, but also gentle and warm. She let him lead her, until the reality of what was happening and who he was hit her like a brick truck.

  She quickly pulled away from him like he was on fire. She felt herself involuntarily sneer.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, calmly.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Heather spat back. She didn’t know what was coming over her, but she didn’t try to stop it. This man had been a villain in her household for almost a decade, and now she was face to face with the devil. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was all the pent-up anger and disappointment, but she didn’t bother acting polite. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came for a drink,” he said, clearly sensing her resentment. The significant man shifted in his little barstool seat.

  Heather looked around at the dingy establishment. Her stomach dropped when she saw everyone else silently watching them. She hesitated at all the attention for a moment, before getting her confidence back. “Couldn’t you afford better, or is the ranch really doing that poorly?”

  Nash’s eyes sparkled under the dim lighting. Heather couldn’t spot any evil or malice within him, but she was sure it was only because she wasn’t looking hard enough.

  “I like to get out once in a while,” was all Nash said. His friend in the suit was silently studying the two of them, almost like he was taking mental notes.

  “And what?” Heather replied. “They won’t let you into the nice places anymore?”

  Nash looked calmly around. He didn’t seem to mind that everybody was staring. Heather figured he was used to it by now. “This place is pretty nice,” Nash said. His voice was low and deep, it sent a rumble through the pit of Heather’s stomach; she couldn’t tell if she liked or loathed it.

  “No, it’s not. It’s a dump!” she said, a little too loudly.

  “Hey!” shouted the barkeep.

  “That’s not nice,” added Nash.

  “You’re not nice,” Heather mumbled. “I know all about you, and to think, I was going to buy you a drink.”

  Nash’s eyebrow raised at that. “Why were you going to buy me a drink?”

  Heather hesitated. “I... I didn’t know it was you...”

  “And now that you know it is?”

  Heather looked at the legendary man from up close. Stacey was right, he was gorgeous. The heat from his body was pulling her in like a musky gravitational field. He smelled of fresh earth and cool glacial water. She felt herself sinking towards him.

  Suddenly, though, it all came back to her. He had messed with her family’s livelihood and she was just tipsy enough to let him know about it.

  “I don’t want anything to do with you,” she snipped, pushing herself away from the table. She whipped around and headed straight for the door. She was done for tonight. All the thoughts and memories she had been trying to rid herself of were now front and center. Heather stormed out into the sultry summer night with wet eyes and shaking hands. The eerie silence of the bar was replaced by the cool quiet outside.

  She took a deep breath and marched in the direction where she thought she might be able to catch a cab. It was time to go home.

  Chapter 7

  Nash

  That didn’t go particularly well.

  Nash could only chuckle at Frenchie’s text. It was the next morning and, though he hadn’t had another sip of booze after their original little pre-drink fest, he still had a headache.

  What am I doing to myself? he thought, as he pulled himself out of bed. He somehow felt sore, despite not having played or practiced for months now.

  Maybe we should take a different approach, he texted back.

  He shuffled to his bathroom like a fragile old man. Last night had not been fun, or at least, it hadn’t been fun once he got out in public. The first person to recognize him had thrown a fit. Boy, was that woman a firecracker...

  Nash’s phone buzzed on his bathroom counter as he brushed his teeth.

  No, I did some research. That woman might be the perfect candidate.

  Nash shook his head. Frenchie was far too invested in this timeline. It had become clear last night that no ordinary girl in Colorado was going to let him court her. He’d have to go to Houston...

  Why would she agree? he texted back.

  It didn’t take long for Frenchie to send his response. Maybe she hates you just enough to take a bunch of your money?

  That gave Nash another good chuckle. He sighed and got dressed for the day. Last night had been a real gut punch. He hadn’t thought it would be so bad, but it pretty much couldn’t have gone worse. Right after their confrontation at Chacho’s, Frenchie and Nash had left the bar and slunk home.

  It hurt, but he was also used to having bad interactions with the public. Ever since he had accidentally injured Jax Shepherd, every football fan in Colorado had hated his guts. Even most non-sports fans didn’t care for him, if only by association. It sucked. This was his home state. He grew up on this ranch and he used to love and be loved by the people of Eden Prairie. Now, he was a pariah, and his family business was suffering for it.

  Nash’s phone started to buzz again. This time he was receiving a call. He checked the caller ID. Mom.

  He sighed. He didn’t want to talk to her right now, not until he had fixed things. He was so ashamed of what he had done to his father’s legacy—and without football to distract himself from that reality, he was just about ready to double over. Still, as he finally woke up from his funk, Nash understood that he had to confront his pain now, or risk losing everything forever. Football was important, but family was most important, and he had made his decision; it was time to act.

  His phone stopped ringing and he let his mom leave a voice message. When he had gathered himself enough, he texted Frenchie back.

 
; Meet me at the office. We need to figure this out.

  Nash hopped in his truck and pulled out of his long, empty driveway. A hot wind blew threw his open window as he raced to his office. Country music blared from the radio. He desperately tried to distract himself from the desperation of his situation.

  It didn’t take long for him to arrive at his destination. He was too antsy to even wait for an elevator, so he took the stairwell and sprinted up all 25 flights.

  He was out of breath and heavily panting by the time he finally got to his floor, but he did feel better. A little bit of exercise always helped clear his mind.

  Frenchie was already waiting for him. The sharply-dressed agent hardly looked like he had drunken at all last night. The glow of his laptop screen lit up his freshly pampered face as Nash brushed past him and collapsed into his big leather chair.

  Frenchie let him start.

  “So, what’s the scoop?” Nash asked, as he put his hands behind his head and tried to slow his breathing.

  “On the girl?” Frenchie clarified.

  “I guess, you said she’s perfect? Do we really have a choice? We need to act quickly; my ego can wait at the door.”

  Frenchie smiled and nodded. “I did some digging last night after I dropped you off at home. I went back to the bar and asked around. Apparently, that woman is a new worker here on the ranch. She was just hired as the manager at The Horseshoe.”

  “Manager, huh? That’s a pretty good job, why would she need my money?” Nash asked.

  “It’s actually not that great. You’d be surprise with how little these people are paid. But, in any case, even if it did pay better, our girl is in loads of financial trouble.” Frenchie continued.