Amazing Love (12 page)

 

Luke's concentration was shot. He'd hardly heard a note the Sons played all afternoon. Claire's declaration of support was hands down the most endearing moment of his life. And he had to go and spoil it by getting choked up. Good grief!

To make matters worse, he hadn't seized the moment. He hadn't shared his heart, told her he loved her.

Couldn't.

The memory of Lisa Evans might be covered by mental cobwebs but it was not forgotten. She'd made a similar claim, to be there for him professionally, no matter what. And when his world caved in she'd moved on in search of bigger fish. It was just a minor legality that she took most of his material worth with her.

He shrugged off the thought of his former agent, believing that other than being a well-educated career women she had nothing else in common with Claire.

Claire. She deserved so much more that a washed-up rocker with an ugly scar on his throat and a crazy life on the road. Since their conversation about him hanging around Houston he'd thought of little else. He'd made pages of notes about settling his business in one spot, and then immediately dismissed the plan as too dangerous to consider seriously. As long as he stayed mobile his past wouldn't catch up with him. Wouldn't contaminate the lives of the kids and the woman he wanted more than anything to protect.

No, if he settled down it was only a matter of time before history came calling. One day he'd turn around and Arthur O'Malley or somebody else of his ilk would recognize some remnant of Striker that wasn't buried deeply enough. The way he held a guitar, raised a mic to his lips, sang with his eyes
closed. Things Luke had given up forever but missed with all his might, only dreamed about in moments of deepest sleep.

“How was that, Luke?” Chad waited, apparently for a reaction of some sort.

Luke's head snapped up at the question, his focus on the conversation hours earlier interrupted by the young male voice. The lack of understanding on his face must have given him away. Chad rolled his eyes and looked toward the others.

“See, I told you he wasn't listening.”

“Hey, man,” Zach called from behind his drums. “What's with you today? If we daydreamed through practice like that you'd be on us like a chicken on a June bug.”

Luke was busted. The question was whether to admit it and take the heat or try to bluster past it. Before he could decide they took it out of his hands.

“Oh, he's all about Miss Claire these days. Doesn't have much blood left in his brain for us,” Brian sniped.

“Cut it out, Brian,” Eric admonished his brother.

“Why? We've only got a few days left and Luke's spaced out, about as interested in us as the old man is when he's sober.”

Eric crossed the stage, closing the space between them in four strides of his long legs. He jammed his index finger in his brother's chest as he spoke. “Don't you ever compare Luke to the old man again,
you hear me? Luke would never hit a woman or talk filthy to his kids. He wouldn't,” Eric insisted as he shoved his brother with the heel of his hand.

“Yeah, he'd just steal money from churches.”

The two began to scuffle, throwing and dodging punches. Their guitars, hung around their necks by leather straps, clanged together, the bashing of the strings like angry demons racing from the subwoofers.

Zach dropped his sticks and hopped off the drum platform as Chad raced toward the battling teens.

Luke vaulted up onto the front of the stage and pushed between the boys. “Hey, you two! Cut it out!”

“Tell him it's a lie, Luke,” Eric pleaded, his voice choked with anger. “You weren't part of that scam in California, were you?”

“No, of course not. Let's sit down and talk about this.”

Brian gave Eric a final shove and Eric popped his younger sibling with an open palm to the side of his head. The fight was on again with all four boys throwing punches.

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” Luke shouted. He'd never so much as raised his voice to a kid and here he was yelling at the boys he was learning to love like they were his own. “I'm sorry. We should have talked about this when you first got here but I've had some other stuff on my mind today.”

“Gee, thanks for the undivided attention. So much for your promises.” Zach spoke the words, but Luke could see from their faces that they shared the sentiment. And rightly so. He'd fallen short on his end of the deal and it was up to him to heal the wound he'd inflicted upon their relationship. He motioned for them to sit and they grudgingly complied.

“In a nutshell, I was recommending a duplication house that turned out to be crooked. I know the guy did some reputable work in the past because he got good reviews from people I trust. But he fell into financial trouble and took some money from churches who'd invested in his business. I'd love to get my hands on the guy myself, but that wouldn't help matters. So I'm going to pay back the losses instead.”

“So you're admitting it was your fault?”

It was more accusation than question. The deep crease between Eric's eyes where he pulled his brows together broadcast the pain of spotting a possible flaw in his new hero. Luke's gut churned with the worry the boy's feelings heaped on a plate already full of concerns.

“No, son, I'm admitting I gave a poor recommendation that cost my clients some financial hardship. So I'm doing the right thing and making up the losses.”

