The Cowboy Songwriter's Fake Marriage Read online

  The Cowboy Songwriter’s Fake Marraige

  The Brides Wanted Matchmaker Series

  Lucy McConnell

  Copyright © 2019 by Lucy McConnell

  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.

  The Cowboy Songwriter’s Fake Marriage

  Advertising for a wife is crazy…

  But it might just work…

  A marriage of convenience is Xavier’s last-ditch effort to salvage his career as a songwriter. He doesn’t believe true love strikes twice in a lifetime, but he needs a coparent and best friend.

  When Emily says “I do,” he questions his ability to remain neutral in the marriage.

  She’s more than he hoped for…

  And everything he feared…

  Can Xavier give himself over to the experience of loving again? Or, will he shut away his heart?

  You’ll love this contemporary romance because every heart longs to find its match.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Now Available from Bestselling and Award-Winning Author Lucy McConnell

  About the Author

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  This story is an irresistible contemporary romance about a not-so-humble cop who splits his raffle ticket with an unlucky waitress and the actor who falls in love with her.

  (An It Could Happen to You retelling with a twist!)

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  1

  Xavier

  When he became a father, Xavier Cohen had dreams of singing songs around the campfire, Christmas mornings full of wrapping paper and giggles, and building pillow forts in the front room. He hadn’t pictured holding his three-day-old baby as they lowered his wife’s casket into the ground. He hadn’t thought about the endless nights of diaper changes and bottle feedings. The knowledge of how empty a house could feel on the first day of school hadn’t been a part of his life.

  And yet, he’d done all those things and more.

  So why was it so hard to hear the doctor say things like your son is overweight; he’s prediabetic and you need to teach Cody healthier habits? These were hard things to hear, but he’d been through worse. Gathering himself and his son, he thanked the pediatrician and promised to make the needed changes. They’d be back in six weeks for another checkup.

  He drove through Moose Creek in a brain fog. The small shops on Main blurred in his peripheral vision. The Jade Mountain range to the west looked like a watercolor painting done in blues, greens, and browns.

  Cody watched a movie on Xavier’s phone in the back seat. He wore his racecar pajamas, and his hair was a mess. He’d not felt good when they rolled out of bed this morning, and his skin had been sallow. Frightened, Xavier had rushed him into the doctor without getting him dressed. He glanced down at his own plaid pajama pants and then at the clock. It was well after noon.

  Xavier couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around the type 2 diagnosis. He stared hard out the windshield, willing his mind to get in the game, only to find emptiness where there should have been decision.

  Instead of waking up to handle the situation, another thought came in—one that was equally disturbing. He’d been in a state of survival for seven years. He couldn’t move forward, and he hadn’t the energy to face the past. He got through each day and the fog allowed him to function; at the same time, it held him captive and prevented him from writing songs.

  He pulled into the driveway to find Mark’s car idling. Crap! He and his agent were supposed to meet at eleven-thirty. He was a half hour late. He jumped out of the car. “Hey.” He jogged over to Mark’s door and tapped on the window. “Sorry. I had to take Cody to the doctor. You want to come in?” He might have been embarrassed about running around in his pajamas in front of his agent, but he’d known Mark since college and they were friends first.

  Mark rolled the window down and pulled off his aviators. “Is he contagious?”

  “No.” He didn’t feel like going into the whole diabetes thing right now. He was barely hanging on as a songwriter; he didn’t want his buddy to know how much he failed as a father. And maybe it wasn’t so much a failure on his part, but it sure felt that way.

  Cody had climbed out of the car and made his way through the front door without saying hello to their guest. He moved like he had on a wet coat. Was that the diabetes? The doc had covered the basic symptoms and Mark checked them off one by one. He should have been more aware of what was happening with his kid, but he thought kids had to go the bathroom a lot. Apparently, not as much as Cody had been. He didn’t know how he was supposed to know these things, but he should have.

  “Let’s do this.” Mark rolled the window up. His car was new, silver and shiny. He wore a navy suit and a thin tie. His hair was longer than it had been six months ago but styled.

  “You’ve gone Hollywood,” Xavier teased. He led the way up the steps to the front door. Mark had started his career selling Xavier’s music. He had clients that sold songs to some of the biggest names in country music. He might have started small, but he’d made a big splash.

  They entered, and Mark tripped over a remote-control car in the entranceway. He paused, his hand on the wall for balance. “You’ve gone single-male disaster.”

