Amazing Love

“My apologies, folks. I’ll take care of this.”

The voice was soft and humble, but definitely the same one that recently questioned her skills.

“Hang on, Freeway. I’ve got you, buddy.” He held up a hand to ward off the approaching teens, a quiet signal the situation was under control.

Dropping to one knee, he extended his arm, palm to the floor and allowed the dog to sniff cautiously. The sniffing soon turned to contented licking and happy tail thumping. The puppy crept from beneath the seat and into the waiting arms of a master who cradled the pet in a gentle embrace. “Freeway trusts me,” he said simply.

Claire’s breath caught in her throat at the overwhelming sense of familiarity.

“Sorry about that, Pastor Ken,” Brian apologized for the group, then herded everyone toward the door.

“No harm done,” the pastor assured them. “Give us fifteen and we’ll be ready for you guys.”

“I’ll put Freeway on a lead and find him a shady spot for a nap.”

“Great idea, Luke. That’ll give Claire time to finish her sound check.”

Claire was positioned in the aisle between the open door and the stranger in the shadows. She stepped aside to allow him to pass. Each step brought him closer to her.

Closer to the light.

“Oh, forgive my lack of manners.” Pastor Ken hurried to Claire’s side. “Hit the house lights, please,” he called to a volunteer and the florescent bulbs overhead blazed to life.

“Claire Savage, I’d like to introduce Luke Dawson. Luke, Claire is the young woman with the incredible voice I was telling you about.”

She reached to steady herself on the back of a nearby folding chair. Standing before her was the Good Samaritan who had monopolized her thoughts for the better part of the day.

Luke clenched his teeth and waited for the response that almost always accompanied an introduction. People never said anything out loud, not in front of him anyway. But unspoken pity for his permanent disfigurement was there. Loud and clear.

If they only knew he’d been through fourteen grueling procedures to get to this point. Skin grafts were amazing, not magical, and there was a limit to what reconstructive surgery could accomplish. The remaining scar on his neck was the last remnant of the fire and a constant reminder of the all-consuming demon that was only a snort away. He’d long ago accepted the ugly scar on his neck. And in an oddly comforting way, facing the vestige of his freebasing accident in the mirror every day kept him from slipping back into the pit of his destructive past.

He shifted Freeway’s lanky frame and extended a hand. She hesitated before dropping her purse onto the seat of the nearest chair and accepting his grasp.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and for once a greeting surprised him.

Sincere interest flickered through the molasses-brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. It usually took a few minutes of polite conversation and the mention of his profession to solicit that wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow look. Was she going to run right past sympathy and slide into open and outright curiosity? This was a first.

Most folks seemed eager to keep the contact brief, as if the disfigurement on his neck was transmissible. This woman held on, prolonging the grip, all the while her eyes fixed on his. She appeared to size him up through the touch. He had to admit it was an appealing change, and the closest thing to intimate contact he’d allowed in years.

Her blunt cut hair had glistened under the stage lights with too many shades of blond to be anything but natural. It hung straight, just past her shoulders, with bangs that could use a trim. She was tall. The kind of tall that had probably cost her a date to the prom because high school boys were too cowardly to dance with her. Shoulders back, chin high, she looked him eyeball to eyeball with no apology for her height.

Something about the almost overconfident gleam in her dark eyes caused him a moment of discomfort. Of déjà vu.

He shifted his attention to her dress. She’d opted for trousers and a jacket on a day of record Houston heat. He was certainly in no position to judge since he stood there in his perpetual “uniform,” consisting of jeans and a long sleeved black T-shirt with Praise Productions printed in script across the back.

“Claire Savage,” he slowly repeated her name as he released her hand.

She trailed her fingers lightly over Freeway’s head and paused at his long nose allowing the pup to take in her scent and taste. The sure sign of an animal lover.

“If her name rings a bell it’s because a few years back Claire was Miss Texas and first runner-up for Miss America. She did a bunch of those milk commercials.” Pastor Ken offered the information over one shoulder as he returned to his evening duties.

“No, I couldn’t possibly know you from that. I’ve never been subjected to a beauty pageant and hopefully never will. Sorry.” Luke shook his head.

“Understandable.” She chuckled. “Woman parading before judges in beaded evening gowns is not everybody’s cup of tea.” Then, her gaze narrowed slightly, the brown of her eyes deepened as she appeared to study him. “And no need to apologize, Luke…” She hesitated.

