Amazing Love (15 page)

“I can give you a ride.”

Her insistent voice brought him back to the present, where he stood shivering in her kitchen.

With four animals in tow, she emerged from the hallway that led from her bedroom and bath. She'd made a quick change into dry clothes and brought a large towel for Luke. He could wrap it around his shoulders to absorb some of the dampness in his T-shirt but there wasn't much he could do about his soaked jeans and shoes.

He stood dripping on the rug, leaning against the edge of the counter, feeling like his back was once again up against a hard place with nowhere to turn. He glanced at the wall clock, watched the sweeping hand click away the seconds as the last few moments she might ever respect him ticked away with it.

“There's no way you're getting behind the wheel without some sleep first.” He refused her offer. “Ken was already up and he's going to drop by for me on his way to the church. As a matter of fact, he's a little annoyed that we didn't call him in the first place instead of riding with the wrecker.”

“That's Pastor Ken, all right.”

She crossed the room, shook open the beach towel, draped it around Luke's shoulders, and ran her hands down his chest to mop up the dampness. The heat of her touch was stronger than his will-power. He pulled her against him, not caring that her
dry clothes would be wet in an instant. She wound her arms around his waist, hugged him hard and nestled her cheek to his chest.

“I have something to tell you, sugar.”

She made to tip her head back to look him in the face, but he pressed her closer to his heart.

“No, let me hold you a little longer in case you never want to hug me again.”

“It can't be that bad.”

“Oh, yeah,” he corrected. “It can.”

She pushed away enough to see into his eyes. “Luke, whatever it is, there's nothing we can't work through.”

He dipped his head, inhaled her fresh scent and kissed her softly, making a sweet memory.

“Let's sit at your table.”

The animals trotted behind them to the breakfast nook and plopped on the floor at their feet. Luke covered the chair with his towel and sat, stretching his legs in front of him, creating the distance he was certain she'd want once she heard what he had to say.

“You were right. O'Malley's on to something. He knew the truth about your abuse by that creep and was prepared to ambush you with the information to get your reaction.”

She closed her eyes and ducked her head, unable to bear the tender look of sympathy she saw on Luke's face. Her soul cried out for help.

Oh, Father, why are You testing me this way?
Why now, when I'm finally getting over those horrible memories? When I've found a man I can love without shame?

She felt the light pressure of his hand on her knee, warm and reassuring. She opened her eyes but wouldn't meet his gaze. Couldn't.

“I thought I'd gotten past it, survived it,” she murmured to herself.

“You have. That's what I'm telling you. O'Malley has a bigger story. You're not in danger of being exposed.”

Her eyes met Luke's. He sat up tall and pulled his long legs close to the kitchen chair. His hands were once again pressed together between his knees, his body language distant like he was closing off from the world. From her.

“I know you love music but you don't seem like the type who'd listen to heavy metal. Do you remember the band that did ‘Electric Love' and ‘Ain't No Fool' and a lot of other mega hits in the 90s?”

This had to be the most bizarre twelve hours of her life. She still felt light-headed from taking the impact of the airbag blast to her face. Then the ordeal of loading the SUV in the pouring rain and hitching a ride with a wrecker. Now, out of the blue Luke wants to talk about 90s rock?

“Luke, I'm confused but I'm not stupid. Anybody under the age of eighty would know about Striker Dark. What's he got to do with anything?”

“That's me.”

She squinted, trying to make sense of the words.

“I'm Striker.”

“Yeah, right. You're that guy with the long black hair and the spiderweb tattoos who…”

“Burned his face up freebasing,” he finished her sentence, then tilted his head so the scars on his neck were obvious.

She held her palms outward, fed up. “I don't know where this is headed, but that's a ridiculous story, Luke.”

He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and shook his head as if telling himself there was no other way.

He stood, turned his back to her, peeled the long sleeves off and lifted the damp black T-shirt over his head. Luke held his arms out to give her the full view of the infamous artwork.

She felt her jaw sag at the picture he made. His back and arms were an intricate web spun by an artist's needle. A menacing spider the size of Luke's open hand so believably detailed that as he rotated his arm it appeared to crawl across his shoulder in search of innocent prey.

Striker Dark, that notorious bad boy of the 90s, standing there in her kitchen.

“Oh, my,” she breathed the quiet exclamation. No wonder he didn't want Daniel Stabler digging into his past.

He dragged the shirt back on before turning to face her. “Sorry, but that was the simplest way to make you understand.

