Amazing Love (5 page)

“Will you bless the food for us, Brian?”

His eyes flew wide, and he shook his head.

“Mom's the only one who prays at our house.” Eric explained his brother's reluctance.

“It's easy for men once we get some practice.” Luke let the teen off the hook by offering sincere thanks for the meal. As they dug into their Italian carry-out, all conversation ceased. The teenage boys wolfed their food in record time and Luke excused them for the only cell phone check of the night, reminding them to call home. The two adults were left alone in the fellowship hall that felt huge and silent.

“Well, what's the verdict?” Luke caught her by surprise with the question. Did he somehow know she'd spent the previous night surfing the Net, searching for something that would prove his integrity? Or disprove it.

She paused, the plastic fork loaded with chicken and cheese halfway between the plate and her open mouth. The guy had great timing.

“Could you be more specific?” She stalled.

“Ken told me you'd be one of the folks checking the contract.” He waited.

“I'm the head of the finance committee. It's my job to preview all monetary commitments to protect the church.”

He spoke slowly, giving weight to each word as if addressing someone with trouble comprehending English.

“I repeat, what's the verdict? Did you find the ‘gotcha' you were lookin' for?” He leveled her with his narrow gaze and casually bit into a garlic breadstick.

“No, I didn't find a single ‘gotcha.'” The lightweight sweater was suddenly too warm. “I have no objections to the contract. It seems straightforward, exactly as you discussed it with Pastor Ken, so I gave the council my approval.”

“Gee, thanks,” he muttered. He looked down at his meal and resumed eating. It was perfectly reasonable for a church to have his contract reviewed before signing it, just as he should have done himself years ago. But for some reason it galled him that this woman acted like it was her personal mission to keep an eye on him.

“These are for you.” She'd reached into the carry-out carton and retrieved a brown paper sack. With a clunk, she deposited the bag on the table in front of him. He looked from the sack to her and back again.

“Go ahead,” she insisted, waving her manicured hand toward the offering.

The opened sack revealed the tops of two pint-sized mason jars. He lifted one and then the other and felt a smile stretch across his face.

Jalapeños!

“T
hey're the painless kind. My mother grows them herself. She claims over-watering the plants and only using the smoothest peppers keeps them mild.” Claire seemed to watch his face for approval.

“Go ahead, try one,” she encouraged.

Enjoying the worry in her eyes over his acceptance of this peace offering, he thumped the edge of the lid on the table and twisted the cap. The seal broke with a light pop releasing the spicy scent. He tilted the open container her way.

“Ladies first.”

As she might pick a delicate flower, she daintily plucked a stem between her thumb and forefinger. She tapped the dripping vinegar on the edge of the jar, raised the fiery fruit to her mouth and nibbled the edge. Eyes closed, she chewed and seemed to savor her mother's home-grown delicacy.

“Mmm, Mary Savage isn't the canning queen of Harris County for nothing.” Claire dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin and grinned.

“Okay, I believe you.” Luke nodded. “Mind if I save these for another occasion?” He replaced the lid with a secure twist.

“As long as you don't mind if I bring dinner every night and hang around to watch rehearsal.”

“Don't you really mean hang around to watch me?”

“I beg your pardon.” She squirmed a bit.

“You're determined to keep an eye on me, aren't you?” He couldn't seem to help himself. His professional motives were above reproach. But this lady still wasn't convinced.

“I admit there's some truth to that, but not entirely for the reason you think.” She looked away and reached to gather the remnants of their meal. “The fact is you'll only be here a couple of weeks. These kids are like my family and I already see the hero worship on their faces when they look at you. They'll need someone to fill the void in their lives when you're gone. Especially Eric and Brian. Things are rough at that house. I may not be anybody's first choice but I could be all they have until somebody else steps up.”

She stopped her busy work of wiping down the table and looked him in the eye. “So, if you don't mind, I'd like to learn everything I can while you're here.”

His chest tightened at the brutal honesty of her statement. How many times had he driven away from youngsters who'd begged him to stay longer? Determined to be in control of his own destiny, he'd packed up and moved on. And he'd almost walked away again just a few hours earlier.

He shrugged off the internal nagging and turned the recrimination he deserved on her instead.

“I guess I don't mind,” he groused. “As a matter of fact, I almost admire that streak of meddling do-gooder in you.”

Her hand brushed the cross around her neck as her brown eyes widened at the barely veiled insult. Would he never learn to control the mouth that had earned him countless backhands from his Naval officer father?

“That was unfair,” Luke muttered a near apology.

