Читать книгу Billionaire Country - Silver James - Страница 12

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 fire station that now housed Bent Star. His passenger looked up as the car rolled to a stop at Second Ave.

“Where are we?” Zoe’s forehead crinkled as she gazed around.

“I’m headed to my office unless you have someplace else in mind?”

She tucked her chin and shook her head. “No. Not really. I texted a friend of mine, but he hasn’t replied yet. I was going to camp out on his couch.”

Tucker didn’t like the idea of this male friend of hers. Which was ridiculous. Except he liked Zoe and was worried about her being stuck in Nashville all alone. He didn’t say anything until he pulled into the parking lot at Bent Star and cut the T-Bird’s engine. With both hands on the steering wheel, he slid his eyes her direction but didn’t look at her full-on. “Do you have another place to stay, Zoe?” She lifted a shoulder, head still down. “I can take you to a hotel.”

“I’m good,” she insisted. “Don’t put yourself out. I’ll just head to my friend’s.” He watched her shoulders slump in a defensive move. “Can I get my stuff from the trunk?”

“Sure.” He slipped out of the car and retrieved her guitar case and duffel. He carried both around to the passenger side and after watching her struggle for a long moment, set down the bag and extended his hand. “Here. For leverage,” he added when she scowled at him. Once she was out of the car, she slung the straps of the duffel over her shoulder, handed him his phone and clutched her guitar case.

“Well, thanks for all the help and stuff. Sorry for getting you caught up in all my drama.” She offered a wan smile, turned away and started walking.

Tucker glanced down at his phone and noticed a reply text. “Well, crap,” he muttered. His mother would disown him if she ever found out he let a down-on-her-luck pregnant girl just walk off into the sunset. “Zoe!”

* * *

She kept walking, picking up speed when Tucker yelled her name. If she could get downtown, she might find one of the clubs with an open mic night where she could sing for tips or something. That would get her a room until she could reach the guy she’d hoped to stay with.

Pounding steps echoed behind her, then a warm hand settled on her shoulder, halting her.

“Your friend texted back.” He held out his phone so she could read it. “He’s out of town, touring with a band.” She closed her eyes to hide the tears prickling there. Just once she wished things could go her way. She felt wrung out, and so tired she hurt all over.

“You don’t have any other place to go, do you?” Tucker’s voice sounded full of compassion. She hated that he might pity her but before she could make up something, he continued. “And I’m betting you don’t have much money, either.” He tugged the duffel off her shoulder and hefted it over his own. Then he relieved her of the guitar case. “C’mon. I have a couple of things to take care of at the office. Then we’ll go eat something and figure out things from there.”

“Look, you don’t—”

“Yeah, I do. I’m not going to just dump you out on the street, Zoe. I wasn’t raised that way.”

They walked back to the redbrick Victorian building. Once upon a time, it had been a firehouse. There was no sign to designate what sort of business occupied the space. Tucker hadn’t mentioned what he did for a living. Given the expensive boots and the classic car he drove, he had money.

He held the front door for her and ushered her inside. He could do...almost anything. Lawyer. Real estate. Heck, this was Nashville. He could be in the music business. The reception area had a country-western feel with lots of leather furniture and barn wood with a logo shaped like a Texas Ranger’s star behind the desk.

Tucker led her down a long hall that opened into another waiting area, still decorated in the same theme, only the artwork consisted of album covers and awards. Agent, she decided. Tucker must be a music agent. Either he window-dressed a good story or he had some major clients, according to the stuff lining the walls.

“Have a seat. I’ll be a little while,” he said, then disappeared behind a closed door—with her guitar case and bag. She was too tired to object.

She wandered around the space, stretching her legs. The secretary’s desk held only a phone console. She found the restroom and availed herself of it. As she wandered back to the sitting area, she noticed a worn acoustic guitar sitting on a stand. Unable to resist, she picked it up and settled in a large chair that could accommodate two people, if one of them wasn’t pregnant.

Zoe curled up, as much as her belly allowed, on the wide padded seat. Using her thumb, she tested the tone of each string, listening intently. Surprised to find it in tune, she strummed a few chords. The old Gibson had an amazing sound. She riffed through a progression of chords, humming softly. Lost in the music, she didn’t realize she had an audience.

She sang a Carrie Underwood song, then launched into a rollicking Miranda Lambert tune. She finished up with Kelly Clarkson’s heartbreaking ballad, “Piece by Piece.” Zoe didn’t get to sing ballads often. Working the bars, the folks there wanted up-tempo dance tunes. But her soul found solace in the ballads, the songs like this one, or like Cam’s “Burning House.” She lay her cheek against the swell of the guitar and just let her hands wander along until they started picking the melody to Striking Matches’ “When the Right One Comes Along.” She raised her voice to sing, getting through the first stanza of the duet. She took a breath before starting the part where the male voice would harmonize, and almost dropped the guitar when a voice picked up where she’d left off.

Jerking her head up, she gaped at the five men standing there, but it was the singer who held her attention. He’d picked up the song on his own guitar and winked at her as he waited for her to catch up. Her voice found his pitch, and as she began to sing again, he altered his tone to match hers. Outwardly, she remained calm but inside? Inside she was squeeing like a fangirl sitting in the front row of this man’s concert. Deacon Freaking Tate. Along with his band, the Sons of Nashville. She managed to get through the song, even adding some harmony from the guitar in her lap.