“I'm the kid who grew up in the spotlight. The person
Today's Times
is going to feature. I gave O'Malley the answers to everybody's questions about what happened to me after the fire. He's running it in this week's issue and we taped some teasers for their cable news station.” He nodded toward her television. “I'm sure they're already being aired.”

Her head throbbed. Her heart pounded. She dared not make any assumptions but hope overflowed her spirit.

“After all these years, why did you expose yourself like that, Luke? Why didn't you protect your reputation, your privacy?”

He moved to stand before her and knelt to one knee so they were eye to eye. He held his hands outward, palms up, an invitation. She placed her hands in his. He smiled and squeezed them lightly.

“Because I finally found someone more important to protect than myself. The woman I love.” His voice was low, quiet, but there was no mistaking the words he spoke.

Blood surged through her heart, increasing the pounding in her head. Knowing it was a moment she would treasure for the rest of her days, she struggled to note the details. The damp smell of him, the ap
pealing stubble of his day-old whiskers, the deep emerald-green of his eyes, their corners pinched with something that looked suspiciously like sadness. Why would he say the words she'd been waiting all her life to her with regret on his face?

“And that's why I have to get out of here.”

She snapped out of her memory making and back to the present. What had he just said? “Get out of here? What are you talking about?”

“I need to get packed up and on the road before people see that spot and recognize my voice. Abundant Harvest will be crawling with the press if they think I'm there. I won't put Ken and the Harvest Sons through that mess.”

“Oh, come on. It's been what, twelve, maybe fourteen years since all that happened? You can't really believe it's going to be that big of a deal?”

The doorbell rang. He gave her hands a final squeeze before he stood. “That'll be the pastor.” Luke moved to the built-in desk and depressed the start button on her computer.

“I suggest you spend an hour surfing the net for Striker Dark. Then I think you'll have the picture of just how big a deal this is gonna be.”

“L
ord, I know You didn't bring me to this point to let my life unravel now. Show me Your will for my future, and give me the strength to accept it.”

Luke ended his time of prayer and opened his eyes to the empty carton that needed to be filled with his kitchen items. The last thing he wanted to do today was pack and run but it wasn't his choice to make. Every hour that he stalled put the hounds closer to his heels.

His father had been right. Trouble seemed to find Luke wherever he went. He'd spent so many years running from it, trying to put a safe distance between him and his excessive past, always afraid one day it would catch him unaware.

The television anchor gave the afternoon weather report. Luke knew he had to get moving. He could be loaded and on the road in less than three hours if he worked fast.

Knuckles rapped softly on his front door and Freeway woofed at the intrusion.

“Luke, can I come in?” Claire called. The question caused him to suck in a quick breath of surprise as he heard uncertainty in her always-confident tone. He felt a smile of relief crease his face as the pup wagged his tail at the familiar voice.

“It's open,” Luke shouted.

She peeked around the door facing, her eyes wide and filled with hesitation. Freeway loped across the room to greet their unexpected visitor. Luke held out his hand and prayed she'd still take it. She moved into his kitchen, set a bunch of yellow rosebuds in a crystal vase on the counter and slipped her fingers into his. When she gave his hand a small comforting squeeze it was like she'd squeezed his heart instead.

“I read on the Internet this morning where you once hated being confined to small spaces.” She gestured to the tiny apartment.

“Been doing a little research, have you?”

She nodded. “Is all that stuff true?”

He closed his eyes, ashamed of what she might have read. Might have seen. He felt her hand press his for an answer.

“Most of it.” He looked into eyes sweeter than molasses. “Striker was a character I was only supposed to play on stage. Some of his antics made Lucifer seem like a choir boy. I'd like to blame
everything on Striker but all the foolish decisions and sinful behavior were mine alone.”

“You look so different from the person in those pictures. It's hard to believe that was you beneath the beard and long hair.”

“Most of my face looked like this after the fire.” He touched the scar on the side of his neck. “I told the surgeons who did the reconstruction to change everything they could. By then I'd given my heart to Christ and I didn't want any part of that old life. I needed to start over, use my talents for His service, and I knew I'd never be taken seriously if people recognized me.”

Her curious gaze roamed across his face, possibly searching for the irreverent kid he'd been all those years ago. She was too polite to ask the question on her mind so he made it easy for her.

“I was smoking cocaine, my favorite recreation back then. My shirt caught fire and all that hair was like dry tinder. By the time my buddies got me rolling on the floor to put out the flames, my skin was more like melted putty than flesh.”

