A Cowboy's Fake Fiancée

by Savannah McCarthy

  A Cowboy’s Fake Fiancée

  Billionaire Western Football Romance

  Savannah McCarthy

  Copyright © 2020 by Savannah McCarthy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Nash

  2. Heather

  3. Nash

  4. Heather

  5. Nash

  6. Heather

  7. Nash

  8. Heather

  9. Nash

  10. Heather

  11. Nash

  12. Heather

  13. Nash

  14. Heather

  15. Nash

  16. Heather

  17. Nash

  18. Heather

  19. Nash

  20. Heather

  21. Heather

  22. Heather

  23. Nash

  24. Heather

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Also by Savannah McCarthy

  Chapter 1

  Nash

  Nash drew in a deep breath and took his final step out into the spotlight.

  He was immediately greeted by a flurry of flashing cameras and restless reporters. There wasn’t even time to sit down at the makeshift podium before he was asked his first question.

  “Nash! Does this surprise announcement have anything to do with your family’s failing ranch empire!?”

  The burly football player flinched. He’d been in front of the ravenous press so many times before—during his career as a professional athlete, he’d been bombarded by the media more than anyone else—but he’d always remained stoic. This time was different, though.

  This was the end.

  Nash Winthrow wasn’t some prized-stud with the world at his fingertips anymore. For the first time in his life, he was at the mercy of a higher power, he was vulnerable.

  He composed himself, ignoring the uncouth question, and sat down in front of the microphone. Every camera lens in the room was focused on him. He was alone on the stage, the full brunt of his past choices were confronting him all at the same time. No one was coming to his rescue. He was by himself.

  It was all over.

  “First question,” Nash’s agent, Frenchie Ford, called out. The sharply dressed, executive-type stood just off stage; he pointed out to a quiet looking reporter in the second row of the scrum.

  The journalist cleared her throat and stood up. Nash tried his best to hide his nerves. He knew what was coming and he wasn’t looking forward to it, but he had been raised to always do the right thing, and right now, the right thing was to make a clean cut. He couldn’t do that without making his intentions clear. That’s why he had called this press conference this morning, even after he’d already officially announced his retirement late yesterday afternoon.

  “Nash, Kate Bunson, Sports Daily. There are rumours that your surprise retirement is about more than just what you let on in your statement the other day. Care to comment on that?”

  Nash let out the air he had been holding in. “There are no ulterior motives to my decision,” he lied. “I love the game with all my heart, and I appreciate all it’s done for me and my family, but I’m done.”

  “Why!?” shouted a restless reporter from the back of the scrum.

  “Because it’s just time,” Nash responded, calmly. His heart was heavy, but he knew it was the truth. It was time to let the game go.

  “Please wait to be called upon!” Frenchie shouted out from his place off to the side of the podium. Cameras continued to click as the agent searched the field for a more demure looking prospect. “You!” he finally called, pointing towards a reserved looking journalist in the middle row.

  The woman stood up and brushed off the bottom of her casual, beige dress. She held a notepad in her hand and read a question off of it as she addressed Nash.

  “It’s no secret that you aren’t well liked in your home state. Do you plan on returning home for the duration of your retirement, or will you be staying in Texas, where the people might be, uh, ‘friendlier’ to you?”

  The question made Nash so uncomfortable that he couldn’t help but grin. He tried to shake the little smile off of his lips but it was no use. This was his tell. Ever since he was a kid, he’d had the disadvantageous habit of smiling when others would have frowned. At first, he’d been told by adults that it was a cute tick, but as he and his reputation had grown out of his control, and his on-the-field antics had cast him in an increasingly darker shade, the habit had only seemed to instigate and inflame.

  It had all come to a head that chilly night in Denver all those years ago. His life had gone downhill ever since that moment, and now he was here, at the bottom of the once great mountain that had been his life.

  You’re not at the bottom yet... he reminded himself, as a chill worked its way through his body. He wasn’t retiring because he was at rock bottom, he was retiring so that he could prevent himself from ever truly hitting it.

  “I’ll be returning home,” was all Nash said. It was still home after-all, no matter what the residents there thought of him.

  “Next!” Frenchie yelled over the noise. He pointed to a middle-aged reporter in the back. The balding man stood up and held his phone out towards the podium.

  “Excuse us if we don’t buy your story,” he started. “Sure, you’re 31—a ripe old age for a professional linebacker—but you’ve been playing at an All-Pro level for the past few years, and with no signs of slowing down. Is there something we don’t know about? A lingering injury? A secret baby? You have no wife or kids to speak of, and at least one big contract left in you. Why not take it? What’s so important back home that you can’t wait a few more years to go and get it? There’s so much money on the line...”

