Amazing Love (14 page)

“Eric, you guys take fifteen.”

“Thanks, Miss Claire, but we've gotta work through this problem with the chorus before Luke gets back or he'll skin us alive.”

She smiled at Luke's familiar threat, knowing he'd probably never skinned more than his own knee.

“I think I have a suggestion that may help, but I need to speak with Pastor Ken first. So you guys grab a soda and relax. I promise I'll have something encouraging to share with you when I get back.”

When they waved agreement she turned to Dana. “You take a break, too. It's been a long day for everybody but I think it's about to get exciting again.”

Dana's eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Miss Claire?”

“That obvious, huh?” She smiled at the girl who was looking like a Gap commercial in her khaki slacks, polo shirt and trendy pink high-top sneakers.

“Oh, yeah. You had that same look in your eye the night you talked my dad into chaperoning the seventh grade ski trip.”

“And didn't we have a blast riding that bus all the way to Colorado?” she insisted, then hurried down the steps of the elevated booth and made a beeline for the pastor's office.

“Ken?” she called, as she knocked on the frame of the door that was always open.

“Hey, Claire.” He looked up from the materials she knew he was organizing into his next discipleship curriculum. “What's up?”

“Luke needs our help.”

Ken leaned forward, waiting for details.

“He's offered to make good on the losses of those California churches.”

Ken whistled at the potential amount. “But the investigation is still under way.”

“Nothing I could say would make him reconsider.”

“Luke shouldn't feel responsible for that money if he's completely innocent.”

The pastor's words niggled at the edge of her thoughts. She hadn't slowed down enough in the days since the accusation to objectively consider Luke's determination to repay the losses. He couldn't possibly feel guilty in some way, could he? Was he insisting on making restitution because the damage
was
somehow his fault?

“Should we check with Daniel, find out if there's any news on the investigation?” she asked.

“He said he'd call as soon as he had anything.” Ken shook his head, waved away her concern. “No, I've got a good sense about Luke. From what I've seen of him, it doesn't really surprise me that he feels responsible, whether he is or not. He's a straight shooter and in his mind this may be the only way to handle a situation when people he cares for are involved.” Ken angled his head and gave her a pointed look. “You couldn't do much better than a man like Luke Dawson.”

“I get the hint.” She grinned weakly, knowing sadness and now confusion laced the smile. “Unfortunately, that's not up to me.”

“How can I help this along?”

“I don't know that there's much you can do on that subject. Luke's even more private than I am so I wouldn't presume to guess how he feels about matters of the heart.

“But I do have some insight into how important his business is to him and how much he loves his work. If he has to give up what little security he has to repay those debts, I don't know how he'll continue his music ministry.”

“Would he accept a loan?”

“I already went that route. He wouldn't hear of it.”

Ken leaned back in his old desk chair, scratched his jaw and puzzled over the situation. Then his eyes met Claire's. “What are you thinking, young lady?”

She felt a peace settle over her that comes only from serving others. Her idea may be half-baked, but it was inspired. With an army of help, the wonderful folks of Abundant Harvest could pull it off. She was certain of it.

She was also certain that if her plan was successful she could foolishly be helping the man she'd fallen in love with to move on with his life, pushing him on his way just as if she'd packed his bags herself.

A
t two in the morning the courtesy shuttle pulled to a stop at the tailgate of Luke's heavy-duty pickup.

“Man, tough break,” the driver said as he glanced down at the conspicuous orange “boot” device that held Luke's front tire prisoner.

Through the light drizzle, Luke caught sight of the “Reserved for City Official” sign posted on the fence and slapped a palm against his forehead.

“Even in a hurry, I should have known that spot was too good to be true.” Luke fished a ten from his wallet and held it toward the twentysomething driver.

“Is there any chance you could take me to the impound lot so I can pay my fine and get that thing unlocked?”

“Sorry, dude, but they're closed till eight. It's the city's way of grinding a little salt in the wound.”

Luke scuffed the backs of his hands over his eyes and groaned. He'd planned to wait until later in the day to break the news to Claire, but now seemed like as good a time as any. Besides, he needed a ride.

Thirty minutes later she swung her ancient Wagoneer through the circular drive of the park-and-fly lot. Beneath the portico, she stomped the brake, rolled down the window and poked out her head.

“Hey stranger, can I give you a lift?” she teased.

He leaned his elbows against the faded red truck as he lightly placed a hand on either side of her head. Even at this hour with a hectic day behind her, she was stunning. He angled his mouth over hers and kissed her more deeply than he'd ever dared before, sharing a message of longing that he could never put into words.

It was done. The price had been high but he'd saved Claire's future. Unfortunately, he had less than twenty-four hours before word of Striker's resurfacing broke. Then he might as well have a bounty on his head. Every newshound or over-thirty rock fan would be hunting him down.

