Billionaire Country. Silver James

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