“Dawson,” he reminded her.

“Dawson,” she drew his name out slowly. She impaled him with a stare that spoke louder than words and the déjà vu made sense. Lisa Evans. The way this beauty sized him up with her eyes reminded him of the first time he’d met Lisa.

“My fifteen minutes of fame were fairly regional,” Claire continued, “so it’s not like I was ever a famous celebrity or a notorious rock star.”

The threat of trouble bubbled up from his core. He’d built an honorable profession by keeping a low profile. Facial reconstruction had disguised him so thoroughly that retreat had never been necessary. But as the saying went, there was a first time for everything. So he followed his gut and changed the subject.

“The only thing notorious around here will be Freeway if I don’t get him off this floor and out to the grass.”

“Oh, sure,” she agreed. She gave the yellow paw a light squeeze and stepped out of their path.

Claire admired what seemed to be an amazing lack of self-consciousness on his part. The damage to his neck was an obvious sign that he’d been the victim of a fire.

Growing up in a world where every physical imperfection had to be identified, analyzed and corrected, she had a vivid idea of how he must have suffered inside. But there was no sign of residual pain as he left the auditorium and the heavy door closed softly at his back.

“Miss Claire, the mics are all set now. You want to give it one more try?” Dana called.

“Of course. Maybe with our new critic outside I’ll be able to get past my first note.” She poked fun at the earlier annoyance as she climbed the steps to the stage and resumed her effort to perfect her number.

As they rehearsed, Luke assessed the boys who called themselves the Harvest Sons, his eyes trained like lasers on the kid in front. At first glance the four were just a promising cover band, but on closer observation Luke noted ability that went beyond mere talent. These kids were gifted musicians, but they needed professional help.

Houston’s Battle of the Bands festival had gained national attention when the winning group appeared on a network entertainment show. Luke did some homework and found out the Spring Break event offered kids in a dozen states a safe alternative to the temptations of Mexican beaches. The largest high school music competition in the Southwest had become a phenomenon, attracting the attention of music producers and record label executives. The March festival had ended with the Harvest Sons in third place, an incredible showing for a Christian group.

During their meeting Ken had mentioned the boys’ disappointment at their number-three status, and their request for assistance from the church council to cover professional training. So, nobody appeared particularly surprised by the pastor’s statement that night.

“I’m pleased to announce that Mr. Luke Dawson, the owner of Praise Productions, has offered to spend the next two days auditioning with us. Luke’s professional services include coaching, developing and recording youth praise bands. If we can reach a mutual agreement, he’s going to work with our boys to record a CD.”

Beaming their approval, the boys high-fived as the small crowd erupted into applause. Pastor Ken motioned for Luke to join him on the stage. Claire turned along with the others to look in Luke’s direction. He remained in his relaxed position, right shoulder leaning against the wall, not more than ten feet from where she sat. He lifted a hand to wave a brief greeting but shook his head to indicate his refusal to leave his post.

“Well, I see our guest is going to be reluctant to share the spotlight with this talented group of young men.” The pastor turned toward the musicians. “But don’t let that modest response fool you, guys. Luke has given his word that he’ll whip you into tip-top shape or his services are free.”

The adults in the room mouthed collective disbelief and glanced at one another for confirmation of such a commitment. Turn the four high school kids into professionals in a couple of weeks or work for nothing? Quite a gesture from a total stranger.

Claire began her habit of mentally calculating the cost of such an offer. Could this man’s generosity be covering some fine print that could put the church at risk? As head of the finance committee she’d make sure the church was not left holding some financial bag if this guy fell short on his end of the deal. She squinted for a better look at his face, for a clue to his intentions.

He stood with feet planted wide, solid arms folded across his chest, staring forward at some invisible point without making eye contact. While a smile played at his mouth, and his eyes crinkled in conjunction, no spark of joy lit his gaze. He only smiled for the sake of the observers. After all the years of painting that same expression on her face to guard the feelings inside, she recognized the ambivalent stare of a kindred spirit.

A person with something to hide.

She brushed bangs out of her eyes and swept her hand across the gold cross at her throat. If the man had secrets, he was certainly entitled to them, just as she was. As long as they stayed buried too deeply to cause harm to these impressionable boys, who was she to judge? Still, she would be cautious.

Claire would make sure any agreement between Praise Productions and Abundant Harvest was legal and fail-safe for the church that was her family.