Amazing Love (11 page)

Freeway took a sniffing tour of the small rooms, then plopped his belly on the kitchen's scarred linoleum floor. Luke turned off the countertop television and pulled out a ladder-backed dinette chair for Claire. He dropped his dark glasses on the tabletop and slumped into a chair angled to face her.

“You're gonna be late for the early service.”

“Does it look like I'm dressed for church?” She held her arms out to the side and cocked her head while he looked her up and down. She'd stepped into dollar store flip-flops, baggy jeans and a wrinkled cotton shirt that had cooled in the bottom of the dryer.

“Now that you mention it, you are lookin' more like the rest of us today,” he observed.

She wouldn't normally have picked up the newspaper at the end of the driveway in such an unkempt state, but she was in a hurry to get out of the house and the clothes were handy. He, of course, was already in his standard attire but his usual air of unquestioned control was missing. The dark blur beneath his eyes testified to her suspicion that he hadn't slept.

“Moe Sanders called an emergency meeting of the committee that approved your contract. He said you're being investigated for fraud.”

The muscles in Luke's jaw tensed at the accusation.

“What's this all about, Luke? And why didn't you call last night and tell me about it yourself?”

“It was so late when we wrapped and I had a lot of praying and thinking to do.”

She leaned forward and rested the back of her hand on his knee, palm open. The offer of her hand was the closest thing she'd ever made to an offer of her heart. She prayed he would accept both.

He scooped her cool fingers between his warm palms and as the heat from his body flowed into hers, she felt the skittering of his nervous pulse.

Luke. Rock-steady, in-charge Luke was worried sick.

Or was there more? Was he guilty?

Her chest ached with the thought that this man could possibly be dishonest, could have played them all for fools.

“Tell me what happened,” she encouraged him, as all other thoughts vanished like vapor in the wind.

“Evidently, one of the duplication houses where I've been referring work went belly up, but only after the owner smooth-talked three of my client churches out of major investment capital. The obvious conclusion of the California State Attorney
General's office is that I must be part of the scam.” His voice was near to breaking with indignation as he relayed the details of yesterday's meeting with Detective Garrison.

Her world quaked at the accusation. If she'd been the financial consultant for those churches, she would have considered the circumstances and might possibly have come to the same deduction. So rather than spin mental arguments for Luke's guilt or innocence, she needed hard evidence. And so did Abundant Harvest.

She let go of Luke's hand and grabbed her purse. Puffing a breath upward she got the bangs off her lashes so she could search the dark contents of the leather bag for her address book.

“Luke, do you mind if I get Daniel Stabler involved?”

“Dana's father?”

“He's a Texas Ranger.”

“I don't think so.” Luke shook his head.

Her gaze darted from her purse to Luke. Did he have something to hide?

“Daniel is one of the most acclaimed investigative officers in the country. Let's see what he can find on Rambling Records.”

Luke closed his eyes, ducked his chin and rubbed both palms across the close-cropped hair on his scalp. His fingers groped his skull like he was digging for answers. A deep sigh escaped his chest and
with the breath Claire heard something akin to despair.

“I don't want to blow this into something big. I'd just as soon pay back the losses myself than have my personal business put under a microscope.”

“Just let me give it one shot. We'll keep it simple,” she promised.

He nodded, seemed resigned.

In his place would she feel the same? Personal business had the right to remain private, but if there was nothing to hide…

She forced her eyes away from the man she cared about more than good sense dictated and glanced around his meager accommodations. There was nothing of value here. His financial worth seemed to be tied up in his truck and recording trailer. Where would he get the funds to even consider restitution as an option?

As much as she wanted to stay with Luke she needed to head home. She had two calls to make before she showered and dressed for church. Two people to reach out to on this disturbing Sunday morning.

A Texas Ranger and an investment broker.

A
fter he left the last worship service, Luke sought out the small meeting room that was crowded with members of the finance committee and church council. Only a few chairs in the front remained so he found a spot in the back, leaned one shoulder against the wall and fought down the sense that he was about to be prosecuted by a kangaroo court. Flashes of similar events throughout his life had been on constant replay in his mind for the past twenty-four hours. It was always the same. Just about the time he believed he could depend on somebody, they yanked the rug out from under him. Sadly, it seemed this place would be no different.

Heads turned to identify the latecomer. Hands lifted in greeting but smiles were weak. He couldn't blame them. He was a virtual stranger spending lots of hours with some of their kids. Now there was an
accusation that he might be involved in bilking congregations out of tens of thousands of dollars. Scott Rambling must have been quite the smooth talker to convince the otherwise cautious conservatives to take such a risk. Luke stared at the toes of his sneakers and waited, certain he knew what was coming.

Ken Allen passed through the doorway followed by Claire and a tall, lean man in his early forties. He wore cowboy boots and carried a summer-weight, western straw hat in his large hands. The two men made their way through the rows of folding chairs, but Claire slipped across the back of the room, stopped on the far side of Luke, and then rested her hand lightly on his shoulder blade. The hidden contact went unnoticed by everyone except Luke, and to him it was a touch that sent a shockwave of reality through his body.

