Billionaire Country

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.”

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