Thank God the plan had worked. O'Malley had taken the bait and swallowed the hook. In exchange for
Today's Times
losing interest in Claire Savage, Luke gave an exclusive that was far bigger and more sensational than anything the publisher had imagined. If they wanted to examine the life of a kid in the spotlight, their wildest dreams had just come true.

Luke was in the driver's seat and he had some requirements that were not open for discussion. After the deal was struck O'Malley had rushed Luke two floors down to a cable news studio. He sat in darkness, his face shielded from the camera as they taped spots that would tease the listening audience. In order to learn the full story of Striker Dark's disappearance from his high-profile life in the heavy-metal music scene over a decade ago, fans would have to purchase the upcoming issue.
Today's Times
was literally stopping the presses to include the sensational scoop.

The anonymity Luke had guarded so closely would evaporate the moment his words were type-set. The ministry he'd built would collapse under the weight of his past sins. His days as low-profile business owner Luke Dawson were numbered and he could count them on one hand. Striker Dark loomed large in the shadows and he was finally about to have his moment in the sunlight again.

“Wow,” Claire breathed when Luke ended the kiss. “Welcome back from wherever you've been.”

He rounded the front bumper of the old truck, jumped into the passenger's seat and dumped his backpack into the floorboard as the door closed against the damp night.

“You're a life saver. Thanks for looking after Freeway today and for coming out in this crummy weather.” He buckled the seat belt and folded his
hands together to control the nervous fidgeting that had plagued him during the long flight.

She smiled and shrugged off the praise. “When you live in Houston you get used to summer rain. Besides, a late night drive beat anything on cable by a long shot.”

He flinched at the mention of cable television, certain the spots were already being aired.

“Glad I didn't wake you.”

“Oh, I have too much on my mind to be asleep anyway.”

“Good stuff?” he questioned.

The tiny creases of worry that had framed her eyes earlier in the day were gone. She seemed relaxed and energized, just the opposite of what he was feeling at the moment.

“Lots of good stuff. Practice went extremely well today. I think you'll be surprised at the progress the guys made while you were gone.”

“See, they can do it without me. They won't miss a beat once they're on their own, especially as long as you're still willing to help out.”

Her smile faltered.

Now, why had he brought that up? With the pieces of the puzzle fitted together, he fully understood the damage his leaving would inflict upon Claire. And there was more yet to come.

She turned her attention to merging onto the dark expressway that was busy with fast-moving vehicles
even at this hour. Passing her hand over the shadows of the dashboard, she twisted a knob and the windshield wipers creaked to life. The summer rain was creating a slick sheen on the steamy pavement.

“I guess they fed you on the flight from…” She waited for him to complete the sentence.

He hesitated. Was this the time? And how much should he tell her? Just enough to ease her mind, or everything? He'd prayed for the answers to those questions as the 727 jet had cruised the skies across eight states. Fate seemed to have set up this unexpected time together. Luke wondered if he was meant to take advantage of it.

Claire squinted through the windshield that always needed washing. Fat raindrops spattered against the glass before the wipers whisked them away. As sure as the storm clouds that had gathered all day dampened the city, Luke's comment had dampened her excitement over the day's whirlwind of plans. She exhaled the sadness from her lungs and fixed her prize-winning smile back in place. The goal was to help Luke. No strings attached, and certainly no guilt heaped on him for placing the work he loved above all else. Above her.

She playfully elbowed his arm to snap him out of his silent thoughts.

“Was the weather at least nicer where you went today?”

“I didn't notice.”

The quiet gaze he turned on her was impossible to read in the shadows of the truck. He seemed conflicted, reluctant to talk. The grumpy-old-Luke facade that he wore with the boys was moments from settling back into place.

She accelerated and pulled into a left-hand lane to pass the old sedan that slowed her progress.

“I went to see O'Malley,” he blurted.

“In New York?” Amazed by his admission, she let off the gas pedal, her head snapping to the right.

A horn blared from behind when the Wagoneer suddenly lost speed. Claire's hand flew to the cross at her throat as she picked up the pace again. She glared in her rearview mirror at the impatient driver.

“I hate it when people do that. It scares me to death.”

“Sorry, I probably should have waited till we got to the house so you could concentrate on the road.”

“I actually listen and drive at the same time quite well. For a blonde,” she added, making light of the abrupt announcement so he'd continue.

As they passed beneath the hazy yellow glow from a tall streetlamp, he seemed to study her face as if trying to gauge her reaction to his admission. He was silent for long seconds as he watched her, his eyes giving away the concern he must feel. And, she admitted to herself, he had reason to worry. Anyone else who'd intruded in her business would be on the receiving end of a stern lecture right now.

Anyone but Luke.

Luke was a grouchy white knight. A fixer. He made his living helping others do things better, avoid pitfalls, put their best foot forward. She should have known that pouring her heart out to him was an invitation to help her out of a dangerous spot. And considering what she and Pastor Ken were up to, she was in no position to throw stones.

“
Today's Times
seems to have lost interest in that follow-up piece on you.”