“It's okay. I know I need to disguise it a little better.” She flushed slightly at the admission and he felt like even more of a jerk.

“Speaking of meddling, I can probably find a permanent home for Freeway when you leave. I already have three foster animals but I'll make room for one more at my little place for a while.”

The woman he'd just offended was offering to help him out. Turning the other cheek, as the Bible taught. Something he'd never mastered. He mentally shrunk to the height of a rotted tree stump and felt about as useful.

The way his mouth pinched into a thin line told Claire she'd struck a nerve. Nice to see the guy cared about something besides music.

“Thanks, but no.” He gave an adamant shake of his head. “I promised Freeway he could stay with me.”

“And you never make a promise…” She paused.

He tilted his head in the same way Tripod and Buck did when they were trying to make sense of her babbling.

“You don't intend to keep,” she quoted him. “I overheard you tell the boys that last night. I was eavesdropping as any meddling do-gooder worth her salt would.” She winked, a confirmation he was forgiven, then reached for the box of trash.

He waved her hand away, hefted the carton of trash himself, and turned toward the door that led outside to the Dumpster. When he returned she casually confirmed their agreement.

“So you don't mind if I stick around?”

He deposited quarters in the soda machine and selected two drinks known for their high caffeine content. This would be another long night.

“On two conditions.”

She nodded, ready to go along with just about anything.

“One, don't interfere. I may seem rough with them sometimes, but there's always a method to my madness.”

“That's fair enough. And two?”

He flashed a sheepish grin. “Give me a preview of that new bike of yours.”

“You ride?”

“Never had time to learn. Besides, I'm kinda partial to four wheels between me and the concrete. But you're obviously a thrill-seeker, right?”

She only answered that question when she had no choice. Otherwise she avoided it like the chicken pox.

“Nope.” She made the admission, turned about-face and headed for the sanctuary.

 

Claire was impressed by the staff that accompanied Arthur O'Malley's Monday visit to Savage Cycles. The freelance photographer that she'd envisioned would snap a few photos and be on his way, turned out to be a double camera crew capable of stills and video depending on the opportunity, not to mention a producer to direct the shots. It seemed
Today's Times
left nothing to chance, even taping clips for their cable news show as the situation allowed.

A pro before an audience, Claire made easy work of waiting on customers, giving the shop tour and explaining the unique design behind the Southern Savage while O'Malley and two photographers followed her every move.

As she had a thousand times during her public
life, she wondered if the man who had soiled her childhood would be among those who'd see her pictures. The thought made her flesh crawl, but at least she didn't fear he'd do anything to reveal her shame. He'd been silent for well over a decade, and she knew the coward would remain that way for a lifetime.

“I have to 'fess up to something,” Claire confided once she and Art were settled alone in her office for the interview. “I haven't read the ‘Out of the Spotlight' feature in several years. When that Olympic triathlete who'd spent most of his life in and out of rehab hospitals was exposed, I decided those stories weren't for me.”

Art accepted the soft drink she offered him, settled it on the table beside his chair and uncapped a gold monogrammed pen.

“Then why did you agree to do this?”

She glanced down, politely cleared her throat behind her hand and finally met his eyes.

“Money.” She was blunt.

“Ahh, the great motivator.” He nodded.

“I investigated the cost of national advertising. There was no way I could afford the campaign I wanted to do. I've sunk most of my budget into newspaper marketing and the rest is earmarked for the Sturgis bike rally.”

“So my arrival two days ago was actually a good thing.” He held his soda aloft in a salute.

She raised her drink and prayed the sinking feeling in her stomach wasn't an omen she'd live to regret.

The afternoon passed smoothly as Claire shared her journey from teen titles to graduate school to entrepreneurship. She lightly skimmed over her trip to the Miss America finals but took time to dispel the common myth that behind every beauty queen is a stage-struck mama. Mary Savage had been anything but a pushy woman living vicariously through her child. Together they'd strategically selected and prepared for each competition with Claire's educational goals uppermost in mind. Yes, it had been a life of sacrifice and discipline, but the end justified the means.

The intercom on her desk beeped to signal Justin was transferring an important call. Art glanced down and discretely reviewed his notes as Claire took a moment to confirm her special-order parts would be shipped by overnight express.

“I'm sorry for the interruption,” she apologized. “But I've been holding my breath for that information. We took a chance on an independent parts distributor. He's had trouble delivering our order and I refuse to use a foreign vendor.”

“Tell me more about your American-only policy?”

Claire warmed to the subject of American-made products, something she'd focused on during her months in graduate school.