“Isn't that the same as when big stars and famous athletes settle with people who accuse them of stuff so they can keep their names out of the papers?”

Luke struggled against his body's desire to shudder at Eric's directness. But the kid was right. There was not much difference at all.

“Basically, yes. I don't want Praise Productions damaged by bad publicity, but more importantly those clients are my friends, just like the folks at Abundant Harvest are my friends. If I found out something bad happened to you as a result of your association with me, I'd wanna make things right. Remember, there's a youth praise band at each one of those churches and they recorded with me just like you're about to do. I'll always care about those kids just like I'll always care about you guys.”

“Yeah? Well, when was the last time you talked to any of them?” Eric demanded.

“The day we said goodbye,” Luke admitted.

“If they're your friends and you care so much about them, how could you leave like that?” Chad insisted.

“Oh, come on, guys. Don't lay a guilt trip on me. This is my job. Traveling is how I make my living. You can't hold that against me.”

Angry faces fell and words were no longer necessary. Luke could see for himself what this was all about. He was leaving in a week. They all knew it. Claire had been right. There would be nobody to fill the gap when he was gone.

Nobody for the Harvest Sons.

Nobody for Claire.

Nobody for Luke Dawson.

“Guys, we have a recording session on Saturday. You've done a super job until now. Don't let this get you down or it will all have been for nothing.”

“I don't know, Luke. My heart's just not in it right now.”

“What can I do to change that, Zach?”

The normally cocky kid was pensive, head down, thinking it over. A smile played at the edges of his mouth as he looked up. “We could do a live show like we did for our audition instead of a recording in a studio. That's something I could get pumped for.”

“Yeah! Stellar idea, Zach,” they chorused.

“I don't know,” Luke squinted as he seriously considered the change. “The logistics of a live recording are much more difficult and you can never be sure of the sound quality. Besides, I'd have to cancel the studio and hire a stage crew and we'd have to get an audience lined up.”

“That's okay. We'll help with the details and work extra hard to pull it off,” Eric insisted.

“There's so much that can go wrong guys, and this may be your only shot at a recording. Are you sure you want to go with such a risky setup?”

Luke looked to each band member for a vote. All gave thumbs-up to the plan.

“Okay,” he agreed. “A live concert it is, then.”

T
he phone rang, releasing a chill that seemed to spring from Claire's core and radiate to the tips of her fingers and toes. She was alone in her office, going over the figures she'd been keying into custom spreadsheets all afternoon. The building was locked up tighter than a new hatband and the security system was armed, but being the only person inside the dealership was always a little unnerving.

“Claire Savage,” she spoke into the phone.

“Hey, good lookin'.”

Warmth flooded her cheeks at the sound of Luke's voice. How could such a simple compliment cause a woman who'd jumped head first into a male-dominated business to blush like an awkward fifteen-year-old at her first high school social? Heat corkscrewed through her body, chasing away the memory of the chill.

“Back atcha.” She made an effort to sound cool.

“Long day, huh?”

She thumped the eraser end of her pencil against the papers on her desk. “I kinda lost track of time.”

“We've missed you the last couple of evenings.”

“I still plan to come by. I just have to close up here and then I'll head that way. Unless you're finished for the night.”

He laughed into the receiver. “Oh, no. We'll be here a good long while, but we're taking a break for about an hour. The guys have been at it all afternoon and they needed a breather.”

“That sounds like something I could use since I'm the one turning out the lights tonight.”

“You're not there all by yourself, are you?”

“Yes, but I do this all the time.” She glanced up at the security monitor on her wall. The screen was divided into four quadrants, each flashing camera angles from various points on the property. The showroom, design shop and repair dock were dark and empty. Lights blazed in the parking lot where her beloved old Wagoneer was angled close to the front entrance.

“Want some company?”

The figures before her blurred together like a love letter left out in the rain. She breathed through the surge of thumping inside her rib cage. Ten hours ago she'd told Luke how special he was to her. Would he pretend it hadn't happened? Could she
bear the brush off if he did? Either way, she'd have the rest of her life to deal with the rejection if it came to that. Heaven knew her father had given her enough practice.

Tonight Luke wanted to keep her company, without a busload of kids, a roomful of young musicians or a menagerie of pets to distract them. She wouldn't follow in her mother's footsteps and pray for God's intervention while the man she wanted walked away. Claire intended to have her say, to do everything possible to keep Luke from leaving.

“Absolutely,” she answered.