She winced at the blunt description that was nothing compared to the reality. The combination of rehab for drug addiction and burn recovery without pain meds was a living hell. But a hell he'd brought upon himself. Only God's grace had seen Luke through it and in gratitude he'd turned his craft into a mission field.

“Pretty stupid, huh? Not exactly the type of guy you'd want working with your kids today.”

“But you've changed, Luke. Everyone will be so proud of you when they realize what you've done with your life since then.”

The forgiving smile she gave him said she simply didn't get it. He snickered, a sound that was part humor at her hopeful expression and part despair at the loss yet to come. He hated what he was about to do, but there was no choice. She had to walk away, leave him behind. Put space and time between them before she was sucked under with him.

“Claire, you're living in a dream world. I'll be lucky if I don't get run out of town before I can get packed on my own and leave tonight.”

Leave tonight. Leave tonight. Leave tonight.
His words echoed in time with the throbbing headache that still plagued her.

Claire felt light-headed, the oxygen sucked from her lungs. He had no reason to keep running. His secret was out. He said she was the woman he loved. But, just like her father,
his feelings
were all that mattered. He would go anyway.

“What about the Harvest Sons?”

“People like Moe Sanders won't let me within a hundred yards of the Sons now. No.” He shook his head and then continued. “I'm not going to put everybody through that.”

“You're just going to cancel their concert?”

“Of course not. I've already made some calls, and arranged for the same company who recorded the Battle of the Bands to take over. They'll make all the arrangements so the show can go on as planned.”

“The church can't afford that,” she protested.

“They'll charge the same rate Ken agreed to in my contract.”

“You thought of everything, didn't you.” She was defeated. Nothing left to lose.

“I'm trying to make everybody whole.”

“Well, try harder because I'm never going to be whole again. I need you, Luke. I love you.” She heard the pleading in her voice. It was sickening. It hadn't worked with her father and it wouldn't work now, either.

“I love you, too, Claire,” he whispered.

The green of his eyes glittered with tears of conflict. She bit the tender inside of her lip to quell the sob that wanted to surface at his admission.

He'd said it again. He loved her.

“But nothin' good can come of it, sugar,” he continued, determined to spoil any chance they had to be together. “Our lives are on completely different courses. Yours is very public. You need exposure, feed on attention. If you don't have that your business won't be successful and you won't be happy. I've gone so far underground that I'm not sure I even know how to be a public person again. Every
thing I touch from today on will be tainted by who I was and I can't do that to you. I won't.”

“Luke, please.” She tried again, her emotions raw, close to losing control. She grasped his hand with both of hers, physically trying to hold him back. He gripped her fast.

“Baby, let me say it differently.” He glanced away. “I'm such a big fake that my own parents disowned me. I'm so ashamed of the person I was back then. I don't want to live in the spotlight, constantly being asked about those times, never being allowed to forget. It would be a prison for me.” His gaze met hers again. “Don't you see? It's the nightmare of my past that made me see the same thing in you. I was so alone and miserable as a kid that I could easily recognize your pain. Understand your shame. I can't step back into that world again, can't be trusted with the temptations that still taunt me, will find me now.”

“But you're a new creature.” She tried for a Biblical approach.

“That's where you're wrong,” he insisted, making the snap decision to force her at all cost to let him go, even if he had to be cruel to do it. Even if he had to lie. “When this fraud investigation is complete my name will be worthless and I'll have even more reason to go underground. I've got to put as many miles between us as I can before the truth comes out. Then I can go on hiding, and you can too. Like you've done for years.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She leaned away.

The narrowing of his eyes made her want to flinch from his gaze.

“Oh, come on, Claire. You can drop the Pollyanna act with me. We're no different in that respect. I may have been hiding behind my anonymity, but you've been hiding behind that perfect persona, that prima donna you've created for yourself, afraid one slip will justify what that jerk did to you. Confirm what you believe, that it's really all your fault.”

His tactless words stung, a vicious slap to her senses.

“How can you speak to me that way?” She bristled.

“Because it's true.” He mocked her. “We're the same on the inside, you and me. Afraid, hiding our sins, dirty, not even trusting God's forgiveness.”

The heat of his hands was as unbearable as the hurtful words he flung at her. She jerked hers free and pushed away.

What he insinuated was a lie! Wasn't it? He couldn't possibly have stolen from people who believed in him.

