Billionaire Country. Silver James

       Three

      Tucker let Zoe drive as she seemed to have some clue about their location. She didn’t pop the clutch when she shifted gears, instinctively braked before hitting the curves, then powered through them by accelerating. The day was sunny, not too warm, and her not-quite-in-laws were way behind them. Besides, by not driving, he could study his runaway bride.

      Zoe was pretty, though not in the beauty queen sense. Her eyes, hidden now behind big sunglasses, were a deep chocolate brown. Her chin was too long, her mouth too wide but not full and her nose tipped up on the end. Her long, dark brown hair fell in twisty—and hair-sprayed—curls down over her cleavage. There was just something wrong with him for thinking about her in any sort of sexual way, but he couldn’t help himself. She wasn’t the sort of woman he normally would be attracted to, yet he was. She exuded a sweet vulnerability that called to him.

      Her accent was thick enough—and country enough—he could cut it with a knife. He had a Harvard MBA and remembered all too acutely the disdain he’d received there for his Okie accent. He’d worked hard to smooth out the rough edges. But Zoe? Her language was colorful and brash, and whenever she opened her mouth, the lyrics to a country song spilled out. Maybe that was why she fascinated him. Tucker continued to study her.

      She had long, supple fingers—and didn’t the idea of them gripping him like she had them wrapped around the steering wheel make him shift in his seat. They ended with short nails covered in chipped red polish. Her arms looked toned and he wondered what her figure was like before the pregnancy. He jerked his thoughts away from jumping down that rabbit hole.

      She drove with a carefree abandon and a determined focus. She was a free spirit, not ready to settle in one place. Except she’d decided to keep the child of a man she claimed was a one-night stand she didn’t wish to marry. Zoe was a paradox and his curiosity might just kill his cat. Good thing he didn’t own one.

      “You’re staring.”

      “Yup.”

      “I need to pee again.”

      “Okay.”

      She cut her eyes his direction. “I’ll be stoppin’ at the next place we come to. You can drive after that.”

      “Gee, thanks,” he said dryly. “Considering it’s my car.” He flashed her a mock glower and added, “Though I’ll admit you’re not a bad driver.”

      She made a pfft sound before she laughed. And, man, did her laughter arrow straight into his core. “Honey, I learned to drive when I was ten so I could borrow the neighbor’s car. My daddy couldn’t drive so I’d take us down to the local dive where I could play for my supper and his drinks.”

      This woman fascinated Tucker. And he worried about that, just a little. She was raw and...real. She said what she thought with no filters, and no matter how horrified he might be, he still found himself enjoying her company. In the back of his mind, though, resided that little voice of doubt. Was she telling a tall tale, or was this the truth of her life? He understood that not everyone had the ’50s sitcom life he and his brothers had grown up with—a strong mother, a doting father, hard work but lots and lots of love, and parents who gave their boys the freedom to fly when they left the nest. All but his baby brother, Dillon. But that was okay. Between him and Deacon, they were keeping him in line.

      Pulling his thoughts back to the woman driving his car, Tucker noticed Zoe was squirming in her seat. He surreptitiously searched the map app on his phone. “Can you last five more miles?”

      Zoe glared at the speedometer then scowled as they passed a speed limit sign. The little car sped up. A lot. Tucker choked off a laugh. Less than five minutes later, she braked to a sliding stop at the travel mart just off I-40. She got the stick shift in Neutral, heaved out of the seat and waddled inside. Zoe wore such a determined look on her face that men scrambled out of her way. Tucker waited until she was out of sight and then he burst out laughing. Several people walking past the T-Bird stared at him. He didn’t care. He’d been totally charmed by his hitchhiker.

      By the time Zoe returned, Tucker was sitting in the driver’s seat. He started to get out to hold the door, but she waved him off.

      “I may be as big as a small barn, but I’m not helpless. The day I can’t open my own door, I’ll be flat on my back in a coffin.”

      “Yes, ma’am, if you say so.”

      “Are you makin’ fun of me?”

      “No, ma’am. Not me.”

      She gave him a narrow-eyed scowl. He just managed to keep his face averted so she couldn’t see the grin teasing his mouth. Too cute. Even pregnant with swollen ankles and a small bladder, she was too cute. “I’m taking the interstate so we’re about two, two and a half hours from Nashville. You gonna need to stop again?”

      “Your guess is as good as mine. It depends on Baby Bugtussle.” She suddenly sat up straighter and blew out a slow breath. “Swear to the angels above this child is gonna be a placekicker for the University of Tennessee Volunteers.”

      Tucker glanced past her, watching traffic, before pulling out onto the highway. “Do you know what it is?”

      “Etta Smithee is convinced it’s a boy.”

      “You haven’t had an ultrasound?”

      “I’ve had three. The little dickens gives the camera its butt. Not one scan has shown this child’s privates. If I had a nursery, I’d have to paint it lavender.”

      “Lavender?”

      “Yup. Mix pink and blue. Makes lavender.”

      “How about green? That seems like a neutral color.”

      “Nope. Baby Bugtussle has done stepped on my last nerve. Gonna paint everything lavender. Then if it is a boy, he can just explain things to his friends.”

      “Why not just name him Sue?” Tucker muttered.

      Zoe laughed and launched into a few measures of Johnny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue.” She offered a raucous rendition of the song. The part of him always on the lookout for new talent picked up something in her voice, but she stopped singing before he got a handle on just what he heard. He realized her voice made him think of moonlight and rumpled sheets, of a man and a woman entwined in the dark. He liked the vision in his head—probably a little too much.

      They didn’t talk. At highway speed, the wind blew away their words. Zoe gathered her hair in one hand to keep it from whipping around her face. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, which surprised him. He caught himself watching her almost as much as he kept his eyes on the road. Her voice and laugh burrowed their way into him, as did the hint of uncertainty and sadness he sensed behind her good humor. The way her high cheeks complemented the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat as she arched her head back... She was far too attractive for his own good. He found himself lost in contemplating her face. Until he glanced down to the rounded bulk of her pregnant belly. That was like taking the ice bucket challenge every time.

      They hit the outskirts of Nashville just over two hours later. Traffic thickened as they approached the east side. He needed to know where to drop her, so he asked. She took her time answering, and Tucker watched the lighthearted mask she hid behind slip a little. She finally asked to borrow his phone, only she didn’t make any calls. Her thumbs flew over the screen as she texted someone. Then she waited, eyes glued to his phone.

      When she didn’t give him directions or an address, he took the exit for downtown Nashville and headed to the restored