 

Bright headlights arched across the asphalt as Luke's truck swung into the parking lot ten minutes later. Claire turned from the security monitor to survey her image in the full-length mirror behind her door. She kept an ensemble in her coat closet for emergencies. Now, her quick change into the lightweight wool slacks and matching cotton blouse transitioned her nicely from end-of-the-day-worn-out to refreshed and, she hoped, appealing.

The wad of building keys jangled in her hand and her heels clicked in time with her heartbeat as she hurried toward the front showroom. She slowed as she emerged from the darkened hallway and stopped to watch Luke approach the wide glass doors. She'd admired the male physique from a distance all of her life, never wanting to do more than
observe. But this man had so captured her spirit that she finally wanted to know more, to hold and be held, to experience the physical comfort of even the most chaste contact with this man she respected.

Just as she'd changed into fresh clothing for him, he'd discarded his Praise Productions shirt in favor of a long-sleeved green pullover the same intense color as his eyes. He sported dark denim jeans and in place of his scruffy sneakers there were well-worn leather boots. If her pulse was racing at the thought of Luke before, it was taking a NASCAR turn around the track now.

She took a small step forward, the sophisticated security system detected her movement, and the showroom lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve. Luke's charming smile crept across his face as he spotted her in the distance. He held up a white fast-food sack, rubbed his abdomen with his other hand and then pointed her way.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she shouted as she punched the security code on the keypad by the entrance, inserted the key to release the series of deadbolt locks and pulled the door open.

He crossed the threshold, stopping to stare down into her eyes.

She took a step back and ducked her face from the intensity of his gaze. “I'm going to be fat as a possum if I don't break the habit of eating this late.”

His knuckle brushed the soft skin beneath her chin as he gently guided her head upward, her eyes once again seeking his. “You have nothing to worry about. You're a whisper of a woman who can certainly afford a couple of tacos.”

“Tacos?” Her eyes widened, still suspicious, expecting payback for her crime the first night they'd met.

He tipped his head back and laughed, the motion exposing his throat and the tender places she'd like to touch.

“Yeah, you'd best be concerned,” he teased. “Sooner or later all chickens come home to roost, but the payback won't be anything this obvious.” He shook the sack in her face.

Luke crossed to the front cashier station and deposited the sack atop the glass counter. “No, tonight my intentions are pure. I didn't want to show up empty-handed and I figured if a girl was hungry, tacos would be more welcome than yellow roses.”

“Okay, if you insist.” She scooped up the sack and motioned for him to follow her. “I have a fridge with drinks in my office.” She flipped on lights to illuminate their path through the building and into the cozy space she had created for herself. Where the office had once been masculine in its dark woods and earth tones, now it was flooded with light. The walls and intricate crown molding were the color of heavy cream. The room was decorated with jewel-
toned textured paintings, a deep comfy sofa and chairs. The cherry partner's desk was topped by a thick sheet of glass with a few cherished family photos displayed beneath its smooth surface. Only the tree-of-life Persian carpet remained as a vivid reminder of the former owner and Claire's mentor in the business.

She placed bottles of chilled mineral water on the table in the sitting area and offered Luke a chair before dropping onto the sofa and digging into the sack.

“I have to give you credit. As usual your instincts and timing are perfect. I've hardly eaten today and really did need something in my stomach.” She bit into the shell, her eyes sliding closed as she chewed, enjoying the bursts of spicy flavor.

The sofa shifted as his weight dropped onto the cushion beside her. She peeked through her lashes to find him solemn-faced, elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded.

“Did something else happen, Luke?” She pushed the food aside, her hunger ignored, her blood flow slowing.

“Yes,” he said softly. “
You
happened, and I had to let you know how much it meant to me. It's been a long time since anybody stuck up for me like you and Pastor Ken did today and I won't ever forget it. I really care about the people I work with and having you two believe in me means a lot.”

So, in the same breath he was saying he cared about her
and
Ken Allen. How was she supposed to interpret that?

He reached across the sofa cushion and offered his hand, palm up. Claire noted, not for the first time, that this man was a gentleman to the core, always extending himself, never assuming or demanding anything from her, even in his most gruff moments. Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his, their fingers entwined.

“God really blessed me with you, Claire.”

“I feel the same,” she whispered.

“And I need to tell you not to worry about me.” He held up his other hand when she started to protest. “Don't even try to deny it. You're the worrying kind. You worry about your parents and your business and all your employees. You worry about everybody at the church and every stray animal that crosses your path. You worry about finances and security and you worry way too much about how you look, which is just your way of hiding all your other worry.”