“I take it you won't have any objection to
Today's Times
using your position on this subject as a central theme in the article.”

“Not as long as that theme is flanked by an opening and closing mention of the Southern Savage's unveiling in Sturgis.” She emphasized her priority hoping her opinion mattered. Claire realized her drive to see her project succeed could be the closest she'd ever come to parental pride. She was determined to enjoy every baby step along the way.

 

“Miss Claire's in the parking lot and there's a camera crew with her!” Zach shouted.

Luke watched as the kid tossed his head, giving his dark curls that freshly mussed look the girls seemed to love. Zach was a natural entertainer, always aware of his potential audience.

“For real?” Chad's voice cracked with the question, his eyes wider than usual behind his black horn-rims.

“Come see for yourself.” Zach headed back through the door he'd left standing open behind him.

All heads turned toward Luke for approval.

“Go on, take five,” he grudgingly acquiesced. “But shut the door,” he called as the three sprinted up the aisle, followed by the few volunteers who were painting a backdrop for the upcoming week of vacation Bible school.

“Just what we needed,” Luke muttered, “a dis
traction right before our audition. It figures Miss Texas would parade a media circus through here when those guys really need to focus.”

Even as he grumbled, Luke felt certain the Harvest Sons would get the nod to continue the impressive progress of the past two days. The council would be arriving any minute and the boys were eager to the point of being antsy. A brief diversion would probably do them good.

Ken had given Luke a videotape of their amateurish Battle of the Bands performance. They'd open up with that video on the jumbo screens overhead and then hit the darkened stage with a filtered spot as the Sons launched into an up-tempo version of the same tune. The musical evidence of their improvement would speak volumes.

Deciding to stick around had definitely been the right thing to do. These kids had special promise and Praise Productions was going to give them the recording that would launch them onto the professional music scene. But he couldn't seem to get Claire's comments from the night before out of his head. A sense of worry niggled at him over eventually leaving the Sons to fend for themselves.

“Hey, Luke,” Ken Allen called.

Luke smiled, in an odd way relieved by the presence of the pastor, who felt more like a personal friend than a church leader.

“Our middle schoolers hang out here on Monday
nights and I invited them to the show. Looks like you're gonna have quite an audience, so I hope you don't mind.”

“Fine by me.” Luke enjoyed the thought of a crowd to pump the guys up. “They'll be more comfortable playing to a room full of kids than a dozen adults anyway.”

“And you won't be bothered by the film crew?” Pastor Ken scrunched his face in a silent appeal.

Luke's skin grew warm beneath his dark shirt and he fought the desire to shove the long sleeves up to his elbows. He'd managed to stay away from cameras since he'd been twenty-five. There were more than enough photos of him out there to last a lifetime.

“I guess not,” he agreed, “as long as all the attention is on the band. If the Sons expect to be more than garage musicians they'll have to get used to cameras.”

“Thanks, Luke. That's what I figured you'd say.”

Fifteen minutes later, Luke found himself in the middle of a school bus driver's worst nightmare. The room was alive with obnoxious middle schoolers. Boys showed off for girls who wouldn't give them a second glance. Voices competed for attention and the rubber tips of folding chairs screeched against the wooden floor as kids jockeyed for the front-row seats. The adults kept a safe distance, forming a tight huddle near the middle of the room.

Truth be told, the environment was perfect to preview the band's new sound. If the Sons could capture this rowdy group's attention, the adults would follow like lost sheep. Luke caught the pastor's eye and gave a wave of approval. The two men exchanged nods, as if sharing the same thought.

The room went black as video flickered to life on the two oversized screens. The kids continued to chatter, their notice divided between the music overhead and the band moving into position behind their instruments on the darkened stage.

From his bird's eye view inside the A/V booth, Luke noted the stealth entrance of a woman and several men, two of them carrying camera equipment. Even in the dark there was no mistaking Claire's platinum blond hair and perfect posture.

The video timer counted backward.

Five, four, three, two, one.

“Show time,” Luke spoke into the mic that carried his voice into each musician's tiny headset.

Eric launched into the opening riff and Luke hit the spot, illuminating the four in streams of crisp white light. Eric's raspy vocals blasted from the amps and the crowd of young teens jumped to their feet. Unable to contain their enthusiasm, the adults followed suit.

Luke made no effort to control the satisfied smile that spread across his face. This was the best part, maybe even better than the performance that pro
duced the recording. In the past forty-eight hours, these extraordinary young men had begun to understand their true potential. This moment, when a musician feels the power of the gift, was the reason Luke stuck with his life-on-the-move existence.