  Xavier looked around the room, seeing it through Mark’s eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually looked at his house. There were toys spread from one wall to the other, littering the carpet and creating death traps. Some of them were for toddlers. He should have donated the lot ages ago. The couch was covered in half-empty chip bags and candy wrappers. The recycle bin overflowed with soda cans. Pizza boxes stacked next to the garage door. Clothes were pretty much everywhere.

  Mark put his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “You’re getting worse, not better, bro.”

  Xavier scrubbed his face, noting the week’s worth of hair on his chin. “It’s only this bad because Cody’s out of school. Our routine is thrown off.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow in challenge. Xavier had never been a routine kind of person. He thrived as a creative soul, following the music as it flowed from one melody to the next—not that there had been any music lately.

  “I’m working on it.” Xavier headed to the kitchen, wondering if that sour smell in the air had been here when they left this morning. Working quickly, he tied off the garbage bag and lifted it from the container. “Cody, come take this out, please.”

  Cody set aside the phone with a sigh. “Sure, Dad.” He plodded over and took the bag.

  “Are you going
to say hi to our guest?” Xavier prodded.

  Cody nodded as if he’d resigned himself to a task. “Hey, Uncle Mark.”

  They bumped fists.

  Xavier twisted his lips as he thought about what just happened. Did Cody not feel like an important part of things around here? They were home all day together, but he wasn’t sure how much they talked. Was his son lonely? Or was he lacking in energy because of the diabetes? If that was the case, what was Xavier supposed to do about it? There were pamphlets in the car and an internet full of advice—he needed to roll up his sleeves and start educating himself. But that wasn’t going to take care of the mess. “Maybe we need to hire a maid.”

  Mark frowned. “You need a cleaning crew, a life coach, and a chef.”

  “Like I can afford all that.”

  “Or …” Mark checked the counter for anything sticky before leaning against it and folding his arms. “Hear me out on this one. There is another option.”

  “Yeah?” Xavier opened the dishwasher to find it empty. Great. He could load it all that much faster. “Like what?”

  “You could get remarried.”

  Xavier dropped the plastic plate on the floor. He glared at Mark. “That’s not funny.”

  Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t joking. This is not living! You’re barely functioning. It kills me to see a man with your talent wasting away, and Cody deserves to know how amazing his father actually is. But you’re lost. Are you still grieving Nora?”

  Xavier swooped down and retrieved the plate. “No. I miss her, but the pain and the sorrow aren’t there like they were. I just … I just don’t know how to make each day special like she did.”

  Mark smiled. “Women have that gift. They can turn an ordinary afternoon into the best day of your life.”

  Xavier nodded. “Truth.” A few years ago, he might have turned that phrase into a hit country song.

  “Look, I’m not saying you should, or even could, replace Nora. But you need to think about getting married again. You wrote your best stuff when you had a partner.”

  Xavier’s mouth went dry. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Don’t overthink it.”

  Xavier put in the last glass and added soap. “Why are you harping on this? What’s your angle?”

  Mark grinned like the Big Bad Wolf. “I have a meeting with Tyson Temple in six weeks. He wants something different—something fresh. I think he’d love your music. But I haven’t got anything to offer him.”

  Tyson was the owner of one of the biggest labels in country music. He wore a ten-gallon hat and alligator boots with an attitude. If a songwriter got in with him, he was in for life. Rumor was he’d built a mansion in Moose Creek, but if he lived here, he kept to himself. “Pull out the old stuff.” Xavier tucked his head and grabbed a washcloth. He doused it in the sink and scrubbed at the mound of old ketchup dried on the counter.

  “He’s heard it. He likes your sound, but he wants new material.”

  Curses. “I haven’t got anything new.” He scrubbed harder at the stain.

  Mark squared his shoulders. “Xavier, I’m not going to lie to you—this is a make-or-break-your-career moment. You need to pull your act together and give me a song that I can present to this guy.”

  Make or break—words he’d hoped he’d never hear but had known were coming. He’d stockpiled songs—they’d poured out of him while Nora was pregnant—and not thought a thing of it, writing for six to eight hours a day while she was at work, and then they’d spend their evenings dreaming about this beautiful little life they’d created. That stockpile had kept the money coming in for several years after her death. But the checks were smaller and smaller each month, and his stockpile was now an empty folder. He didn’t have other skills. Sure, he could find work, but not the kind that fed his soul.

  He stared down at the cloth. “And you think getting a wife will help me write again?”

  “You’ve never done well in chaos. Look around you, man. A wife brings order, health, comfort, and joy—all the things you’re missing.”

  The whole idea was preposterous—too big to take on in one bite. “Where am I even supposed to find a wife?”

