Billionaire Country Read online

  Rule Number One:

  Never mix business and pleasure.

  Country music producer Tucker Tate is laser focused. But finding a pregnant runaway bride forces him to slow down. Zoe Parker has a voice like an angel—and nowhere to go. So when he moves her and her baby into his condo, it’s just business...until it’s not. Will broken rules lead to broken hearts? Or is Tucker writing his very own love song?

  Surrounded by lights, Zoe all but glowed up there onstage.

  Her hair fell in a long, soft wave over her bare shoulder. He wanted to kiss that shoulder. And her neck. Her mouth. Her nose.

  She played the crowd like a pro, but her eyes returned to him time and again. He smiled at her. And something in her eyes gave him pause. Tucker needed to put the brakes on. So what if he’d gotten used to having her—and her baby—around?

  Then the song ended and the place erupted in cheers and whistles. The impromptu concert was over. Zoe Parker was the new princess of the Nashville country music scene.

  Zoe and the band disappeared backstage. Tucker followed. He stood back, observing. Zoe, surrounded by people, positively glowed. She looked up and her gaze fell on him. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree and suddenly she was flying toward him. She leaped. He caught her. And then their mouths clashed.

  * * *

  Billionaire Country is part of

  Harlequin Desire’s bestselling series,

  Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men...wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

  Dear Reader,

  I grew up with country music. I rebelled a little in my teens and went rock-and-roll, though my all-time favorite artists were the storytellers—balladeers like Neil Diamond and Gordon Lightfoot. I also grew up with a dad who took me on a yearly road trip. Just the two of us. The biggest one we took was when he drove me to college. It was a weeklong journey of dad and daughter. One of the places we stopped was Nashville. Due to an ill-placed one-way street, and being typical tourists, we ended up at the back door of the Ryman Auditorium—home to the original Grand Ole Opry. A very kind security guard let us in and I walked out to stand in the middle of the stage. I did not burst into song. I don’t sing. Stay with me, because this is going somewhere.

  See, even though I’m not a singer and piano, guitar and bagpipe lessons were total failures, I love music. Listening, anyway. As a writer, I often find inspiration from songs. And last summer, I celebrated thirty-five years with my best friend and love of my life. In the slow cooker that is my writer’s brain, these events all came together and culminated in Billionaire Country. Country music, road trips and finding the right one. I hope you’ll come along for Tucker and Zoe’s ride. Who calls shotgun?

  Happy reading,

  Silver James

  Silver James

  Billionaire Country

  Silver James likes walks on the wild side and coffee. Okay. She LOVES coffee. A cowgirl at heart, she’s been an army officer’s wife and mom, and worked in the legal field, fire service and law enforcement. Now retired from the real world, she lives in Oklahoma, spending her days writing with the assistance of two Newfoundlands, the cat who rules them all and the characters living in her imagination.

  Books by Silver James

  Harlequin Desire

  Red Dirt Royalty

  Cowgirls Don’t Cry

  The Cowgirl’s Little Secret

  The Boss and His Cowgirl

  Convenient Cowgirl Bride

  Redeemed by the Cowgirl

  Claiming the Cowgirl’s Baby

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Proposition

  Billionaire Country

  Visit her Author Profile page at Harlequin.com, or silverjames.com, for more titles.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  To best friends,

  families and dreams that come true.

  Many thanks to Charles, my editor,

  who challenges me every step of the way,

  all so my own dream can come true.

  And with special thanks to Denise,

  with the Metropolitan Nashville Department

  of Communications, and the Nashville Police

  Department for service above and beyond

  when it came to dumb questions.

  Thank you for all you do!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Nashville Secrets by Sheri WhiteFeather

  One

  Tucker Tate was a man who knew where he was going. His life was exactly on track—and precisely where he wanted it. As the chief operating officer of Barron Entertainment, that life was never boring. The sun was shining, and he was tooling down Life’s Highway in a vintage T-Bird, top down, wind in his face, radio cranked loud. He was single and free of familial duties, thanks in part to his brother Deacon getting married and adopting a baby, causing his mother to tone down the marriage rhetoric where her other six sons were concerned. Thank goodness! His cousin, and boss, Chase Barron, had also jumped onto the happily married-go-round, turning more of the business side over to Tucker. Which brought him to this glorious spring day.

  He’d driven to eastern Tennessee from Nashville to check out a band performing at an amusement park with an eye to offering them a recording contract with Bent Star, the record company owned by Barron Entertainment. He had their demo tape and was leaning toward signing them, though he wanted one of the producers at Bent Star Records to take a listen. At the moment, he just wanted to enjoy a day of freedom. He’d opted to drive the long way home—heading to Gatlinburg for lunch before meandering through the Smoky Mountains as he headed vaguely north and west.

  He didn’t spend much time in the country. He appreciated his suite at the Crown Casino in Las Vegas and the company’s luxury town house in Nashville’s West End district. When he had to be home in Oklahoma, he stayed at the family ranch—mostly for holidays and the few command performances decreed by his mom.

