Amazing Love (4 page)

Buck squirmed and buried his nose beneath her arm. She'd long since mastered the art of typing with the abused dachshund in her lap. R.C. perched nearby, dangling his long tail over the arm of Claire's favorite chair. The red tabby cat would find himself relegated to the garage if he sharpened his claws on the leather recliner again.

Aptly named for his three-legged status, Tripod dozed on the rug beside her, his sides rising and falling in conjunction with his noisy breathing. The Airedale's costly asthma was the primary reason he was still without a permanent home.

With one hand Claire snuggled Buck closer and with the other she reached to trail her fingers across Tripod's wiry head. He opened adoring eyes, sighed his gratitude and drifted back into doggie dreamland. She understood the contentment these abandoned animals felt in the sanctuary of her home.

Two weeks after Claire's thirteenth birthday, Dean
Savage dealt his family a staggering blow. He was moving to L.A. to pursue his dream of being an actor. Alone.

To Claire's astonishment Mary Savage didn't plead with her husband to stay. Instead she sought comfort in her Bible as Claire's father packed, muttering under his breath about women and their religious nonsense. The next day he was gone, leaving Claire and her mother with nothing more than the roof over their heads.

The computer beeped to signal its work was complete.

She scanned the results of her search on Praise Productions, disappointed to find no home page, odd for a growing business. There were numerous brief blurbs in relation to churches Praise Productions had worked with in the recent past. All glowing reports, nothing of concern. She should be relieved instead of feeling like she'd come up empty-handed, just as she had for the search under Luke's name, yielding only pages of genealogy listings.

She looped the gold chain around her index finger and cupped the diamond cross in her hand. The grudging respect and strange attraction she felt for the man with the lazy smile conflicted with her need to protect her Abundant Harvest family.

The guy had some unique qualities but he was running stealth for a reason. Tomorrow Claire would go over his contract with a fine-tooth comb. She
might even call her Texas Ranger friend, Daniel Stabler, for a background check. If Luke Dawson was hiding something, she'd pull the plug on the deal faster than you could say Savage Cycles of Houston.

S
unday morning Luke twisted the knob and the door of his furnished efficiency swung open.

Home sweet home.

He surveyed his surroundings, nodding approval at the sparse furnishings that helped hold down costs. As long as the rental was located within five miles of his favorite coffee chain, was spotlessly cleaned and the previous occupants hadn't smoked, Luke could be quite happy with used accommodations.

The thirty-eight-foot Praise Productions trailer afforded him the space to carry the few items he needed to be self-sufficient and comfortable during the weeks he'd spend at each location. Settling into a kitchen chair, he placed his morning latte on the table and dropped the newspaper beside it.

Four paws thumped the bedroom floor and Freeway lumbered around the corner. He stopped at the
sight of his new master, wagged a long tail in a still-sleepy greeting and collapsed on the cool tile. His eyelids immediately sagged and he slipped back into puppy slumber.

Luke smiled at the contented animal and reached for the remote. Needing a quick feel for the local culture, he surfed dozens of Houston channels, pausing over the local television ministries.

Many of the services were in Spanish, leaving no doubt that the Hispanic population had exploded in Texas. A song recorded in Spanish would be a nice touch for the Harvest Sons album.

He reached for his backpack, pulled out a spiral notebook and pencil, and began making plans for the group. Though he wasn't willing to praise them too soon, last night the Sons had given one of the best first efforts Luke had observed so far. Eric was particularly hungry for success. After the taste Luke would offer the boy, he'd never settle for crumbs again. With youth and talent on his side he had a shot.

And now he had a secret weapon. Luke Dawson.

Seemed like only yesterday that Luke was just as trusting and hopeful. On his own at nineteen with enough money to do a world of good or a lot of damage, he lacked the maturity or the guidance to handle his fame. He'd naively signed over the management of his finances to entertainment lawyer Lisa Evans, never knowing he'd signed over full control as well. When a thick layer of dust settled
on his career, she was a wealthy woman and he was lucky she'd left him the rights to his own music.

What different turns life might have taken if someone had stood in the gap for Luke Dawson before he became consumed by Striker Dark. He was committed to being that someone for Eric.

Since Luke had buried his anger along with Striker, he shook free of the memories and rattled open the Sunday paper.

The advertisement dared the reader. The rest of the full page ad listed the specs of the soon-to-be-released custom chopper, the signature bike of Savage Cycles of Houston.

Luke scanned the page for any mention of the owner. Finding none, he laid the paper on the table, folded his arms across his chest and squinted in concentration. Though he'd known her less than twenty-four hours, Claire Savage was possibly the most interesting woman he'd ever met. There was something apart from her physical beauty that demanded appreciation.

