Love Songs
Page 20

“Because this is how she works. She’s had four step children and she does crap like this all the time to all of us. And none of us are even involved in her life anymore.”
Clara shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What is she going to talk about on that stupid show of hers if she doesn’t have one of us to belittle and upset? This is a shock factor maneuver. She’s doing this to hurt us and then her ratings go up. She’s all about being the nasty bitch on that show and they pay her handsomely for it. She doesn’t care what people think of her.”
“Then you move in here.”
“Clara, you’re not making any sense.”
She fisted her hands on her hips and stood there glaring at him. “I’m making perfect sense. You move in here with me.”
“I’m sure your family would think differently of that.”
Her hands came up and she huffed out a breath. “I’m offering you a perfectly good place to live. No one can evict you from here. And you could record your music and get your songs out there. Isn’t that what you want?” She turned to walk out of the room and turned right back around. “I’ll tell you what. You can live here until you have a fancy tour bus and then you can live there. But I’m trying to help you out. I won’t just have someone I love thrown out on the streets and treated like this. That woman can go to hell for all I care.”
He was sure the blood had drained from his head. That was his cue to sit down and he did.
“You’re just going to sit there?” She slapped her hands down to her sides. “Lord, you’re a pain.”
She moved to walk past him and he grabbed her hand. “Do you even know what you’ve just said?”
“I said move in here. Patricia Little doesn’t affect me. I can have her…”
“No. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Now you’re not making sense.”
He loosened his grip. “Why do you want me here?”
“You’re important to me.”
He stood up and looked down into her dark eyes. “This has nothing to do with her now.” He reached his hand to her cheek and caressed her soft skin. “Tell me again what you said before. About me being thrown out.”
“Oh.” Her cheek grew warm under the tips of his fingers. “I said I wouldn’t have anyone I loved be treated like this.”
“Love?”
She let out a sigh. “Love.”
“That is one hefty word.”
“It sure is,” she agreed. She moved in closer to him. “I don’t just say it either.”
“I’ve never had anyone say it to me at all.”
“Never?” She pressed against him.
“Never.”
Her lips moved to his neck. “I think that should change.”
He swallowed hard. Was he ready for this? Why was he so nervous?
“Warner,” she whispered in his ear.
“Huh?”
“I love you.”
Okay, maybe he wasn’t ready for the words. His heart rate kicked up harder than it had when she’d had her hands on him in the basement. His palms grew sweaty and his mouth had gone dry.
“Clara…”
“Shhh, don’t say anything. I don’t want you to repeat the words. Not yet.” She gently pressed her lips to his. “Now, the offer stands.”
“Me living here?”
“That one too.” She took his hand and started toward the stairs. “We can discuss that in the morning. Patricia Little is not about to ruin what I was already working on.”
“Oh.” His voice cracked as Clara started up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
Warner could have died right there in Clara’s arms and been perfectly content with the life he’d lived. The memory of the night they’d shared filled his mind as he drove down the highway. Every night could be like that. The rest of his life could be like that.
The woman loved him.
What an amazing feeling to have someone want to be with you, he thought. It wasn’t like he was some sad virgin. He’d had a lot of sexual experience, but this was the first time someone had actually been in love with him and it made all the difference in the world.
All he could do was pray he didn’t screw it up.
Warner pulled up in front of his apartment building. Already one of the units was moving out. This was the first time he’d ever been grateful that he didn’t have anything.
“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.