by Mae Nunn
“How? How will you come up with that kind of money? Sell your equipment to protect your name? Don’t let your pride put you out of business, Luke.”
“Look, you just told me a few nights ago how tight everything is for you this year and that your future depends on what happens in Sturgis. Where are you gonna get that kind of cash?”
She hesitated for a moment, maybe while she decided how much of her business she wanted to expose, then glanced up at him through spiky platinum bangs.
“It’s from my investment account, money I earned from those dairy endorsements. I wouldn’t put my employees’ security in jeopardy, and Mama’s house is paid for. This is my money under the mattress, so to speak. My seed money for a new product line if the Southern Savage isn’t successful.”
“Which is exactly why you’re gonna leave it right where it is. That’s your recovery money in case this place goes south, and you’re a smart businesswoman to have it put away. I won’t accept it, Claire, and that’s final. I can work this out alone.”
She let go of his hands, her shoulders sagged and she dropped from her knees to sit on the floor, head and eyes downcast. Her body language was pure defeat. It was a posture he’d thought her incapable of until this moment. The same look on another female might be a ploy to get her way, but he knew better in this case.
This was Claire Savage. A woman who didn’t back down.
He eased off the couch and sat on the floor beside her. She still didn’t look up at him. He draped an arm around her, pulled her close and leaned his cheek against the top of her head.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming to my rescue twice in one day. Nobody’s ever done that for me, Claire.” He released her and leaned away so he could read her face, see into her eyes. “Do you understand? Nobody.”
“But you don’t want my help.”
“That’s not what I said. Not wanting your money and not wanting your help are two very different things. I’ve managed quite nicely by myself on the road for years. But this week I don’t know what I’d have done without you.
“You know that state campaign that says Texas is like a whole ’nother country?” He waited while she nodded. “Well, Abundant Harvest is like a whole ’nother experience. The openness of the people, the hard work of the kids, the acceptance, welcome and support are all a shade above what I’m used to. And you’ve been behind so much of that. To be honest, I’m starting to wonder how I’ll manage the next job without you.”
Fat, shiny tears welled in her eyes. Oh, now he’d gone and made her cry. Why was it that whenever a guy tried to say something sensitive to a lady he got tears for his trouble? But this reaction from Claire was far from standard. She was poised, calm, practiced at dealing with any situation with aplomb. He knew instinctively, as with the first time she’d taken his hand, she was showing him a part of her that was best kept deeply buried. In this respect they were so much alike.
“So, you’re still planning to leave?” There was a slight waver in her voice as she tilted her head toward the ceiling and blinked several times to quell the unwanted emotions.
“I have to.” And he did.
She exhaled, blowing the breath of resignation upward, then looked him directly in the eye. With her emotions once again in check, she rested her palm along his jaw. “I want you to know my feelings for you will never change.”
A spurt of disbelief in the form of laughter bust from his chest. He had no doubt she meant what she said, but her ignorance was bliss. She’d given him absolution for his sins without knowing the extent of them. But then others long before her had conveniently forgotten similar pledges once the chips were down. He didn’t want to be around the day Claire’s loyalty was tested.
“Pretty funny, huh?” She smiled and shook her head at what was certainly an odd reaction to a woman’s promise of support.
“Pretty amazing.” He lowered his face and covered her mouth with his own. The words from her lips were bittersweet on his tongue. Her sigh of contentment as she molded her body to his was a warm invitation to tell her how he felt. As much as he wanted to it would be wrong.
The phone on her desk jangled. He felt a pang of loss as she pulled away.
“That’s probably the guys letting me know they’re ready to get started again.”
“You told them you were coming here?” She passed a hand through her hair, smoothed the front of her blouse and took her seat on the couch as if nothing had happened. She seemed fully recovered from the intensity of the moment, once again a cool competitor. It was no wonder she’d been at home on the Miss America stage.
“Oh, sure,” he admitted casually. “They’ve figured out how I feel about you.” He stood as she signaled for him to answer the ringing line.
Claire watched with fascination as his shield slipped back into place during the brief phone conversation. By the time he’d barked a list of orders at Zach and Eric, he was safely behind the brusque exterior.
So, the boys knew how he felt, huh? When would he tell her how he felt? When he said goodbye?
“There’s been a little change in plans,” he said after dropping the handset into its cradle.
“Oh, yeah?” She bit into the cold taco, now as appealing as a mouth full of wet cardboard.
“The Sons want to record live instead of in the studio.”
Stunned by this “little change,” she tossed the food back into the sack. “Is there enough time to regroup for something like that? Won’t that require a professional crew?”