A jolt from the truth of what he said zapped her system in the same way she'd been shocked as a child by sticking a hairpin in a wall socket. Every cell of her body surged with the reality of it, but it was not something she wanted to worry about now. And there she went, worrying about what she had to worry about later.

As if he'd read her mind, he smiled. “Right on target, huh?”

She nodded and glanced down at their hands, feeling rather foolish for being so transparent. She'd prided herself on masking her feelings for so many years that now it was embarrassing to have a man see through her this easily. Especially a man who invoked feelings so new and so raw that it was difficult to examine, even in private.

“I couldn't help being concerned when I saw how upset you were this morning,” she said.

“But that was this morning. Since then I've talked with all three of the pastors who fell for Rambling's scam and offered to donate the same amount they lost.”

“Have you considered that some people might see that as an admission of guilt? That might be harder on your reputation than fighting the charges.”

“That's what the boys said tonight, and the bottom line is my reputation has seen worse days and by the grace of God I survived. I've made up my mind, Claire. I'm paying back the losses.”

“I had a feeling you'd insist on doing that.” She stood and crossed to her desk. She picked up a spreadsheet and eyed the friendly numbers, familiar symbols that never let her down.

“Luke, my investment broker faxed some information to me today. I've checked and double-checked and I can do this, so please listen to me.”

She knew what his answer was likely to be. She'd prayed for the right way to extend the offer. Prayed that he could receive it without insult, see that there were no strings attached.

Luke shifted on the sofa cushion, uncertain of what was coming next. He was accustomed to moving fast in business, keeping a hectic pace to meet deadlines and travel dates. But these new matters, matters of the heart, were moving toward him at warp speed, drops of rain in a hurricane-force wind. Pelting him hard, leaving him cold, wet and shivering. He was locked out of the comfort zone that would never again be his refuge.

Instead of returning to her place on the sofa, she knelt before him, laid the legal-size paper facedown on the floor and took both of his hands in hers. She closed her eyes, paused for several long seconds and he knew she was praying. What could she possibly have to tell him that needed God's intervention?

“I want to loan you the money to repay those losses.”

His head snapped back like Brian's had when Eric popped his brother on the chin. “Are you crazy?”

At the speed of sound he regretted his choice of words. Just the same, she laughed.

“Kinda.”

Thank You, Lord, that she has a sense of humor.

“I'm crazy about you, but that has nothing to
do with the money. Luke, I can afford this. Let me do it.”

“No!” He shook his head. “No way. Claire, I'm humbled that you would want to help me like this, but I can manage by myself.”

“How? How will you come up with that kind of money? Sell your equipment to protect your name? Don't let your pride put you out of business, Luke.”

“Look, you just told me a few nights ago how tight everything is for you this year and that your future depends on what happens in Sturgis. Where are you gonna get that kind of cash?”

She hesitated for a moment, maybe while she decided how much of her business she wanted to expose, then glanced up at him through spiky platinum bangs.

“It's from my investment account, money I earned from those dairy endorsements. I wouldn't put my employees' security in jeopardy, and Mama's house is paid for. This is my money under the mattress, so to speak. My seed money for a new product line if the Southern Savage isn't successful.”

“Which is exactly why you're gonna leave it right where it is. That's your recovery money in case this place goes south, and you're a smart businesswoman to have it put away. I won't accept it, Claire, and that's final. I can work this out alone.”

She let go of his hands, her shoulders sagged and
she dropped from her knees to sit on the floor, head and eyes downcast. Her body language was pure defeat. It was a posture he'd thought her incapable of until this moment. The same look on another female might be a ploy to get her way, but he knew better in this case.

This was Claire Savage. A woman who didn't back down.

He eased off the couch and sat on the floor beside her. She still didn't look up at him. He draped an arm around her, pulled her close and leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming to my rescue twice in one day. Nobody's ever done that for me, Claire.” He released her and leaned away so he could read her face, see into her eyes. “Do you understand? Nobody.”

“But you don't want my help.”

“That's not what I said. Not wanting your money and not wanting your help are two very different things. I've managed quite nicely by myself on the road for years. But this week I don't know what I'd have done without you.

“You know that state campaign that says Texas is like a whole 'nother country?” He waited while she nodded. “Well, Abundant Harvest is like a whole 'nother experience. The openness of the people, the hard work of the kids, the acceptance, welcome and
support are all a shade above what I'm used to. And you've been behind so much of that. To be honest, I'm starting to wonder how I'll manage the next job without you.”