He turned his head slightly, and mouthed “Thank you.” She responded with a reassuring pat on his back, the warm hand of the woman he loved resting gently against his skin.

Yes, the woman he
loved
.

“Let's get through this so we can all go home to Sunday dinner.” Ken rubbed his flat stomach and the council snickered at their pastor's effort to lighten the moment.

“For the past week, that man back there—” Ken gestured toward Luke and heads turned in acknowledgement “—has been giving Abundant Harvest
about eighteen hours of his time a day. Our boys have shown more improvement after a few days of his coaching than they did during all the months they prepared for the Battle of the Bands. On top of that, Luke has involved several more of our kids in this project who might otherwise be at home alone all summer. Instead of getting into who knows what, they're helping out at the church, learning to run our A/V equipment. And, as if that's not enough, he chaperoned our middle schoolers' day trip this past week. You parents of teens know that's above and beyond a volunteer job. We should be offering hazard pay to Luke on top of his contract rates.” Ken laughed along with the rest and then continued.

“Luke hasn't asked for one cent up front of the incredible deal he gave us, he's guaranteed his work for a year, and he's left it up to us to decide who we'll do business with once it's time to reproduce the master recording. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but everything I've seen of this man says he has a heart for the Lord and for our kids.”

Years ago, there was a time when such personal accolades meant little to Luke. When he was young and invincible he'd believed his own press. Expected to be told how great he was. Today he knew better, and the supportive words of this man of God meant more to Luke than any music award in the business.

Ken continued, “The Harvest Sons have a recording session scheduled for next weekend and I, for
one, am going to give Luke all the help he needs to prepare our boys for their professional debut.” A loud exhale punctuated his speech. “Now, does anybody else have something they want to say?”

“I do, Pastor,” Moe Sanders announced as he stood and edged his way through the chairs to the front of the room. “I think we need to nip this thing in the bud before our kids get hurt. Chances are Mr. Dawson's on the up and up but if it turns out he's not, then anybody associated with him will be dragged into the dirt. I say we pay him for the work he's done so far and then hire somebody local to finish what Dawson started. It's the safe thing to do.”

“And since when are we called as Christians to do the
safe
thing?”

Luke's head snapped to the left as others turned in their chairs toward Claire's voice. Her hand slid from its hiding place on his back to grasp him by the forearm, a physical show of approval.

“Please, somebody remind me of the scripture where Jesus suggested we stay away from unsafe situations?” She shook her head, indicating such a passage didn't exist. “I'm pretty sure that when He ate with sinners or healed lepers He wasn't too concerned about whether or not it was safe.”

“Young lady, you know that's not what I meant,” Moe sputtered.

“But it's the same thing whether that's what you intended or not. Life is about taking risks, and as
Christians we're called to put ourselves out there for the sake of the gospel of Christ. That's what Luke is all about. What he does is not just his job, it's his mission. I've been watching him with the kids night after night and he's not only teaching them about the music business, he's planting seeds of faith in kids who may not get the message any other way.” She squeezed Luke's arm as her warm gaze seemed to search his face for confirmation of what she'd said before turning back to the packed room.

“Come and see for yourselves this evening. He'll be here with your kids for hours after you're already home in bed. Stick around and volunteer for a while if you don't believe me.”

“Claire's right,” the tall cowboy spoke up.

“Y'all know Daniel Stabler.” Ken made the introduction.

Standing in the front of the room next to Ken, the man was at ease with his Stetson in his hands.

“Since Mr. Dawson invited my Dana to be part of his recording team, she's really come out of her shell.”

“Which shell would that be, Dan?” a man in the back called.

They laughed agreeably over the young girl's well-known propensity for costume changes.

“Whichever one she was hidin' in at the time.”

Gripping the brim of his hat, he bumped it lightly against the outside of his leg and shrugged broad shoulders beneath his starched white dress shirt.

“That child has always been a puzzle to me, but the past week it's like she's found her purpose and she's finally feelin' good about who she is and what she's gonna do with her life.” He chuckled, a rueful sound. “Of course, bein' a female she's entitled to change her mind a few more times, and bein' my Ladybug that includes her clothes, too.”

Stabler made his way to the back of the room stood before Luke. “I wanna shake the hand of the gentleman who's helped my baby girl and I'd also like to extend my services to Mr. Dawson in any way he might need them to settle this mess out in California.”

“Please call me Luke.” The two men shook. “I appreciate your offer of help but it really won't be necessary.”

“Well, I'm here for you if you need me,” Stabler insisted. “For anything at all.”

Luke was struck once again by the generosity of spirit of most of the folks in this suburban community of Houston.

“Luke, is there anything you want to say?” Ken motioned for Luke to take the floor.

“No thanks, Pastor Ken. I've always let my work speak for itself. If you folks decide you'd rather not have me stick around, there won't be any hard feelings.”

“Then will you excuse us for some private discussion?”

