Love Songs
Page 8

“Patty?”
“Patricia Little.”
“Oh,” she sighed the word and he knew it was out of pity.
“They were married a few months after my parents were divorced, or so he said they were. I don’t have any proof that they actually did get divorced.” He waved his hand in the air as if to discount what he’d said. “Anyway he married Patty and we moved just outside Nashville.”
“Your mom just up and left you?”
“Yep.” His mouth had gone dry. Where was that waitress with their pitcher of beer? “One day she and dad were fighting, then she told him she hated that she’d gotten pregnant with me and he’d made her stick around. So he told her she didn’t have to and she left.”
Clara reached across the table and took his hand. “Warner, I’m so sorry.”
Her thumb caressed the top of his hand. He liked the comfort of the gesture, but he itched to pull back. But he refrained.
“Not everyone gets a perfect family. I’m okay with that.”
She gave his hand a squeeze and released him. Warner quickly pulled his hand back.
“Anyway, we settled in. Dad was working two jobs and Patty was making friends.” He cleared his throat. “They were married two years by the time he realized she’d run off with all the money and left him with nothing but bills—and heartache.”
Warner cleared his throat. “The only thing he had to offer me was a life insurance policy.”
Clara covered her mouth with her hands. “Warner…”
“He did what he thought was right. He didn’t consider that suicide was the one factor that would void the policy.”
“Warner, that’s horrible.”
The waitress set the pitcher of beer down in front of them and Clara poured them each a glass. Warner picked up his glass quickly and took a long pull.
“My mom was gone. Dad was dead. And Patty took off and eventually got involved with a very married Harley Oxbury.”
“What happened to you?”
People usually wanted to hear about the fall of the OX. Clara was the first person to ever ask what happened to him after his father’s death.
“My maternal grandmother took me in until I was eighteen.”
“So you had a good home?”
“I had a roof over my head and food on the table. You might imagine that my mother hadn’t wanted to be a mother, my grandmother wasn’t very fond of her role either.”
He could see the pain Clara was feeling in her eyes. People pitied him. Some felt he deserved it. But he could see that Clara genuinely felt pain for him.
“So what did you do when you were old enough to move on your own?”
Pride swelled in his chest. “Well, I got a job. It was a crappy job, but I was a janitor at a junior college. I had room and board and an opportunity to get an associate’s degree. So I have a degree in business. Then I got into the University of Tennessee and moved to Knoxville. I had a full ride and I got a degree in music.”
Clara’s eyes were bright again and she smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
“I know. Who would have thought?”
“You did. And that’s all that matters.”
Oh, she was a gem. “It was great until I got a teaching job and Patricia Little had lost everything again. She was trying to mend her reputation. She’d married a record exec and she went about using her influence to convince the school board that I was harmful to students.”
“That’s not fair,” Clara sat back in her seat. “Why do people do that to others?”
“Jealousy.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“I think so too.” He took a sip of his beer. “The downfall has been this stupid TV show of hers. She’s been married four times now and she has slammed the good name of each of her ex-stepchildren.”
“She’s a monster. I don’t think I’ll watch that show anymore.”
He laughed. “I don’t hold that against you.”
“She’s my least favorite one on the show, if that helps.”
“A little.” He smiled as the waitress set down one of the biggest meals he’d ever seen in front of them. “Dear Lord, who are you expecting?”
“Crazy isn’t it? We’ll have plenty for lunch tomorrow.”
“I think this is as much as I eat all week.”
Clara shook her head. “Nah, we’re going to get these songs sold and you’re going to start eating like a king.”
Yep, it was fate that put him in the path of Clara Keller. They may never sell a single song, but he felt better than he had in a very long time.
Warner wasn’t sure when he’d eaten so much. His stomach felt as though it might burst.
He tried to recline in the Jeep, but it was no use. He was happy in his heart and miserable in his body at the moment.
Clara pulled up outside of The Stage and parked her Jeep. “Looks like things are slowing down tonight,” she said.
“It is funny that this town could be so busy on a Wednesday night. If you think about it, it’s slow, but anywhere else a Wednesday night crowd would have all gone home.”
She laughed. “You’re right.” She rested her head against her seat and looked at him. “I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Clara, I haven’t shared my story with very many people. Most people already have an opinion of me.”
“Well then they are stupid. How can anyone take that no good woman’s word for it?”
“Because she’s on TV.”
She blew out a breath. “I’m going to continue to form my own opinions.”
He felt it coming. He needed to kiss her. He needed to be more to this woman than just the guy who showed up begging her to sing his songs. He…
He had no time to make a move before she came across the cab and planted her lips against his.
A groan, or maybe it was a moan, came from his throat when he realized what was happening.
It wasn’t just a gentle brush of the lips kiss. No, this woman was planting a hot, passionate kiss on him and he was thinking too hard. How was it that he needed to remind himself to pull her to him—which he did. His mind worked over time when she pushed against him and ran her fingers in his hair, which was too long.