  “Go online. E-date.”

  “Sounds … impersonal.” And kind of perfect, actually. He didn’t want a wife to warm his bed. That level of closeness was scary. Loving a person meant being vulnerable to the pain of losing them. He’d already been through that and couldn’t imagine doing it again. But if he could find someone who could help him be a better father and with Cody’s prediabetes, well, that was reason enough to tie the knot. He’d do anything for his son. And with Cody squared away, he might be able to visit with his muse. What they were doing now wasn’t working. He’d have to change if he wanted a different outcome than the one he faced every morning.

  Mark continued, “It’s how dating works these days. You’ve been out of the game for a while.”

  “I guess so.” Xavier picked up a pile of unopened mail and moved it to the table so he could wipe underneath it. He’d have to go through that pile … sometime. Probably not today. There were so many other things he should work on. He just didn’t know where to start, and so he probably wouldn’t. “I’ll get working on a song.” He glanced at the door to his music room. It had been shut for so long he’d have to excavate his keyboard from the dust.

  Cody came back inside, his face red and sweat beading at his hairline from his efforts and the summer temps. He went for the fridge and pulled out a soda, taking a long plug.

  Xavier hesitated, taking the soda from him. “Do you want some water?” he asked.

  “I’m good. Thanks, though.” Cody headed back to the couch, where he settled in to finish his movie. Xavier would let him finish off the sodas in the fridge and then not buy more. They’d both be forced to drink water for a while. It would be better for both of them.

  Mark checked his watch. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll text you the date Tyson is coming to be in town.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll be ready.” Even as he said the words, he wondered if they were true. He had no ideas, no inspiration, no hope of coming up with a new song in six weeks. Mark would be forced to drop him as a client, and he’d be officially washed up.

  What a depressing thought.

  Mark said goodbye to Cody and then went out the front door.

  Xavier ignored the mess in the front room and headed to his bedroom. His laptop was on the nightstand. He propped himself up with pillows and began scanning websites on childhood diabetes. The information wasn’t encouraging and was most definitely overwhelming. He zoned out after the third link, afraid of what would happen to his son—what his life would be like. Needles. Insulin. One page mentioned the problems teens had feeling like they fit in while knowing they were different from their peers. He stared off to the side of the screen. He needed help. Thinking about Mark’s advice to find a wife, he browsed an online dating site.

  The smiling faces and bright colors seemed so … optimistic. These ladies were looking for the love of their life. They didn’t want what he had to offer—which wasn’t much, once he thought about it. He was asking a woman to move in, become a mother, keep house, cook, and be his partner in a songwriting business. What would she get in return? Well … room and board. And Cody was in school, so she’d have hours to dedicate to her own interests. He could also be her friend. Her best friend, if she wanted. And he was loyal. Not every man could boast that quality.

  He didn’t need to e-date. He needed a hiring service. But it wasn’t like there were employment agencies for brides.

  Okay. So. His next option was to write an ad. Like in the Moose Creek Matchmaker. Locals were constantly putting in ads for everything from aboveground swimming pools to ski gear and jobs from master carpenter to laundress. If you had something to barter or sell or needed to purchase an odd item, then the Matchmaker was your source.

  He logged onto their website and filled out the first part of the advertisin
g form with his name and credit card info. He checked the box that kept his identity a secret. The site would collect responses instead of sending them to his email account and giving away his name. He wasn’t hugely famous, but a Google search would tell people what he did for a living and who he’d sold songs to in the past. He had some pretty big hits—and the awards to prove it. He didn’t want a woman who was interested in starting her own writing career and using him as a stepping stone.

  The ad would run him ten dollars a day. He opted for one day to test the waters. If nothing came of it, then he’d look into other options. He really, really didn’t want to ask his parents to set him up. They wouldn’t understand why he’d want to be married to someone he wasn’t in love with. He’d had love—that kind of connection with a person didn’t happen twice in a lifetime.

  He stared at the box where he was supposed to type his ad.

  Wanted: A wife.

  He took a deep breath in and blew it out slowly, his lips forming an O. Typing that felt big. So big.

  Cody appeared in his doorway. “I don’t feel good. I’m going back to bed.”

  The doctor said that fatigue was one of the symptoms, and the soda had probably upset his stomach. “Okay, bud. I’ll come check on you in a minute.”

  “’Kay.” He plodded off.

  Xavier stared after him. Really, it didn’t matter if this woman could help him write or not. What was most important was Cody’s health. He needed someone who could save his son. He typed faster, afraid he’d lose his nerve if he didn’t get this done.