And what about his accusations regarding her? Were the guilt and unworthiness she still felt a part of not really trusting God? Never truly accepting His forgiveness? How could she have been so wrong about so many things?

If what he said was true, she was as much a fake as Luke.

Self-confident business woman. Public figure. Outspoken Christian role model. Was she only an image with no substance? And had she finally placed her trust in a man—
fallen in love with a man
—who was a fraud in every sense of the word?

“You know deep down that it's all true whether you'll admit it to me or not,” he spewed bitter words at her.

“Okay!” She held her hands up, demanding that he cease the verbal assault. “You've made your point. I get the message, loud and clear. And I'll pass it on to the Sons. You don't want to be in the spotlight. You're outta here because you can't chance a new life here with us. Don't have anything to offer because you're a big fake, even embezzling funds from the churches you worked with. Did I get all that right, Luke? Or Striker, or whoever you
really
are?”

She snatched the bouquet of flowers from the vase and dumped them in the metal waste basket, innocent petals and drops of water scattering on the floor as they fell.

At the door she turned and extended a challenge, now positive he'd resist it.

“The concert's been moved, by the way. It'll be at the West Houston Amphitheater. Saturday night at seven. If you're brave enough to stick around, drop by and check it out. You might be surprised by
what the community you're so certain will turn its back on you is doing to help somebody out of a tough spot.”

She yanked the door hard and it slammed on its hinges. Luke stared after her, knowing he'd gone too far, pushed too hard. But it had to be done. There was no other way. No matter the pain that pierced his soul, he could never have this woman he'd come to adore. He was poisonous. Toxic.

His father had called him worthless. Standing ramrod straight in dress whites, cap tucked officially beneath his arm.
“Worthless,”
he'd said.

And now Luke could add
liar
to the list of charges. His insides churned as the losses piled up. The reputation he'd worked so hard to create was crumbling like the rest of his life. But if the lie served its purpose, kept Claire and everyone else away from him, it was worth the sin.

And now, just like his parents, Claire was gone. On her way out of his life she'd even bought into the charge that he could be a thief. Had she ever truly believed he was completely innocent? Had standing up for him just been another pretty face she'd put on her life, another way of doing what she thought was the “right thing.” Again the image of Lisa Evans surfaced. She'd taken everything of material value and walked away. The only difference in the two women was that Claire had walked away with his heart.

Now, there was nobody left to judge him, nobody to disapprove, nobody he could disappoint, and no reason to rush. Soon enough he'd be home to wander his little peanut field alone and ponder the woman who'd claimed to love Luke Dawson. Not wild and wildly rich Striker Dark, but scarred and imperfect Luke Dawson.

He glanced at the yellow roses thrown in the trash, the symbol of his beloved Claire, the Texas beauty. His gaze sought the crystal vase, empty and sad.

Just like his future.

 

The next morning Claire couldn't decide if Pastor Ken's study was cooler than usual or if the warmth had simply seeped from her soul. She'd always thought the emptiness she'd felt from her abuse and from watching her father's old sedan disappear around the corner were the worst life had to offer.

Yesterday she'd been proven wrong.

“I don't know what hurts more, the fact that he's wrong about himself or the possibility that he's right about me.”

She'd gone through the hours since their confrontation on autopilot. Sitting behind her desk, working out a thousand small details. Everything from trailer rentals for the Sturgis trip to tickets for carnival rides. It kept her body occupied with work, but her mind was with Luke.

Recent memories flooded the organized, predictable spaces in her subconscious normally reserved for comforting numbers and reliable facts. Instead, her mind's eye suffered through snapshots of the man she loved in all his forms; a stranger on the bridge, a musical mentor on a lighted stage, a willing chaperone holding her hand and laughing at her childish screams, a tender protector who interceded for others.

Interceded for her.

But was he also a master at deception? A thief?

“Pastor Ken, doesn't it make you angry deep down that he lied to all of us?”

Ken's head popped up from where he'd been studying the screen of his laptop, a look of disbelief in his kind eyes.

“You're starting to sound like Moe Saunders. That's not really how you feel is it? Luke may have omitted the whole truth, but I don't know that he ever lied to any of us. Certainly not to me.”

“But he let us defend him all this time not knowing who he really was.”

“I've known since the day we handled that incident with Nicole Arnold showing interest in Zach's finger as a keepsake.”

The room shifted, leaned off-kilter. Fatigue was getting to her. What had he said?
Ken had known?
He must have read her puzzled expression.