Billionaire Country

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?

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 mum, 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.

Also by Silver James

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

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Billionaire Country

Silver James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09215-9

BILLIONAIRE COUNTRY

© 2019 Silver James

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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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

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Epilogue

About the Publisher

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.

“So you’re a singer?”

Zoe hid her discomfort with a shrug. “Yeah, I am. And some days—” she tossed him her cheekiest grin “—I even get paid for it.”

Zoe smooshed down some of the skirt between her thighs and squiggled her legs, still attempting to get comfortable. The silence returned. After several minutes, she glanced over at Tucker. He was casting surreptitious looks her way—only he wasn’t checking out her face. Nope. He’d finally noticed her rounded belly.

Tucker cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, and evidently thought better of it because his jaw clamped shut. Zoe decided silence wasn’t so bad. The man lasted all of five minutes.

“So, it was a shotgun wedding?”

“You could say that. Only it was my head they were holdin’ the gun to.”

He slammed on the brakes and her hands flew to the dash to brace her body. “What? What’s wrong?” She swung her head back and forth looking for whatever emergency caused him to stop.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he repeated, swiveling in the driver’s seat to face her. “Please tell me that was...a euphemism. Or a joke. Or something.”

“I wish I was jokin’.” He scowled at her. “Hey, I didn’t plan on my life takin’ this detour.” She shrugged. “I will admit, however, t’bein’ young and dumb at the time.”

“And now?”

“Older and wiser. Gettin’ ready to have a kid and watchin’ my life turn into a bad soap opera will do that to a body.”

Tucker glanced at her rounded belly. “Yeah? And you figured all this out when? All of...what, eight months ago?”

“About that.” Zoe pressed her lips together, wondering how far she could trust this stranger. “My life is a tad crazy, Tucker. I figure the best I can do is grin and bear it. You know, laughter bein’ the best medicine and all?”

“Don’t you have family to help?”

She curled her lips between her teeth and bit down. Her eyes burned, and she looked away so he wouldn’t see. The compassion she saw in his expression was about to undo her. “Don’t have any family t’speak of. There’s just me.”

“I...wow.” He looked surprised. “I can’t imagine what that would be like. I have a huge family.”

A big family? There’d only been Zoe and her dad. “Lucky you.”

His smile was warm and fond. “Until they get all up in my business.”

Zoe felt a sharp twinge. Grimacing, she pressed her palm against her side.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just those Briggs & Stratton things.”

He looked confused, opened his mouth to speak, then pressed his lips together for a moment. He eventually asked, “Don’t you mean Braxton Hicks?”

Eyes twinkling, she tilted her head, pretending to think about it, because of that whole laughter-being-the-best-medicine thing. She went for the cheap laugh. “Braxton Hicks. Doesn’t he sing at the Grand Ole Opry?”

Two

Tucker hadn’t missed the sheen of moisture in her eyes or her attempt at humor. From the white cowgirl boots to the froth of tulle and lace, she looked like a refugee from a hillbilly comedy show, but in her case, the clothing didn’t define the woman hiding behind the caricature. In their short time together, he’d seen determination, warmth and an effervescent spirit. He admired the first and as a man, could appreciate the rest. He also sensed she was far more lonely than she wanted anyone to know. Given her circumstances? Totally understandable. He decided to play along. For now. “Ah, no,” he said, hiding a grin. “Braxton Hicks are like false labor.”

“No, really?” she said dryly, giving an exaggerated roll of her eyes. A moment later, she tilted her head to study him from under creased eyebrows. “How would a man like you know somethin’ like that? You married?” He caught her checking out his left hand where it lightly gripped the steering wheel.

Biting back a bark of laughter, Tucker shook his head. Settling down was the last thing on his mind. “Nope. But that big family I mentioned? I have brothers and cousins. Some are married with kids.” And his cousin-in-law Jolie, a nurse, had schooled everyone on the stages of pregnancy and birth when his Barron cousin Kade and wife, Pippa, went through the process. His gaze strayed to Zoe’s belly again. Her hands were laced over it and he found the gesture...sweet.

Tuck eased off the brake, realizing he’d stopped in the middle of the road. Good thing there wasn’t any traffic. “So tell me something.” He glanced at her, waiting until she faced him to continue. “Were you serious about it being a shotgun wedding?”

An expression he couldn’t immediately decipher flickered across her face. She shifted to stare out her side of the car, and he thought she’d ignore his question. Then he heard her sigh.

“That there would be a very long story. Are you sure you wanna wade around in my can of worms?”

And that there was a good question, he mused. By stopping and picking her up, he’d dived headfirst into her mess, and to be honest, his curiosity was getting the better of him. “It’s a long drive to Nashville. We’ve got time.”

“Well, sir, you’ve asked for it. Question becomes, where should I start?”

“The beginning always works for me.”

“True, that. So...about nine months ago, I was singing my way from honky-tonk to roadhouse, and one night, I was fillin’ in as a singer for the house band at Shooter Jake’s.” She looked his way to see if he was following along. “You’ve heard of it?”

He nodded. Shooter Jake’s, in Dalton, Georgia, was one step up from a roadhouse, but the owner had an ear for music and a willingness to give talented newcomers a chance. He wasn’t going to admit precisely how familiar he was with the place. It had been Jake himself who put Tuck on the trail of the band he’d just auditioned.