Love Songs (10 page)

“Hey, Warner. Thanks for nothing, pal,” his neighbor yelled down to him.

Warner wracked his brain for the man’s name, but was coming up empty. “Beg pardon?”

“That mom of yours. Nice how I have to move out of my own house.”

“Ex-step-mother. I have nothing to do with this. I’m homeless now too.”

“Whatever.” The man went back into his apartment.

Warner let himself into his apartment and shut the door. Patricia probably had a hidden camera somewhere and was sitting back laughing her ass off at his expense. Not only was he homeless but a half-dozen people now hated him just because of her. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. At least she couldn’t touch Clara. Nothing would happen to her.

Clara’s house was owned by her aunt and so was the theater. All of that was off limits. Patricia Little was almost out of ammunition.

But he didn’t like how he felt about moving in with her. Warner had never had a woman say she loved him. He was quite sure he wasn’t going to react well if she said it again.

He sat down in his chair and put his hands on his knees.

She’d not only said she loved him, but offered him her house and had freely given him her body. He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead.

There was a lot of pressure on him now.

Oh, Patricia Little could buy up all of Nashville for all he cared. But he had to get signed. He had to sell his music. No, he had to sell himself.

Warner stood and paced the little living room. He was a decent performer. His relation to that stupid woman was all that ever held him back.

Clara was right. He needed a big tour bus—one he could live on. And she needed to live on it with him.

The blood in his veins coursed through him with a different rhythm.
He
was going to sell that music.
He
was going to let his voice be heard.

Take that P. M. L.,
he thought to himself. He had a woman to love now. Anything was possible.

Suddenly his mind was filled with the thoughts of giving Brad Paisley and Tim McGraw a run for their money. He couldn’t wait to perform on Sunday. He was going to knock someone’s socks off. There was always someone in the crowd.

***

Clara arrived at the theater early. Her Starbucks coffee was a venti and her sugar fix was in a bag.

“You’re here early,” Arianna said as Clara set her bag on the table in the office.

“Felt like getting a start to my day.”

Her aunt watched her dissect her coffee cake, breaking it into four pieces and setting it out on a napkin.

“You and Warner spent the night together, didn’t you?”

Clara felt the heat in her cheeks. “Why do you say that?”

“You have that satisfied look about you.”

“Not what I want to talk to my aunt about.”

Arianna laughed. “You’re in your thirties. I get to talk to you like a woman.”

Clara dropped her shoulders. “I love him. I have fallen madly in love with this guy who a week ago chased me down.”

“You’re a Keller. I’ve seen romance blossom quickly and all sorts of things happen.”

That was true enough. Zach and Regan met when she fell in his lap on the bus. Curtis met Simone at Clara’s father’s wedding to Kathy and they had a weekend and ended up pregnant. Darcy and Ed met and were engaged within months. No one was going to be surprised that she’d fallen in love with the musical misfit.

“I asked him to move in with me.” The moment she said it she realized she should have asked her aunt first.

Arianna nodded slowly. “With Tyler gone I guess the house is a little more quiet.”

“Right. And Chris’s house is almost done.”

“Of course.” Arianna’s lips pursed. “John said you turned the bedroom in the basement into a recording studio?”

“Only for the moment. If you get a renter we take down the carpets.” God, she’d really screwed up. She could see it in Arianna’s eyes.

“Right. But for now you could record and try and sell his songs?”

“That’s the plan.” Clara lifted her mocha to her lips and took a big sip.

“You sounded really good the other night. You sure you don’t have it in you to just be a performer?”

She choked on the flavor and her aunts words. “That wasn’t the deal. I told him I’d help him.”

“And Randy’s been telling you for years that you have what it takes.”

“Well, yeah…”

“And this guy has the talent to write anything.”

Clara thought about the song he’d written just yesterday. The melody had played in her head all night long and she knew that together they could make it amazing.

