Billionaire Country. Silver James

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