He found the self-confidence that bordered on arrogance appealing, and the matter-of-fact way she spoke of her accomplishments very attractive. Instead of the smug “I'm all that” kind of pride, she
displayed a satisfied sureness that said she was capable and knew it.

There was no doubt she had a brilliant mind—the most worrisome part. After she'd left for the evening, Brian had offered a few unsolicited bits on her background. Seemed the mixture of pageant queen and Ivy League grad uniquely qualified her to serve as role model and femme fatale for the teens at Abundant Harvest. According to the boy, who was clearly smitten with her, the cool part was Claire didn't let all her achievements go to her head.

Luke recalled having the same foolish thoughts about Lisa when they'd first met. But something about this Miss Texas was different from the financial shark who had bled Striker Dark dry.

The way Claire held her head—chin just a bit high—was definitely practiced. But when he'd stared into her eyes he'd caught a glimmer of what lay beneath the public veneer. He wasn't sure it was confidence at all. He'd seen part bravado, part suspicion and something else. Fear maybe. Now what would a woman with the world by the tail have to fear?

She was a celebrity in this community, in this state actually. She had roots, an enviable past and was busy orchestrating a very public future. But he had a hunch she was afraid of something.

“Lord,” Luke spoke aloud, “do me a favor, will Ya? Keep that woman busy with her own life and out of my hair?”

 

Claire closed her Bible and stood for the final prayer that would dismiss the worship service. She waited for the busy aisle to clear, and then made her way toward the exit. As she inched closer to the door she stopped to accept praise for her solo.

The arrangement was not one she'd personally have chosen but the song had complimented the series Pastor Ken was teaching on forgiveness. She'd agreed to sing the popular tune, hoping she wouldn't be compared unfavorably to the artist who'd won a Dove Award for the song. Though it bugged her to admit the truth, every suggestion Luke Dawson had imposed upon her last night had been right on target.

After following the instructions of a man who claimed he personally had the voice of a bullfrog, she'd found the comfort level that had been lacking when she'd practiced on her own. The guy was like that famous gymnastics coach who took the American women to the Olympics. He couldn't do a double back flip off the balance beam if his life depended on it, but the girls he trained never failed to bring home the gold.

Luke was nowhere to be found this morning, his rig no longer a conspicuous sight in the parking lot. A small sigh escaped as she realized she'd expected him to be there. She'd actually wanted the man's approval. She dropped her chin and trudged up the aisle.

“You were incredible this morning. Quite a moving performance.”

Claire's head popped up as she recognized the male voice.

Arthur O'Malley stood just inside the exit door. In a lightweight summer suit, with his hands folded before him, he resembled a groom waiting for his bride.

Trained to accept a compliment graciously, this time she went with her gut instinct instead.

“Are you following me?” she demanded. “Because if you are you can kiss that interview goodbye.”

His eyes flew wide, and a smile creased his face.

“Whoa, cowgirl,” he chuckled. “I understand your stalker worries but this is just a coincidence. I'm staying right over there.” He pointed to the luxury hotel across the interstate.

Her mother would have been appalled by the rude reaction. Good thing she was on an Alaskan cruise instead of standing beside her daughter. Still, something niggled at Claire, telling her to be cautious.

“I'm so sorry, Mr. O'Malley.”

“It's Art.” He waved away her formal address. “I'm on my way to Sunday brunch. Join me? We can take separate cars and even go Dutch treat if you'd prefer.” He poked fun at her suspicious nature.

She'd skipped the past two meals and her stomach had mumbled its discontent throughout the sermon.

“I guess I can spare an hour.” She accepted his invitation.

Minutes later, with Art's rented sedan visible in her rearview mirror, she pulled onto the access road and headed toward the restaurant they'd agreed upon. As she rolled to a stop at the intersection a familiar black rig turned in her direction. The driver's face was shielded by dark glasses and a baseball cap that was pulled low. But there was no mistaking Luke Dawson.

As the noisy diesel pickup passed, he glanced her way and seemed to dismiss her. She lifted her hand to wave but the moment was gone. Hunger forgotten, she regretted the lunch date and considered returning to the church.

A horn blared several cars back. Claire jumped, her attention snapping forward as the traffic light blinked from yellow to red. She twisted and mouthed an apology to Art.

 

Luke spotted the dazzling blonde in the pink Mustang.

How could anybody miss her in a car like that?

He shifted into second and pulled farther from the intersection. In the boxy rental directly behind her, a man smiled and waved. Though the gesture was obviously meant for Claire, Luke felt the motion like a punch to his belly.