She sipped her drink again. God, was this what she really wanted? She’d been performing since she was thirteen. There was a certain adrenaline that pumped through her when she performed. The other night when she performed Warner’s song that feeling was even stronger.

“Think about it, Clara,” her aunt said. “You’ve already decided not to take on any more roles right now. Maria was a great success for you, but you’re too old for her now.”

That hurt. But it was true. Her co-star who played Tony was only twenty.

Clara pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. Warner had been so gentle with her all night that she knew her heart would break if he ever left. She’d fallen for him hard and if she could have it her way she’d keep him forever.

But would he stay—especially if she changed her mind on performing?

Randy would be ecstatic. He’d wanted her to perform more than she had. But what happened if she got signed? What would happen if she didn’t?

Oh, all of this was stupid. She took a bite out of her coffee cake. Clara Keller was perfectly happy singing backup for Randy, directing the shows at her aunt’s theater, and recording demos for Warner so he could sell his songs.

As far as she was concerned she’d won the lottery. Not only did she have all these great things going for her, but the man she loved was at that moment packing up his life and moving in with her.

Enough crazy talk about her performing with intent to sign with a label—though that wasn’t what Arianna had said, but it was what Clara had heard.

Clara finished her drink and popped the last of the coffee cake in her mouth. In a few hours she’d be Maria again and that was where her focus had to be.

But as she stood and tossed her bag and cup in the trash she did think that opening up for Miranda Lambert would be an ideal job.

She shook her head. Lord, she’d lost her mind.

***

There hadn’t been much left to pack into Warner’s truck. He’d called in help from a friend to load his couch and bed. All it would cost him was a beer. That was easy enough. He had one more stop to make before he headed
home
to Clara.

Patty Little needed a word.

Patricia Little’s exclusive neighborhood was gated. Enough rage ran through Warner that he had considered ramming the gate with his truck.

A uniformed man stepped out of the small guards’ house as Warner pulled up. He gave the beat up pickup truck full of used furniture a once over before walking to the window.

“Mornin’, how can I help ya?”

Warner smiled kindly and said, “Patricia Little please.”

The guard nodded slowly. “She expectin’ you?”

“I assume at some point she is. The name is Warner Wright.”

The guard nodded again and went back into the guards’ house, lifted the receiver to a phone, and began to talk. He was just out of ear shot for Warner to hear him, but he knew he’d been given the go ahead. A moment later the gate swung open and Warner drove through on his way to the house of the Devil.

The house was beautiful. Warner’s dad would have enjoyed the nice yard—had he not felt the need to end his life because the witch had run off with everything the man had.

A black Mercedes was parked in front of the house and Patricia’s white Lexus was in the driveway.

Warner parked his ugly truck right in front of her house, big as day. Maybe someone would think she was slumming if they looked out their front window. After all, all that nasty furniture and boxes in the back of his truck it was possible some old, rich, woman would have a heart attack thinking the neighborhood was going down.

The doorbell ring was nearly as annoying and pompous as the house itself. Warner simply gritted his teeth, tucked his thumbs into his worn out—but clean—jeans, and rocked back on his heels as Patricia opened the front door.

“Warner, what a delight to see you.”

“Really?” He fought the million curses running through his head. “So why’d you kick me out of my house?”

“Strictly business, honey. Come in. Come in.”

There wasn’t an opportunity to refuse. She turned and walked into the house only leaving the option to follow if he wanted to continue his conversation with her.

Warner shut the door behind him and kicked off his old boots. He hated being there. He hated the woman. So why did he always hear his father’s voice nagging him to keep things clean for her and not make a mess.

When he caught up with Patricia she was in the kitchen pouring him a sweet tea and even balancing a sprig of mint on the side.

“Come. I have a guest you know.”

Warner took the glass and followed her to the back porch. He could have thrown the glass against the wall. There sat Jordan Farr, owner of Master Records and the only man who hadn’t ever completely laughed Warner out of his office.