  That line of questioning drew a few scoffs from the surrounding scrum. The uncomfortable grin found its way back onto Nash’s lips.

  “Don’t you know he’s already a billionaire!” someone mocked.

  “Money means nothing to this guy,” someone else added.

  “So, then why has he played this long!?” the balding reporter shot back. “It definitely wasn’t for the adoration. People hate his guts!”

  Nash’s heart clenched.

  “What trashy tabloid are you from!?” laughed a journalist. “Don’t you know anything about this guy!?”

  “I’ve been a sports reporter since before you were in diapers, mister,” the balding reporter spat. “Show some respect!”

  The room’s attention was slowly turning away from Nash and towards the commotion in the back. He took it as an opportunity to say his final goodbye. He wouldn’t miss this part of the job, that was for sure.

  “Thank you,” he said, low and quick, into the microphone, before turning to his agent. He gave Frenchie the signal that he was done, and the sharply-dressed man jumped up onto the stage and took the last brunt of the increasingly-distracted crowd’s attention as Nash slunk away.

  When he was alone again, Nash quickly undid his tie and collapsed against a cold wall in the dark, quiet green room behind the podium. The chatter of the scrum slowly faded into the background as he closed his eyes and thought of all he was leaving behind. He truly did love football, but there was something he loved even more, and it needed him now more than ever.

  His family was in trouble, and it was all his fault. The Winthrow empire was on the brink of collapse, and Nash was the only one who could truly do anything about it.

  That balding reporter had been right, Nash fe
lt physically good enough to play a few more years at a high level, and his passion for the game hadn’t waned enough to justify the drastic action of retiring, but his heart was in a different place, and he knew he couldn’t keep playing while his family suffered because of his actions.

  “That went better than expected,” joked Frenchie as he pushed his way into the dark green room. He flicked on the light and fixed his tie. “Those reporters are like hyenas, man. I bet you won’t miss them.”

  Nash forced a polite chuckle, but he knew he wasn’t completely done with the press just yet. If he was going to save his family’s business he’d need to get on their good side, and he couldn’t do that without a little interaction.

  “It’s not over just yet, French,” he mumbled as he unbuckled his dress shirt. He just wanted to get out of this formal attire and into his plaid shirt and Wranglers. He was tired of all this formality. He just wanted to go home.

  “Don’t I know it,” Frenchie replied, flipping through his phone. “We have a meeting with those PR guys back at the ranch first thing tomorrow morning. Let’s hop on the plane and get back quick. You need some free time to rest; you must be exhausted.”

  Nash was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d been tossing and turning over this decision for months and there was still so much more to do. He had bags under his bright blue eyes and a chin full of stubble. His wavy dirty-blonde hair ran over his ears and he had to brush it aside to put his black Stetson on. The cool warmth of his plaid shirt reminded him of his childhood and almost put him at ease. He swore he could smell the earth of Winthrow ranch on his Wranglers.

  “Let’s get going, cowboy,” Frenchie said, when Nash had fully re-dressed. He opened up the backdoor and a sleek black car waited in the alleyway for the two of them. They jumped into the backseat and were whisked off the airport.

  Nash watched wistfully out of the window as the Houston streets shrunk away. He was filled with mixed emotions. This was the one city that had embraced him while the rest of the country had turned on him, and now he was abandoning it. He tried to tell himself that their love was meaningless; that, if he had simply played on another team, they would have hated him just as much as anyone else, but it was no use. He’d never had anything but pleasant interactions with the fans and the people here. They seemed kind and understanding of his predicaments, and even the worst of them just seemed glad that the ‘monster’ of the league was ‘theirs’. Nash had almost been glad to be their monster, if only he had ever wanted to be a monster in the first place.

  He knew he wasn’t a bad person, and he knew the assassination of his character had come about through a series of unfortunate misunderstandings and accidents. It all seemed like a violent blur now, though, as his car pulled up onto a private tarmac and stopped outside a well-groomed jet.

  Nash had never pictured his life going this way. He’d been a good kid, a good son, and a good member of the community, but somewhere along the way, he’d lost himself. It was hard not to eventually believe what others said about him, especially when they said it so loudly and so much. He didn’t mind as much back when it had only hurt him, but when it started affecting his family, he knew it was time to take action.

  The plane door closed behind him and Nash sunk into his seat. He looked out the window and watched Houston disappear below. His heart was heavy and his mind was racing. Nothing felt real. He realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what his future held. All he knew for certain was that he had to go back to where it had all started.

  It didn’t matter what awaited him there, Nash Winthrow was going home.

  Chapter 2

  Heather

  It was the first piece of good news that Heather Hoover had gotten in far too long.

  She couldn’t help but jump up and down with joy in her cozy little living room, though she tried to keep as quiet as possible, as she knew it was about the time when her mother would be napping upstairs.

