Clara nodded.

“Anyway, she got knocked up, kept coming back to me when he’d kick her out. She wasn’t too far along when she died. A couple months. I couldn’t convince her to clean up. I couldn’t convince her to leave with me either.”

“Why didn’t you just drag her away?”

Warner laughed. “You are a good person aren’t you? She’s been dead almost fifteen years and you worry about her.” He walked back towards Clara and rested his hands on her shoulders. “She said my arguments were invalid anyway. She told me she’d miscarried and I had no reason to not believe her. After all, she’d never stopped using or drinking.”

“You thought the baby was gone.”

“I didn’t find out she was still pregnant until after they did an autopsy and Patty came after me the first time.”

Clara wiped her eyes. “Why didn’t she ever use that for fuel before?”

“Because she knows it wasn’t mine. She knows the truths. She just chooses to believe it’s all my fault. I can’t stop that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?”

“It didn’t seem relevant at the time. It wasn’t my baby.”

Clara wrapped her arms around his waist and he breathed in the scent of her as he held her tight.

“Warner, I didn’t sleep with Trent. He was just comforting me because he saw how upset I was. He got us a car and he walked me to my room. That’s all.”

“I know.” And he did.

“Come home. Zach already has lawyers all over this. Tom Wheeler wants to rep me and get his PR team on fixing this.”

He pushed her back at arm’s length. “You didn’t sign with him did you?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t trust him.”

“Why?”

Warner shook his head. “He works with Patty. Why would I? Besides, day after tomorrow Jeremy has a meeting scheduled with whoever wants my music. He wants you to be there too. We were waiting for you.” He pulled her in close. “But you’re home early.” He brushed a curl from her eyes. “And I think we are entitled to an entire day of makeup sex.”

Clara smiled back at him then rose up on her toes. “Oh, I think we can certainly make use of that.” She kissed him feverishly as though she’d missed him for years. Once again they’d escaped from Patty’s evil talons, but when would it all hit the fan? One of them had to go down. Patty or them. With Clara by his side he was betting on Patty.

Chapter Twenty-Two

With Clara’s hand in his, Warner walked into Jeremy’s office.

“Welcome home, Clara,” Jeremy said when they walked through the door.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve seen the videos popping up of your performance. I’m impressed.”

She smiled at the compliment. “I had some very good material to work with.”

Jeremy nodded. “You sure did. Okay, are you two ready?” He grabbed a notebook off his desk. “Let’s go meet your fate.”

Jeremy led the way down the hall to a conference room and opened the door. No one was at the table yet, only a camera man and a sound guy in the corner.

“You two take those chairs and I’m going to sit over here.”

Warner watched as the light on the camera turned on and Jeremy opened his folder with notes and papers.

Then the scent of cigar filled Warner’s nose. He was always keen on the scent as it reminded him of his father. It was a moment later he heard voices in the hall and the sound of people convening.

When the door opened, four men walked through, whom he didn’t know, but when the last man walked through Warner literally felt his head spin and he thought he just might collapse.

Harley Oxbury walked through the door bigger than life, a lit cigar stuck between his teeth.

In his older years he had begun to look more like Boss Hog than Nashville royalty, but the room obviously was still his with the direct attention being given to him from those around him.

His large cowboy hat was white with a rhinestone band and he wore a white suit. Warner didn’t know anything about fashion, but it struck him as funny because he did know—from Patricia of all people—that you didn’t wear white after Labor Day. But the OX could do any damn thing he wanted to.

Warner had never met the man, yet it was his demise that had caused Warner so much pain for so many years. Was it possible that Harley Oxbury was here to just seal the coffin?

“So you’re Warner Wright, eh?” the OX asked through teeth still gritted around his cigar.

“Yes, sir. And this is my wife Clara.”

“How do you do, sir?” she added.

“Wife? That must be new.”

“A few weeks now, sir.”

The OX nodded his head and then sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

“Warner, Mr. Oxbury is very informed on your music. He has seen video of your performances, and Mrs. Wright’s as well,” the man to the left of the OX said. “Mr. Oxbury is interested in signing you to a recording contract.”

Warner’s eyes were open wide and his heart was beating a million miles a minute. Clara gave his hand a squeeze and when he looked at her she was trembling, trying to keep the smile she had concealed.

“That is very gracious, sir. But I wasn’t aware that you owned a recording company,” he said directly to Harley Oxbury.

“Just happen to have gotten into one.” He leaned forward on his large arms, the cigar still burning between his teeth. “Ever heard of Master Records?”

Warner and Clara exchanged glances. “Yes, sir, of course. But I was under the impression that Jordan Farr and…”

He didn’t get her name out before the OX shot his hand up to stop him.

“Let’s say her name is like Voldemort. You don’t say it aloud.”

Warner didn’t know if he should laugh at the joke itself or the Harry Potter reference from the older man. Instead he simply sat there stunned.

“It just so happens that in this town money talks, bullshit walks. You know how that works.”

“Mr. Oxbury is now the sole owner of Master Records,” the man said.

“Congratulations, sir,” Warner added.

Harley Oxbury sat back in his seat again and crossed his arms over his massive chest. His eyes were on Warner.