Damn!

“Warner,” Jordan said as he rose to his feet and extended his hand toward him. “It’s nice to see you. Hasn’t been but a few weeks has it?”

“Just a few, sir.”

“Did you find someone to help you record those songs of yours?”

Warner shifted a glance toward Patricia who had a painted cherry red grin on her lips.

“I’m working on that,” Warner said. He was sure Patricia already knew too much. No need to fuel her fire.

“Warner, sit, honey.” Patricia pointed to a chair next to Jordan. “Jordan and I go way back, don’t we sweetheart?”

“Sure do,” Jordan confirmed and Warner’s stomach churned.

Had she just called him sweetheart?

“So, Warner,” Patricia tapped her long nails on the side of her glass, “what brings you by? You never visit me.”

Oh, she was good at this. If Warner started in on her in front of Jordan then it would be Warner that looked like an idiot. If he pretended to act as if he’d stopped by to visit, he’d look like a fraud, especially if Jordan ever watched her show.

What he wanted was some answers. That apartment building held no real estate value, so why buy it up and kick everyone out? Seriously, there had to be some legal recourse, though no one in the building could have afforded that and she knew it.

Warner stood. “Mr. Farr, it was nice to see you again. I think I’ll come back again sometime. But I really should be going.”

He set his glass of tea on the coffee table and headed back into the house. As quickly as he could he slipped his feet back into his boots, but he wasn’t fast enough. There was the witch standing before him with her arms across her chest.

“Too afraid to yell at me in front of a record producer?”

“Not worth killing my career to let you hear what’s on my mind.”

“Career? Oh, you don’t have a career. What you do isn’t called music. It’s called crap and no one, not even your new little girlfriend can sing your crap.”

He instinctively took a step toward her. “You leave her out of this.”

“Do you think she’s a threat to me? Honey, I could, and will, crush her career too. Do you really think the papers will be nice to her for her portrayal of Maria? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t do that. She’s perfect in that part. Don’t go messing with her just because you hate me.”

“She’s too good for you, Warner. When will you realize that you’re trash just like your momma and no good just like your daddy?”

He fisted his hands to his side. “I still can’t seem to understand why you even care what I do with my life. I’m not your son.”

“No, but it’s so much fun making you pay for that horrible marriage to your daddy where I got nothing. He did everything for you and forgot all about me.”

Warner let out a disgruntled laugh. “Forgot about you? If that had been the case I’m sure he wouldn’t have found the need to end his life.”

“It was for the best. I suppose it’s just too bad you woke up.” The fake smile on her lips was gone and hate and heat burned in her eyes.

The woman actually hated him that much she’d wish him death. All the more reason, Warner thought, she should just forget him.

He turned and walked through the door. “You kicked all of those people out of their homes just to spite me, didn’t you?”

“Business is business. I’d rethink that performance you have this weekend too. I’m just not sure it’ll go well for you.”

The door slammed in his face and he stood there on the front porch alone.

How did she know everything about his life? This was ridiculous!

He meant nothing to her. She’d wished him dead and yet she did all she could, for the past eighteen years, to make his life a living hell.

Warner turned and hurried back to his truck. He climbed in and enjoyed the horrible noises the engine made in her quiet neighborhood.

I’d rethink that performance you have this weekend too.
What could she possibly do?
Do you really think the papers will be nice to her for her portrayal of Maria?
That comment still sizzled under his skin. What was she planning? What could she possibly do to Clara?

The only way to stop her attack on Clara was to not be with Clara.

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. That was exactly what Patricia wanted. If he left Clara over her asinine review then he’d have lost the woman of his dreams.

The air in the cab of the truck was suffocating him. He cranked down the window and tried to suck in as much fresh air as he could as he drove out of the gated community.

Something had to be done.

Arianna. He had to talk to Arianna. Maybe she could field the reviewers. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to Clara because of him. And he certainly didn’t want to lose her either.