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Tutoring Tucker
Debrah Morris
A poor country boy who barely had two cents to rub together, Briny Tucker never expected miracles. Then he won fifty million dollars and hired spirited oil heiress Dorian Burrell, one of the richest–and sexiest–women he'd ever met, to help refine his rough-and-tumble ways.But Briny's tendency to give cash to every down-on-his-luck beggar and charity in the great state of Texas wasn't exactly in his beautiful teacher's lesson plans….Dorian was stunned by Briny's generosity! And yet her determination to turn the rugged cowboy into one of society's elite was quickly overshadowed by long-buried urges that begged to be unleashed. Was she ready to go from teacher to student in Briny's capable hands?
“I don’t want to be just another blustering redneck in hand-tooled boots, with a big truck and a double-wide.”
“What do you want, Mr. Tucker?” Dorian whispered. Better question, what was this man doing to her?
He looked at her intently. “I want smart, powerful people to respect me. It’s the only way I can accomplish what I’m setting out to do. I know I have to earn their regard, and that’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yep. I’m not worried about what’s in here.” He patted his chest with one hand. “Or here.” He tapped his head. “But I need you to teach me how to act the part so people will believe in me.”
The man was sincerity personified. There was nothing fake or phony or devious about him. Lord help her, Briny Tucker, the only millionaire in Slapdown, Texas, was the genuine article.
And she was charged with changing him.
Dear Reader,
Oh, baby! This June, Silhouette Romance has the perfect poolside reads for you, from babies to royalty, from sexy millionaires to rugged cowboys!
In Carol Grace’s Pregnant by the Boss! (#1666), champagne and mistletoe lead to a night of passion between Claudia Madison and her handsome boss—but will it end in a lifetime of love? And don’t miss the final installment in Marie Ferrarella’s crossline miniseries, THE MOM SQUAD, with Beauty and the Baby (#1668), about widowed mother-to-be Lori O’Neill and the forbidden feelings she can’t deny for her late husband’s caring brother!
In Raye Morgan’s Betrothed to the Prince (#1667), the second in the exciting CATCHING THE CROWN miniseries, a princess goes undercover when an abandoned baby is left in the care of a playboy prince. And some things are truly meant to be, as Carla Cassidy shows us in her incredibly tender SOULMATES series title, A Gift from the Past (#1669), about a couple given a surprising second chance at forever.
What happens when a rugged cowboy wins fifty million dollars? According to Debrah Morris, in Tutoring Tucker (#1670), he hires a sexy oil heiress to refine his rough-and-tumble ways, and they both get a lesson in love. Then two charity dating-game contestants get the shock of their lives when they discover Oops…We’re Married? (#1671), by brand-new Silhouette Romance author Susan Lute.
See you next month for more fun-in-the-sun romances!
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
Tutoring Tucker
Debrah Morris
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to my sweet daughter, because she restores my faith in the world on a daily basis.
Caitlyn, I love you.
Don’t ever stop believing in fairy tales.
Books by Debrah Morris
Silhouette Romance
A Girl, a Guy and a Lullaby #1549
That Maddening Man #1597
Tutoring Tucker #1670
DEBRAH MORRIS
Before embarking on a solo writing career, Debrah Morris coauthored over twenty romance novels as one half of the Pepper Adams/Joanna Jordan writing team. Married, and a mother of three, she loves wrtiting down her daydreams for others to read.
You can visit Debrah’s Web site at www.debrahmorris.com (http://www.debrahmorris.com). If you wish to hear about upcoming releases, send an e-mail to: Debwilmor@aol.com (mailto:Debwilmor@aol.com) or write to P.O. Box 522, Norman, OK 73070-0522. If you would like an autographed bookmark, please send a SASE with your request.
Contents
Prologue (#u006a28f0-2b7b-5590-8413-12b30c730b16)
Chapter One (#uab22f4c7-4277-5d49-a34c-9b5cce4e2bd0)
Chapter Two (#u35418a71-9d65-5082-aa1e-c14d7133307d)
Chapter Three (#u74f2ef67-2cb2-503a-a79d-3a564829f22b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
Sometimes fairy tales come true
Once upon a time in the dusty village of Slapdown in a western land called Texas, there lived a handsome, bighearted young pauper named Briny. He worked hard, but compassion made him poor. Quick to offer a helping hand to others, he often said, “What good is money, if it does not do good?”
Briny labored in the oil fields, toiling long hours to provide fuel for people across the land. Although he possessed little education, he was blessed with native intelligence and an abundance of generosity, purpose and honor. So much so that people called him a prince among men.
If fortune cookies indeed reveal truth, that success is truly measured in friends, then Briny considered himself a wealthy man.
He had, in fact, almost everything he wanted: the esteem of people who mattered, a small house on wheels, a loyal dog and a truck that ran most of the time. He needed but one thing to make his life complete—a fair maiden to love. A special lady to share his simple life and adore him above all others.
That was the wish Briny held close to his heart.
Ever optimistic, he knew it would someday come true, for he believed in the everlasting power of love. He did not worry about fate or destiny or other matters beyond his control, because he trusted in the notion that good things rewarded good deeds.
So Briny lived day to day, never planning ahead, and rarely concerned by what the future might bring. But because he was hopeful, he clung steadfastly to a single ritual. Each week he stopped by the Bag and Wag to buy a six-pack, a pizza and a ticket in the Great State Lottery.
He selected his six magic numbers carefully, choosing those imbued with special meaning. Twenty-nine because that was his age. Six for the number of boys who had shared his cottage at the juvenile home. Thirty-two for all the puppies Reba had delivered since being rescued from a cruel fate. Twenty for the number of letters in his name, Brindon Zachary Tucker. Eleven because that was how many years he had worked for Chaco Oil.
