“Love Song? Why?”

She laughed. “Because it isn’t your normal love song. The guy is a bumbling idiot, but all because he’s in love with a girl. I like that.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. She just might be the most perfect woman in the world. The girl he’d written the song about didn’t care for his bumbling idiot ways.

“Do you have plans tomorrow night?” she asked.

Warner shook his head.

“I’m playing at The Stage with a friend. Come see me really sing.”

He hadn’t actually thought she was a performer, not like that. He’d been so mesmerized by her voice in the truck he’d forgotten that she might actually be someone who was just like everyone else and wanted fame and fortune in Nashville. Why would she want to help him?

He nodded his acceptance to the invitation.

A man came up to the window behind her and tapped on it. She turned, smiled, and gave him a wave.

He gave Warner a nod and though he tried to smile, Warner was sure he smirked at the man. There was a case at the man’s feet. It looked like a banjo.

Wow, he could pick them. Beautiful woman with an amazing voice, who was already a performer with some boyfriend who wore his hair long and a bandanna like a rock star. Warner might as well go find a bicycle and become a courier again. With any luck he could be hit by a delivery truck the first week.

Clara held up a finger to the man and he nodded. “I have to go.”

“Sure. Sure.”

She looked down at the song. “You’ll come and listen to us tomorrow?”

“Us?”

“Me and Randy. Randy Sayner—heard of him?”

That was a name going around Nashville like a wild fire. “Sure, I’ve heard of him.”

She nodded to the man who had turned to watch the people in the plaza. “He’s got the goods.”

Warner felt his stomach tighten.

Clara swung her bag over her shoulder. “Can I borrow this?” She picked up the piece of music and looked it over again. “I’ll give it back, I promise.”

Oh, hell. What did he have to lose? This beautiful woman was going to steal his song and he was going to get run over by a delivery truck. No fretting there.

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” She picked up her drink and took another sip. “I like you. You’re cute.”

Certainly that hadn’t been what he thought she’d say. “Thank you,” the words choked out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. We start at seven-thirty.”

“Okay.”

She turned to walk away and then turned back. “Hey, Warner, just for the record. I don’t think you’re a talentless moron. I think that title belongs to Patricia Little.”

With a wink Clara was gone and Warner was sure he was going to lose consciousness and fall right out of his chair.

Clara knew exactly who he was. Crap!

Clara walked through the door and out to the plaza where Randy stood watching people walk by. She looked back into the Starbucks where Warner shoved papers back into his bag.

“What’s with the guy?” Randy asked as they started down the street.

“Song writer. Wants me to demo his work for him.”

Randy nodded. “Nice.”

“He’s cute too.”

Randy looked back. “Just your style. Blond and a complete mess.”

“What does that mean?”

He laughed. “You would die if you married a suit.”

Clara nodded. “You’re right.” She handed him the song she’d borrowed from Warner. “This is one of his pieces.”

Randy took the paper and looked it over. Obviously the song played in his head as he read it. “This is good.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She took it back and looked it over. “Think we can pull this together and perform it tomorrow?”

“It’s simple enough.”

She thought of the look Warner would have on his face when he heard his song. That would be priceless.

Then she thought about putting him to the true test of who he was. The entire Keller family would be there to see her and Randy perform. Warner could certainly use a dose of family, she was sure. It had to be horrible to have lost your father and your step-mother was some reality TV show hag.

In the right hands, Warner Wright could be a super star. In her hands, he could be taken care of.

There was a tightening in her chest as Randy grabbed her hand and pulled her across the street. Why did she want to take care of Warner Wright?

Clara hadn’t noticed she was hungry until Randy mentioned stopping into a small diner before they rehearsed. She hadn’t eaten breakfast. She’d only downed those coffee drinks and now she was shaky. It wasn’t quite lunch time, but that didn’t seem to faze Randy. Then again, not much did.

She’d ordered eggs and toast, but she didn’t realize she really hadn’t eaten much when Randy reached across the table, grabbed hold of her hand, and stopped her from just pushing her eggs around.

“What’s up with you today?” he asked releasing her hand.

She set down her fork. “Do you know who Warner Wright is?”

“That guy you met at Starbucks?”

“Yeah. Did you recognize him?”

Randy bit into his toast. “Should I?”

“You know who Patricia Little is, right?”

“Hag.”

She snorted a laugh. Who in Nashville didn’t know Patricia Little? She’d wrecked the OX’s career. No one was going to forget that.

“Have you ever seen her show?”

“That reality show? Are you kidding me? Why rot my brain?”

Even though she agreed with him, she just couldn’t help herself. “Well, see, when they interview Patricia Little she’s always in front of her fireplace. And on her mantel she has all of these family pictures.” She began stirring her eggs again. “I’m not sure what the point of the family pictures are. I mean, none of the kids are hers. She doesn’t talk nice about any of them anyway.”

“Clara, you’re not making much sense.”

No, she wasn’t. “Warner Wright is one of Patricia Little’s step-children.”

Randy stopped chewing and just stared at her. Then he swallowed hard. “The man who wants you to sing his songs is the step-son of the woman who took down the OX and ruined his career?”