  The sun still hung high as Tucker drove toward I-40, taking every back road he could find. He passed a small country church perched on a low rise just off the road. A dirt and gravel drive led up to it and the clapboard building was surrounded by a variety of trucks and cars, some so beat-up he wondered that they still ran while others were tricked out enough to be show cars. As it was Saturday and there appeared to be an abundance of paper flowers and streamers on the vehicles, he figured a wedding was taking place.

  It was a good day for a wedding, he decided—so long as it wasn’t his neck in the noose. Marriage and kids were the very last thing on his mind. He was enjoying the heck out of his life.

  Shifting gears, he took a curve in the road a little faster than was smart. He wasn’t expecting the car charging up his six.

  Jerking the wheel, Tucker cursed and fought gravity but kept the T-Bird between the lines. He blinked at the car that passed then pulled away from him. Was that a Trans Am? He laughed out loud. It was. It was a freaking Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am. Covered in paper flowers and trailing cans. Good grief. Then something white and filmy flew up through the Trans Am’s open T-tops. He watched, fascinated, as the backwash from the car sent the thing soaring. Tucker slowed and downshifted, paying more attention to the material sailing toward him than the road.

  A truck hit its air horn, and for the second time, Tucker jerked his car back into the correct lane—just in time for the white material to snag on his radio antenna. He slowed further, reached over and grabbed the lacy thing. It wasn’t until he had it in his hand that he realized it was a wedding veil. Complete with a glittering tiara. Yeah, that gathering had definitely been a wedding, and evidently the newlyweds were in a real hurry to start the honeymoon. He accelerated back to the speed limit and wondered if the groom had the bride in his lap while he was driving, then hoped they wouldn’t wreck.

  Twenty minutes later, he spotted a cloud of smoke just over the crest of a hill. Crap. He hoped his wayward thoughts hadn’t jinxed the couple. Tucker slowed down as he hit the hilltop. Halfway down, the Trans Am was pulled off to the side of the road. Oily black smoke poured from the exhaust pipes, but he didn’t see any flames. The thing had probably blown its engine. As he edged his car closer, he caught sight of a woman wearing a white dress. She had the frothy skirt hiked up around her thighs as she kicked the car with her white Western boots. She glanced up—briefly—then went back to kicking.

  Tucker pulled over and parked in front of the Trans Am. He looked around for the groom, but it appeared the bride was alone. Curious. He got out, and as her curses washed over him, he approached with a bit of trepidation. Apparently, the woman was not happy with the entire male gender. Taking his life and manhood in his hands, he stopped out of kicking distance.

  * * *

  What had she ever done to deserve all this bad karma?

  Zoe kicked the Trans Am’s door and enjoyed the boot-sized dent she inflicted. Movement flickered in the corner of her eye and she panicked. Once the Smithees figured out she’d run away, she was hosed. She rubbed her side.

  “It’s all gonna be fine,” she murmured. “Momma’s gonna fix everything.” All she had to do was figure out how. The thought of that family getting their hands on her child sent ice water through her veins. They’d kept her a virtual prisoner until today. Seeing the Trans Am outside the church window and knowing she had a set of keys? She’d climbed out that window and run.

  Zoe huffed out a breath when she recognized the classic black T-Bird with its lone male driver rolling her way. She started to raise her hand, but something stopped her from flagging him down. When it came to men, her instincts were on the fritz.

  She kicked the car again, her massive ball-gown skirt gathered up in her arms to give her boot easy access to the metal. Dad-blasted piece of junk. Bad enough she’d had to drive it after Redmond’s incarceration but the idea that she’d take it to go on her honeymoon with his blockheaded brother...

  Good grief but Norbert was a moron. And his mother? That woman terrified her. Etta Smithee would be the mother-in-law from hell. The old bag should be run over by a reindeer. Or better yet, a Mack truck! Why the Smithees thought she would willingly marry Norbert just because he was Redmond’s brother and Redmond was the father—

  Someone cleared his throat and Zoe jumped. She whirled to face the stranger she’d passed on the road. Oh, good lord, why was she being so sorely tested? This man was...gorgeous. He was tall—towering at least a foot over her. His dark hair was short, cropped almost like a soldier’s but had way more style. He looked perfect, unlike the Smithee brothers and cousins. Who would be on her trail all too soon. She refocused her attention on the intruder. He had eyes the color of cornflowers, which were crinkled in amusement. And his mouth. She could kiss that mouth for days and never need to come up for air. In other words, he was trouble in spades as he stood there in those tight blue jeans that hugged him like a jealous lover.

  “Having a little car trouble?”

  “Ya think?” She snapped at him and didn’t know what to do when he grinned. She clutched the layers of material closer to her body, like her wedding dress would protect her from his sexiness.