Luke nodded agreement and prepared to turn toward the door. Claire's grip on his left arm held him fast. Her determined touch and the look in her brown sugar eyes was sweeter than all the peaches in Georgia. Now that he'd grasped what he was feeling for her, how would he ever find the strength to leave when it was time to move on with the work she admittedly understood was his passion? He placed his hand atop hers, squeezed lightly to assure her he was fine with the circumstances and then left the room.

Claire watched Daniel take charge of the meeting as if it were one of his crime scenes.

“I've already run a check on Scott Rambling and he's just a small-time crook,” Daniel announced to the group. “Looks like he has a record dating back a ways, nothin' too exciting. Went straight for a while with his duplication business, when he saw his company going under he raised some money from his clients and then skipped the state. We'll track him down but he seems to operate on his own.”

“So we're just supposed to assume Dawson had nothing to do with it? Look the other way and hope we're not being strung along like those churches in Sacramento?” Moe grumbled.

“Moe, part of your value to this congregation over the years is your natural tendency to play devil's advocate.” Ken paid the old guy a backhanded compliment. “You've saved us from many a bad decision that way. But that's not necessary today. Our
contract is with Praise Productions, not Rambling Records. So far we have no reason to question Luke's integrity. In fact, it's just the opposite. From what I've seen everybody involved in this project is pleased as punch and can't wait for next weekend. Now let's move on to a vote so I can finish Val's chicken-fried steak in time for the first pitch of the Astros game.”

When the meeting ended Claire lagged behind to be the last to personally thank Ken and Daniel for their support. She felt her face grow warm when the two men smiled their understanding and the pastor asked her to communicate their decision to Luke, rightly assuming she'd go straight and find him.

It was well past lunchtime according to her rumbling tummy. There was plenty of unfinished work at the dealership but Luke was becoming more important than all of her business details would ever be. She couldn't wait to see his face when she told him what Daniel had already uncovered. As she crossed the nearly empty parking lot the door of the Praise Productions trailer swung wide.

The dark look of worry across Luke's face zapped her spirit, flattening it like an old tire. When had her emotions become so dependent upon his? And after he was gone, how would she rekindle the comfort she'd once found in being alone with just her pets for company? She inhaled a deep breath and smiled brightly for the man who was capturing her heart.

“What would you like me to bring for supper tonight?” she called, still twenty feet from his rig.

“Tonight?”

“Sure. I have work to do this afternoon, but I'll be back at the usual time.” She closed the space between them and climbed the steps to stand face-to-face.

“Are you sayin'…” He waited.

“Yep. I'm sayin'.” She gently placed her left hand on the side of his neck, intentionally touching that place she knew was as much a scar on his soul as it was on his body.

“The council voted to allow you to continue the project.” With her right hand she reached up to cup the back of his neck and drew his lips down to meet hers.

The intimate moment was a silent celebration of personal triumph. She released him and stepped around him entering the studio, his private sanctuary. She ran her hand along the smooth edge of the custom-built cabinet that supported a wall of high-tech sound and recording equipment. She inhaled the mellow scents of pine and lemon oil mingled with a hint of glass cleaner.

A rough-hewn limestone cross hung above the door that was set in a wall covered with framed photos of young people who posed with their instruments. It was a gallery of Luke's pupils.

One large, high-backed leather chair had rolled
away from the work console where a disposable coffee cup waited for his return. Everything was well organized, neat as a pin. The man took care of his stuff just like he took care of the kids in his life.

“What do you think?” he asked.

It wasn't the moment she'd imagined. But the answer flowed from her freely, emotions warm and expanding that had to exceed the boundaries of her heart or burst with the pressure. She crossed the carpeted floor between them and slid her hands around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his solid chest.

“I think you are the most special man I have ever known,” she whispered.

He was silent. Only the quick intake of his breath told her he'd heard her soft words. His long arms snaked around her body and folded her tightly to him. They stood in the still embrace for long seconds with only the humming of the bulbs overhead to invade the quiet. She felt a shiver run through his body and heard him pull in a deep, steadying breath. She lifted her head, wanting to see his handsome face. His eyelids were closed, pressed against the light. His lips were clamped. His chin quivered.

She brushed the back of her hand along the ridge of his jaw and then pressed her palm softly to his cheek. He opened his eyes. The green of his irises had darkened to that of a shady forest.

“Oh, sugar, I don't know why,” was his hushed reply.

“What a silly thing to say.” She smiled to brighten the moment that, to her surprise, seemed painful for him. “Probably for lots of the same reasons that other people feel that way about you, but for a few private ones, too. And I'm standing by you no matter what some others might say.”

He pulled her close, kissed the top of her head, and clutched her to his heart as if memorizing the moment for another time. She waited, hoping he would speak, knowing he was never shy about saying what was on his mind, disappointed when he didn't do so at that moment. But she interpreted his surge of emotion as a positive sign.

She had to.

He broke the embrace and set her away, turning quickly to stroke the back of his hands across his eyes. When he faced her again the lazy smile was weak but back in place. He clapped his hands once, rubbed them together and quipped, “So, what was that question you asked before? Something about my favorite subject. Supper.”