  Her laptop screen glowed brilliantly on the coffee table and she rushed back to check it again, just to make sure she hadn’t misread.

  Dear Ms. Hoover, we were very pleased with your interview. After careful consideration, we have decided to offer you the job. Please let us know as soon as possible if you accept the position. We will send the required paper work, as well as an itinerary, upon your response.

  Welcome to the team!

  Nope, it was true. She’d gotten the gig. What a blessing! Sure, it wasn’t some dream job—who ever dreams of becoming a dayshift manager at a family restaurant?—but it was a good establishment, with good pay and great benefits.

  It also didn’t hurt that it was at Winthrow Ranch. It wasn’t a secret that the franchise had been hurting recently, but Heather didn’t care about the publicity, she just knew that the place was gorgeous and had a reputation of being fair to their employees. She had gone there countless times as a kid and had nothing but fond memories of the place.

  Her mother, on the other hand...

  Heather shook that thought from her head. She was sure her mom wouldn’t object. They needed the money, bad. The past year had been the roughest of their lives and they were barely scraping by with the skin of their teeth, but this job was a life-preserver that could keep them going a little bit longer, at least until Heather could figure something else out.

  “What’s all that racket!?” Heather heard her mother playfully shout down the stairs. Constance had always had ears like a bat; she could hear mothballs drop from an inch off the ground—Heather figured she hadn’t been celebrating quietly enough.

  “Sorry, mama!” Heather whispered loudly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Nonsense. I wasn’t doing much sleeping anyway. What are you doing down there? Sounds like fun.”

  Heather laughed. Her mother had slowly been getting her spirit back after her husband, Heather’s father, Howard, had unexpectedly passed away late last year.

  “Just celebrating,” Heather answered as her mother descended the rickety staircase.

  “Oh, does that mean...?” Constance didn’t dare finish that thought. Heather had been searching for a good enough job to support them both for months now, and they were both nearly out of savings. Howard had been the breadwinner of the family and Constance hadn’t held a job since before Heather was born, so, when he passed, she’d had no other option but to rely on her daughter.

  Luckily for her, Heather had been more than willing to help. She’d had her own life in Boulder, but the moment tragedy struck, she hadn’t hesitated to pack it all up and move back home to Eden Prairie. Family was most important, after all.

  She’d had a decent job in Boulder too—she was the assistant manager at a relatively popular bar—and she’d even been slowly cultivating an alright social life. For the first time in her life, Heather had felt like she had been making ‘real’ friends, people who she could count on if things went south. Well, sure enough, things had gone south, and, sure enough, the few friends she had made were more than willing to step up.

  “You go home, we’ll keep your room free,” her roommate, Sadie had told her.

  “Yeah, don’t worry about rent, we’ve got you covered for now,” Heather’s other roommate, Lauren had added.

  It had made Heather bawl her eyes out. She had only ever been used to this kind of love and care from her family. Finding it in friends was a whole different type of rewarding. It had almost made her proud of herself—like she was more worthy of affection than she had ever suspected.

  After a few big hugs, lots of crying, and a little liquid courage, she had packed her things up and taken the quickest Greyhound back to Eden Prairie.

  It had been over a year since that day, and many things had changed, but the confidence those girls had imbued in Heather hadn’t left her. She was worthy of more, she’d tell herself when things were at their toughest; she could do whatever she put her mind to.

  Heather still kept in touch with her old
roommates, but she’d also long since told them to rent out her room to someone else—she wasn’t going back to Boulder anytime soon, she couldn’t afford to. Her savings were running out, as were her mother’s, and they had no life insurance to fall back on.

  This job at Winthrow Ranch was the Godsend they had both been waiting for, or, at least, it was for now.

  Heather smiled at her mother and reaffirmed the pact that she had made with herself that she would do whatever it took in order to support her. They hadn’t been poor growing up, but her dad had also had to work himself to the bone just to keep them afloat, and that meant that Constance had done most of Heather’s rearing alone. Now it was her turn to pay her mother back.

  “I got a job!” she announced.

  Constance gasped and covered her mouth. “My girl!” she said from behind her palm, before flinging it from her face and opening up her arms for a hug. “I knew you could do it! There’s nothing in the world that can hold you back!”

  Heather fell into her mother’s hug and they slow danced with happiness.

  “Where’s my baby girl going to be working?” Constance asked, when they finally broke from the embrace.

  That question made Heather hesitate. She knew full well the problems her mother had with the Winthrows.

  Constance’s eyes squinted at her daughter’s reluctance to divulge. “Heather List-Hoover...” she started.

  “It has good pay and great benefits,” Heather interrupted. “Plus, I always liked the ranch.” She could see a heaviness come over Constance’s eyes.