  “I’m a man. We’re masters of the understatement.” He eyed the beast, his expression dubious. “Need a lift?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Sugar, I think you blew the engine. This bird isn’t going to fly anytime in the near future.” He gave her the once-over and she felt—actually felt—his gaze touch her. She shivered inside. Guydar. On the fritz, she reminded herself sternly. She realized how she’d hitched the ball-gown skirt of the wedding dress up around her middle, which bared her legs.

  The dude cleared his throat. “So, sugar, want me to call a tow truck for your car?”

  “No.” Technically, it wasn’t her car. Red had left her the keys, told her to drive it. She didn’t give a flip if it sat here on the edge of the road from now until the day after the end of the world. A thought hit her. Leaving it might slow down her pursuers. Before she could ponder that further, her would-be rescuer spoke again.

  “Look, this is the back of beyond. Let me at least give you a lift to the next town.”

  “I’m not goin’ to the next town. I’m headed to Nashville.”

  “Fancy that. So am I. I’ll take you.”

  And that was the whole problem. She wanted him to take her. He was still looking her up and down, interest sparking in those too-blue-to-be-safe eyes of his, and dang if she wasn’t checking him out in return and hoping for a caveman. Ugh. What was wrong with her?

  “All the way to Nashville?” That would give her a big head start on the Smithees. Red was in prison down in Alabama. Norbert was his mother’s son and the Smithee cousins all followed Etta’s orders.

  “All the way.” He held up his phone, and his brows creased in a cute way that made her want to kiss his forehead. Whoa, girl, she chided herself. This whole Handsome Man Syndrome was what had landed her in this mess to begin with. “Huh. No bars. I’ll call a wrecker when we hit civilization.”

  Zoe leaned in through the door and grabbed her duffel bag and guitar case. Everything she owned fit in both. “Fine. Let’s go.” She marched past him, skirts still bunched around her middle, and got jerked to a stop when he snagged her bag.

  “I’ll put these in the trunk. The T-Bird doesn’t have a back seat.”

  While the man deposited all her worldly goods into the minuscule trunk, she stomped to the passenger side door and snorted when she saw her veil crumpled there. Bad karma. Definitely. Zoe stuffed the ugly thing onto the dashboard and did her best to maneuver into the seat.

  “May I help?”

  She startled and banged her shin on the car door. Dang but the man was sneaky. She’d need to remember that fact. “No, I’m good. Thanks kindly.”

  He stood back, arms folded across a chest that filled out his crisp button-down shirt as well as his butt did those jeans. He’d rolled the sleeves up to reveal tan forearms sprinkled with dark hair that glinted copper under the sun.

  With much huffing and puffing, she squirmed her way into the tight fit. Between the hideous excuse for a wedding dress and everything else, she’d need a forklift to get her out of the darn thing.

  She reached for the door to close it, but the guy beat her to it. He stuffed the trailing edges of her dress in around her and managed to shut the car door without catching any part of her skirt. “I’d tell you to buckle up, but that dress is a built-in airbag.”

  “Ha ha, funny,” she groused, pushing part of the tulle and netting down and tucking it around her legs. First gas station they came to, she was ditching this virginal white travesty and getting comfortable. With effort, she fought to stretch the seat belt over the material and got it fastened.

  Moments later, he was settled behind the wheel. “I’m Tucker,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Zoe.” She eyed his hand while weighing the risk of touching him. Her palm all but itched to feel his skin. She gave in to temptation and they shook. His palm was warm and dry. But those were not little tingles racing up her arm. Nope. Definitely not.

  “Should I ask where the groom is?” He gave her a sideways glance as he started the T-Bird. And didn’t that sweet engine purr pretty? He pulled out onto the rural highway.

  “Nope. Let’s just say our nuptials weren’t meant to be.” She grabbed the veil and tossed it over her head. She watched it through the side mirror and laughed when it draped across the firebird graphic on the hood of the Trans Am.

  He cut his eyes her direction for a moment. “Cold feet?”

  “Good sense.” She flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile in his direction.

  “Okay.” He dragged the syllables out.

  She smoothed down her dress even more, grimacing at the miles of material. “You wouldn’t happen to have some scissors? Or maybe a knife or something sharp?” The man—Tucker—glanced her way again so she explained, fluffing up the copious amount of material in her lap. “I want to cut some of the superfluous crap off this thing.”

  “No, sorry. Nothing that would work on that dress.”

  Zoe wanted to explain she hadn’t picked out the dress, like this guy would care about her tastes in clothing. Still, she wanted him to think well of her. They rode in silence as miles passed. Fidgeting, she said, “You aren’t from around here.”

  Tucker grinned. “Oklahoma originally. You?”

  “Smoky Mountains, mostly, but I’m ready to get out and never look back.” That was the truth. She sighed, wishing she’d dug her sunglasses out of her bag, and added under her breath, “One of the biggest mistakes I ever made was goin’ to Gatlinburg to sing at that bar.”

  She glanced at Tucker, who was still watching her from the corner of his eye. She wanted to bite her tongue. Zoe knew exactly the picture she presented, and this guy had money and class stamped all over him.