The last of his magical numbers was one.
For the one woman he would spend his life with.
Over time, Briny bought many tickets. He never won, yet he nurtured the hope that Lady Luck would yet smile upon him. Careful not to ask too much for himself, he wanted only enough to repay his debts, a truck that ran all the time and a little house without wheels on land he could call his own.
Briny made a vow, pledged before God and the Bag and Wag’s aging proprietor. If by some miracle he should win, he would use his windfall treasure to make a difference in the world.
Cherishing his fanciful illusions, he slept soundly at night, little knowing his rare, simple life was about to change in ways he could not have imagined. For Briny, the generous young pauper who never dared to dream big, had no idea he was about to hit a jackpot beyond his wildest dreams.
But that was exactly what happened.
Chapter One
“I want to see Malcolm.”
Maybe she wasn’t having what her grandmother called a conniption fit, but Dorian Burrell had worked herself into a fine fizz during the nasty little scene at the bank. Normally she met with her financial manager over lunch at the country club. Driving through Dallas’s frenetic lunch hour traffic to his high-rise office building had only enhanced her already impressive head of steam.
She breezed past the startled receptionist, in no mood to wait for the woman to acknowledge her. She had questions. She wanted answers. A big-haired girl in a knockoff DKNY blouse would not have them.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry. Miss Burrell?”
Dorian paused and deployed her most withering look. The one calculated to strike terror into the hearts of waiters, sales clerks and secretaries who dared to challenge her. “Yes?” Her tone was chilly enough to wilt the potted philodendron.
The young woman behind the desk flushed an unbecoming shade of red and ducked her fluffy head to scan an open appointment book. The poor girl really should see a professional about those split ends.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to find your name on the schedule. Is Mr. O’Neal expecting you?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll see me. Tina.” By emphasizing the receptionist’s name, Dorian let her know she would be ill-advised to displease a kid-glove client.
“Wait. Please. I’ll announce you.” In a desperate attempt to carry out her duties, Tina reached for the intercom phone on her desk.
“Don’t bother, I’ll surprise him.” This was a day for surprises. She’d had a few herself, none of which had been particularly pleasant. Dorian turned on three-inch heels and plowed through the heavy doors separating O’Neal’s luxurious office from the richly paneled public area.
Malcolm was on the phone but smiled at his unannounced visitor and motioned her in. She’d like to see him stop her. He made excuses and wrapped up his conversation, as though eager to give his favorite client his undivided attention. “Why, Dorian, dear. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“Cut the chitchat, Malcolm.” She smoothed the short skirt of her ice-blue linen suit, folded her arms across her chest and perched on a corner of his massive teakwood desk. A long, silk-clad leg swung impatiently. “What the hell is going on?”
The man closed a folder, pushed his trendy little glasses up on his nose and frowned. “What do you mean?”
Malcolm O’Neal had a string of professional letters after his name and had handled the Burrell family’s personal finances for years. He might be preternaturally astute about investments and stock portfolios, but his smooth, self-serving manner was mildly annoying.
“Okay, now you can cut what is known on the street as crap. I have a lunch date with Tiggy Moffatt at the Venetian Tea Room in—” she checked the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist “—less than half an hour. I don’t have time for games.”
“You know I’d be happy to help you, Dorian, if I knew what the problem was.” Malcolm frowned and brushed invisible lint from his lapel.
What a vain, dapper man. His tailored designer suit, fine cotton shirt and carefully knotted silk tie had been purchased with the fees he charged her family. His dark hair was combed straight back, every thinning strand in place. He was clearly fiftysomething, yet there was no flash of silver there. He had to be coloring it.
“I’ll tell you the problem,” she said. “I stopped by the ATM to get some cash, and the machine ate my card.”
“Really?” Despite efforts to sound concerned, Malcolm simply did not act sufficiently surprised.
“Yes, really.” His underlying condescension grated on her already taut nerves, and she reined in the impulse to fling his Financial Planner of the Year paperweight across the room. “I figured the problem had to be a mistake or a glitch in the system, so I went inside.”
“And?”
“The teller summoned a weasel-faced vice president who informed me my account is overdrawn. Can you believe that?”
Malcolm tapped his pursed lips with a long, elegant finger. “Well, you have been overdrawn before.”
“I have not!”
“Perhaps you weren’t aware of the problem because your grandmother arranged with the bank to cover overdrafts in the past.”
She ignored the subtle yet pointed criticism. He was an employee, after all. If not hers, her grandmother’s. “It’s a couple of weeks until the next deposit from my trust fund, so I decided to get a cash advance on one of my credit cards. But weasel man confiscated them and would not give them back. Who does he think he is? I spent more money on shoes last year than he earned.”
“Please sit down, Dorian.” Malcolm waved her off his desk and into one of the straight-backed client chairs. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.” She dropped into the chair, more confused now than angry. “Why would the banker do such a thing?”
“I’m afraid he was just following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“Pru’s.”
Dorian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “My grandmother told some snotty little man to cut up my credit cards?”
“I’m afraid so.” Malcolm leaned forward and steepled his fingers on the parchment blotter. “And it’s not a ‘couple of weeks’ until the draft from your trust is deposited. It’s twelve weeks.”
“I’ve run out of money before. Granny Pru always covers my checks.” She pulled an iridescent red cell phone from her tiny designer bag. “I’ll just call her right now and get this mess straightened out.”
Malcolm frowned. “I’m afraid you can’t. She’s out of the country.”
