Amazing Love

“Wait!” Claire shouted, regretting her juvenile act, making a sudden effort to stop him. But he leaned out of her reach and sunk his teeth into the crisp corn tortilla, loaded with three-alarm salsa and jalapeño peppers.

Luke scrunched his forehead in a scowl as he dodged the woman’s attempt to grab his taco. The salty shell broke in his mouth with a crunch. Tasty meat seasoned with hot sauce filled his senses. As he chewed he became aware of the spicy warmth that quickly morphed into a burning sensation. Within seconds his breath caught in his throat. His mouth and sinuses blazed.

Claire sprinted toward the door where Zach had appeared, an unopened soda in his hand. She scooped it from his grip and tossed it in a high arch directly at Luke. In a fluid movement he caught the can, popped the top, dodged the spray and chugged the soda. He stopped to draw a breath only to ensure his esophagus hadn’t suffered permanent damage.

“I’m so sorry!” Claire stood at his side, her hands clenched together at her heart as if pleading for forgiveness.

Luke continued to let the chilly effervescence of the drink soothe the coals that still smoldered inside his mouth.

Pure mortification in her eyes, Claire held out her hand for the remainder of his meal. Instead Luke plopped the empty can in her palm and took a close look at the offending taco. It was packed with hot peppers, each seed a tiny grenade of heat waiting to explode. He crammed it back into the sack, unwrapped, and examined a second taco that was also crowded with ripe green jalapeños. He turned to the woman who’d literally taken his breath away.

“How thoughtful of you to welcome a newcomer to your church with a meal that’s obviously a special order.” He spoke loud enough for the boys to hear and they naturally drifted toward the couple to find out what effort Claire had gone to for their new mentor.

Her eyes widened as Luke extended his hand, waving the peppery fare beneath her nose. “Care to share with me?”

“No, thanks.” She shook her head, an adamant refusal that brushed a cascade of fine blond hair across her shoulders. “I never eat this late at night.”

“Oh, come on now. How much can one bite hurt?” Luke cajoled, knowing full well how painful one bite would be.

“Yeah, Miss Claire, you’re too skinny,” Zach chimed in. “Eat up.”

The group of boys surrounded her, insisting she share the food Luke continued to offer. She waved Luke away but he caught her wrist, rotated her hand and deposited the taco into her palm. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly, a silent dare only she would understand.

Trepidation written all over her unforgettable face, she licked her lips as if anticipating the fire. The paper wrapper rustled as she squeezed the taco and brought it closer to her face. She eyed the heap of peppers, swallowed what must have been her pride and closed her eyes as if blocking the thought of the approaching inferno.

Luke enjoyed the way her perfect little nose twitched when it caught the vinegary scent of the peppers. He was sure she’d back down, but she resolutely parted her lips and prepared to take the plunge.

He was impressed.

He clapped his hands together loudly to capture everyone’s attention. Claire’s eyes flew wide at the noisy interruption. Her mouth clamped shut narrowly avoiding the peppery snack only moments from her lips.

“Okay, everybody, let’s get busy.” Luke waved them toward the stage.

When the boys had turned their backs she exhaled her relief, dropped the hazardous taco into the open sack and mouthed “I’m sorry.” The sincerity of the silent apology showed in her caramel-brown eyes but the small smirk that wriggled at the corners of her mouth said otherwise. She ducked her head too late to hide the smile.

“I’ll just clean up back here and be on my way.” Claire bent to gather her belongings.

“Not so fast,” he snapped.

Her head popped up at the insistent tone in his voice.

He masked his thoughts with a blank face and inclined his head in the direction the boys were heading.

“It’s time for me to repay your kindness.” He stressed the last word, a warning of what was to come.

Her eyebrows rose in question.

“Chad, go to the booth and cue the lady’s music,” Luke called out.

She glanced at her wristwatch, any excuse to break contact with those demanding green eyes. “It’s getting late and you have other commitments.”

“And miss the opportunity to collaborate? Not on your life.” Refusing to take “no” for an answer, he stepped aside and motioned for her to precede him up the aisle.

Two hours later, Claire sat before the computer in her southwest Houston townhome. Surrounded by her menagerie of foster pets, she arched her back and yawned as she waited for the final search engine to work its powerful magic.

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.

Chapter Four

Sunday 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.