When they finished, the band applauded, but she was so flustered she couldn’t speak. Was this what it felt like to be famous? Fame had been a pipe dream from the time her daddy had put that first pawnshop guitar in her hands.

Deacon walked up to her, a big smile on his face. She’d thought he was sexy on TV but in person he was off the charts. He held out his hand.

“Deacon Tate.”

She sucked in a breath and thought, Of course you are. Then she introduced herself, placing her hand in his. “Zoe Parker.”

“Nice to sing with you, Miss Zoe Parker.”

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine.”

“Aren’t you married?” a gruff voice barked from behind the band. “And doesn’t your wife carry a gun?”

Deacon laughed, the sound as rich and lyrical as his singing voice. “Yes, and yes, Tuck. You didn’t tell us you had such a talented lady waiting for you. We’d have finished sooner.”

Zoe forgot to breathe as Tucker pushed through the cluster of band members and halted next to Deacon. Only then—with them side by side—did she recognize the similarity. “Are you... I don’t...?” she sputtered.

“Zoe Parker, I’d like to introduce my brother, and the chief operating officer of Barron Entertainment, Tucker Tate,” Deacon interrupted. He bumped Tucker with his shoulder, amusement lighting up his handsome face. “And there’s no need to be jealous, little bro.”

Her gaze darted between the two men for about five seconds as her brain roller-skated on a hamster wheel. Tucker Tate? He was like a gazillionaire. And important. Breath caught in her lungs. No hyperventilating, she ordered herself. Something twinged low in her back and the pain that had been building there all day exploded as her water broke.

Zoe looked up, horrified and embarrassed. The men stared at her, then at each other. She pressed her hand over her mouth as they erupted into shouted orders and pandemonium as everyone started running around shouting and flailing their arms.

“Call nine-one-one!”

“There’s not time!”

“I’ll get the car!”

“We need an ambulance!”

Then Tucker and Deacon were beside her, holding her up. “Shh, Zoe. It’s okay,” Tucker soothed.

She gazed into Tucker’s face. He appeared only slightly panicked. “If you say so.”

“I do. Just hang on.” His arm slipped around her shoulders. “We got this, remember?”

And then the EMTs were there, bundling her onto a stretcher and moving her to the ambulance. They loaded her, and she saw Tucker standing outside, staring at her and looking as lost as she felt.

“C’mon, Dad,” one EMT said, waving Tucker aboard. “I have the feeling the baby isn’t going to wait for an invitation. You need to be close.”

Tucker climbed in and moved to crouch on the bench near Zoe’s head. The second EMT headed to the ambulance cab and in moments, they pulled out, lights blazing and sirens blaring.

“I’m Ted,” the EMT said.

“Zoe.”

“I need to take a peek, Zoe, to see where we are in the process. Okay?”

Tucker looked away as the EMT cut off her pants and checked. He gulped when the guy said, “Ah, darlin’? You need to stop pushing.”

“Stop pushing?” Zoe yelled. “What in bloody blue blazes are you sayin’? This baby wants out!” She waved her left hand in Tucker’s direction.

He grabbed it out of sheer instinct. She squeezed hard, grunted, then panted. She clutched his hand so tight, he lost feeling in his fingers. The EMT tsked a few times as he draped a thin cotton blanket over Zoe and fussed with getting monitoring equipment on her.

“I don’t wanna do this,” Zoe wailed.

“Little late for that, angel.” Tucker smoothed a tangle of hair off her face and wondered what it would feel like once the hairspray was washed out. Her face was pinched from pain and her eyes were fixed on him. He tried to smile but he wasn’t nearly as calm as he tried to project.

A low moan escaped from between lips pressed tightly together and her shoulders came off the stretcher. “Gotta push,” she snarled between clenched teeth.

“Just hang on, little momma. We’re almost there.” Ted lifted the blanket to check her again, his gaze bouncing to the monitoring equipment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing some breathing or something?” Tucker wanted to distract her. He got a growl and a light punch in the arm for his efforts.

“So not funny, you—” Whatever she meant to say was lost in another, more powerful groan.

“Speed it up!” Ted yelled toward the cab of the ambulance. The ambulance accelerated.

Tucker watched as the EMT muttered something and flipped the blanket up to Zoe’s knees and positioned himself between her legs. Moments later, Ted said, “Looks like we’re doing this anyway. Time to push, Zoe.”

The contraction hit, and Zoe squeezed Tucker’s hand again as she bore down. He slipped an arm under her shoulders and gave her support as she pushed.

It seemed like an hour before she went limp, leaning back into him as the EMT held something pink and squirming. Which then started screaming at earsplitting levels to rival the siren. Tucker barely had time to catch his breath before Ted was placing a naked bundle in Zoe’s arms.

Tucker looked down at the tiny, scrunched-up face and felt his heart stop. He brushed a fingertip along the baby’s cheek and the child stopped crying. Able to breathe again, he marveled at the tiny thing, all thick dark hair and blue eyes. Part of him was stunned but another part was full of awe, and some emotion he couldn’t—nor did he want to—define. But his brain spun through the possibilities despite his best efforts. Protectiveness. A weird tenderness. Tucker figured in that moment that he was a goner. This kid would own him heart and soul if he didn’t guard against it.

“Congrats, Mom and Dad. It’s a boy.”