Her breathing stopped. The fluttering in her chest a telltale sign of the fear she'd been holding in check all day. She took her right hand off the wheel and pressed her fingertips to Luke's forearm. His muscles were tense and rigid. His hands were clasped together in front of him, tight fists of nervous energy.

“Tell me,” she said simply.

“I happen to know a lot of kids in the business, so I offered to hook O'Malley up with a pretty sensational story.”

“About whom?”

“Oh, it's a guy who played heavy metal before he made the switch to contemporary Christian. I hope you won't be offended by me saying this, but—” a mischievous smile spread across his handsome face “—it'll sell a lot more magazines than your story.”

She studied her mirrors before cautiously crossing two inside lanes of traffic and pulling to the side of the road. Her wheels grabbed the pavement a few
feet from a concrete barrier that would shield the ever-present daytime road crew. She checked the emergency lane behind them for oncoming traffic before shoving the gearshift into Park and turning to Luke.

“I hope you know I didn't come to you this morning expecting you to do anything but listen. I can fight my own battles, Luke, I always have.”

The mood of his smile shifted from playful to thoughtful as he took her hand.

“And I'm sure you'd have managed just fine on your own. But the fact of the matter is that not all battles are worth the effort. I had a hunch that if I got in front of O'Malley I could steer his sensation-seeking radar in another direction so you wouldn't need to fight at all. I'm sorry I interfered without your permission, but I couldn't sit by and watch somebody who means so much to me get hurt.”

She stared at the large hands that cupped hers and waited for him to continue, hoping for an admission that his motivation came from him heart and was not the same protectiveness he showed all his kids. The rain picked up, slapping the old SUV with curtains of water, blown sideways by gusts of southern wind.

“Forgive me?” he asked.

“Anything.”

He lifted his right hand and trailed it down the side of her cheek, caressing her skin with the back of his fingers. She angled her face toward the ten
der gesture and kissed his knuckles. Her throat tightened with the longing to tell him what she'd discovered that morning when she'd been driven to unburden herself to Luke, to turn to one person only for guidance and comfort.

She loved him.

But he wouldn't want to hear her profess the love that overflowed from her heart, couldn't return her feelings.

“Come on, sugar, but let's get out of this weather.”

He turned his attention to the panels of glass that surrounded them. Layers of white were creeping up the insides, enclosing them by an opaque curtain.

“Where's your defroster?” he asked, twisting dials on the shadowy dash.

Afraid to speak over the profound sadness that thickened her voice and filled her eyes, she brushed his hand away and groped for the knob she'd twisted a bazillion times since her mother financed the used truck that was Claire's high school transportation. As the system pumped a steady supply of warm air, she clicked on her left turn signal and grabbed the steering wheel to merge into the stream of headlights. With her vision blurred by hot tears, she glanced toward her side mirror and accelerated.

The deafening blast of a horn warned there was a huge vehicle almost on top of them. She gasped from the jarring sound and jerked the wheel hard to the right, overcorrecting.

The tires spun on the slick pavement and the Wagoneer slid sideways.

Her eyes flew to the tunnel of clear vision that was spreading across the windshield just as the front quarter panel of the SUV smacked the concrete barrier.

A shotgun report roared in Claire's ears. Her face and chest stung from an immediate and powerful slap that left her skin smarting. White powder swirled about her, turning the front seat into a snow globe of confusion.

She choked on the air filled with floating debris and the warm blood that rushed from inside her lip. Feeling the surge of a gag that would bring up her dinner, she prepared to lean toward the floor of the passenger's seat.

Luke's strong left arm shot across her upper body and pinned her securely.

“Hold on, Claire. A truck stopped behind us to help.”

“Luke,” she groaned.

“I'm okay. Are you hurt?”

“No, but I feel like I'm gonna barf.”

“You caught that air bag right in the face. Just take a few deep breaths and let your head stop spinning.”

“I want to go home,” she groaned.

Her door swung wide and rain pelted her through the opening.

“Don't move, little lady.” The overall-clad truck driver used his large body to shield her from the weather.

“I don't think she's injured, just shook up from the air bag blast,” Luke advised the trucker. “Claire, are you sure you don't want an ambulance?”

She waved away the question.

“We just need a wrecker,” Luke told the trucker.

“Got it.” The door closed against the downpour.

Luke leaned across the console, draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She hugged him hard, a sob springing from her throat. He kissed the top of her head and rocked her like a child.

“It was a beat-up old SUV, but it might still be salvageable.”

“It's not my truck, it's you. I could have killed you.”

He tipped her head and used his fingertips to brush away the tears.

“Shhh,” he murmured into her hair. “I'm the proverbial cat with nine lives and I've still got a bunch left. As a matter of fact, I need to tell you about the first one so let's get you home.”

 

“Thanks, pastor, I'll see you in half an hour,” Luke said, ending the phone call. He closed his eyes and pleaded a silent prayer for the words to break the news to Claire, fearing this might be the last time they'd be together.