After all these years, he was close enough to throw a rock at the gossip rag reporter who'd tracked
Striker Dark like a bounty hunter on the trail of an escaped convict. The guy who was currently a hotshot with
Today's Times
would never be anything but a smarmy hack as far as Luke was concerned.

He snapped off the radio so he could concentrate. This day was bound to come. As carefully as he'd guarded his privacy, the world really was a small place. Sooner or later he'd be forced to cross paths with his past, but not today.

According to the digital clock on the dashboard the time was just after eleven. He could be packed and loaded in a couple of hours and make Austin or Dallas before supper. He reached for the travel-scarred canvas backpack on the seat beside him and fished inside for the Abundant Harvest contract. At the next convenience store he'd stop and use the payphone. Pastor Ken would have to deliver the news that Praise Productions regretfully was no longer free to work with the Harvest Sons.

The hopeful faces of Eric, Bryan, Zach and Chad invaded Luke's thoughts. He blinked twice to clear away the image of the four youths who'd been so eager to please. He batted away the heavy sense of responsibility he felt for Eric, the kid who needed a mentor, a protector and a father-figure as desperately as Luke himself once had.

Just twelve hours earlier they'd made a deal, and the boys had agreed to keep their end of the bargain. Luke had agreed a man's reputation was all he really
had. He'd given them his word, said he never made a promise he couldn't keep. He'd prayed for discernment where Eric was concerned, asked God to guide his determination to make a difference in the boy's life.

Now Luke's shoulders slumped with the weight of how little his word would mean to the boys, to God.

In a week they'd remember the man who'd offered them the hope of a future as a fast talker who couldn't be trusted. He ground his teeth at the thought and stuffed the pages into the backpack.

“Lord, I don't know how all this figures into Your plan, but I can't run away this time.” Luke accelerated as he passed the phone booth at the corner grocery. “I sure hope I don't regret this,” he grumbled, and then headed for Abundant Harvest Church.

 

At 7:00 p.m. Claire leaned against the door with her shoulder and pushed her way into the church's narthex. The cardboard box in her hands was heavy with carry-out from her favorite Italian chain. Six to-go dinners would be her excuse for showing up again, and an assortment of jars from her mother's pantry would be an apology to Luke for her prank the night before.

After her brief lunch with O'Malley she'd spent the afternoon at the dealership pouring over the fine print of the Praise Production contact. Actually that
wasn't true, because there was no fine print to speak of. The details of the agreement were short and specific, with no confusing clauses designed to hook the church into a bad deal. If Pastor Ken and his board voted to sign the document, she'd have no objections.

In fact, she was beginning to feel a bit guilty for her suspicions. Maybe her worry over the successful release of the Southern Savage was coloring other areas of her life.

The ad campaign that chewed up her entire marketing budget had begun that morning. In three weeks, the one-of-a-kind chopper would be loaded along with a dozen other bikes to begin the long journey to Sturgis, South Dakota. She was a woman invading a man's business. The future of Savage Cycles as a custom design shop would be riding along with the cargo.

There was no margin for error and no time to fix any. As usual, everything had to be perfect.

She sat the box on a table and pushed the sanctuary door open to peek inside. As he'd done the night before, Luke was quietly sharing some key points of music theory with the boys. Claire shook her head, amazed by the rapt attention on the faces of guys who would find this same lecture from their high school band director to be boring and pointless. When Luke paused to take a sip of his soft drink, she seized the opportunity to make her entrance.

“Anybody hungry?” she called.

“As long as it's not tacos I could sure use some supper,” Luke responded, and turned with a ready smile so unexpected it rattled her self-control.

“If you'll settle for chicken parmesan I've got you covered.” She propped the door wide, motioned for them to follow and then lifted the carton. Luke sprinted to catch up to her, taking the heavy box without discussion.

Claire nodded her thanks and dropped back to let him take the lead. She admired the solid shoulders beneath the black Praise Productions T-shirt and the trim waist where the shirt tucked loosely into his jeans. She straightened the floral scarf knotted at the neck of her pale yellow summer-weight sweater, and checked the length of her creased white Capri pants.

Glancing up, she locked eyes with Chad, who gave her a conspiratorial thumbs-up. She allowed the smallest smirk but narrowed her eyes in a “Don't go there” message.

Zach was the first to plop down at a table in the fellowship hall and help himself to a white carry-out container. He popped open the top and the aroma of marinara sauce floated above his meal.

He closed his eyes and sighed with obvious pleasure.

“Miss Claire, will you marry me?” he asked.

The boys snorted with agreeable laughter as they gathered around.

Claire looked at Brian, who was seated across the table from her, his head down over his meal.