“Sure, but I have some local contacts I can call who will take care of everything. My big concern is for the sound quality. The acoustics at Abundant Harvest are pretty good, but open air would be better.” He shook his head. “There’s just no time to consider anyplace else. We’ll do the performance at the church with the school kids for an audience. The guys want to play before a live crowd, so that’s what I’m going to give them. This may be their only recording session, so I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure they enjoy every minute.”
“You’re pretty amazing yourself, you know that?” She winked and lifted her bottle of mineral water in salute.
“Claire, I’m sorry to bother you at home this morning, but you’ve had three calls already from that Arthur O’Malley fella.” Justin apologized for intruding on her personal time after such a late night.
Sunshine slanted through the wooden blinds over the bay window in her breakfast room. The shafts of light formed bright stripes on the cool tile and all three animals were stretched out, side by side, basking in the warmth.
“Did he leave a number?” She scribbled it on the edge of the business section of her newspaper and assured Justin he’d been right to call her at home.
It must be important or Art wouldn’t be trying so hard to reach her. With all the calls she’d fielded recently from reporters and radio stations, it was no surprise she was hearing from the magazine again. She hoped Today’s Times would be interested in more details on the Southern Savage. She refilled her coffee cup, stirred in sugar substitute and squirted in her one guilty pleasure, whipped cream. As she settled back into her breakfast nook, R.C. jumped up on her lap and curled himself into an orange tabby ball.
Art picked up on the first ring.
“Wow, I didn’t expect you to answer the phone yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not quite that much of a big shot around here. I still carry a sack lunch and sharpen my own pencils.” He chuckled. “How are you, Claire?”
“Busy,” she admitted, as Tripod rested his big nose on her knee and nudged her for some attention. “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Thank you, by the way for the wonderful article. It had just the right balance of past and present that I was hoping you’d achieve.”
“Well, evidently it was not heavy enough on the past to satisfy our readers. What with all the fuss in the last few years over kids in beauty pageants, we’ve had a torrent of e-mail asking for a follow-u
p. So, my editor is saving page space in an issue next month. He wants me to dig deeper, you know, really detail your days as a young girl on the competitive circuit in Texas. What do you think?”
She shoved her cup away, sloshing coffee across the glass tabletop and the unread sections of the paper.
“I’d rather not, Art.”
He paused, seemingly surprised by her response. “Do you mind telling me why?”
Actually she did, but that would only pique his interest more. He made his living as an investigative reporter and he hadn’t climbed the food chain in his business by backing down or killing a story just because some woman would rather not cooperate. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and pleaded silently for the right words.
“I’ve already told you everything of interest. The rest is pretty boring stuff.”
“How about letting me be the judge of that?” There was amusement in his voice, a tactic she felt was meant to put her at ease.
“No, you’re going to have to trust me on this. The article was perfect and anything more would be overkill.”
“Claire, let me put this another way.” His voice changed. He was all business. “You’ve caught my editor’s attention. He wants a detailed accounting on the perils of being a child in the spotlight. Your experience on the beauty queen treadmill is something different from the usual sitcom-kids-run-amuck scenario, and he’s decided on you for the centerpiece of the story. If you don’t want to cooperate, that’s your call. But the piece is scheduled and we’ll get what we want with or without your involvement.”
She tensed in the kitchen chair, balled her free hand into a fist and dug her nails into her palm. The hand that held the portable receiver shook, bumping the cool plastic against her ear. Sensing her agitation, R.C. jumped to the floor and scurried out of the kitchen.
“Is that a threat, Mr. O’Malley?”
“No, it’s simply the truth.”
“And if I refuse to cooperate?”
“Look, Claire, it’s not that hard to find somebody who will tell everything they know about you just to see their name in print. I’ve already got what I need, so why don’t you save both of us some time by confirming the rumors I’ve heard about a former voice coach.”
Her skin crawled at the thought of Arthur O’Malley knowing her shameful secret. Even worse, he assumed saving a little time was more important to her than guarding her privacy.
“I expected to be treated as a professional when I agreed to the first interview.” She bristled at his threat.
“Oh, spare me the righteous indignation,” he chuckled softly, obviously amused by her reaction. “You knew the reputation of the ‘Out of the Spotlight’ feature all along. You admitted you did it for the money, and it’s time to pay the piper.”
She closed her eyes and imagined the lead in on the local evening news.
“In an embarrassing feature story released by Today’s Times magazine, former Miss Texas and local entrepreneur Claire Savage was exposed by a receptionist in the office of the therapist who’s treated Savage for years for the sexual abuse she suffered at the beginning of her competitive career.”
The young, up-and-coming newscaster would flash an artificially white grin for the camera, smug in the warm cocoon of her own protected, self-confident existence.
Claire had never known that world herself, and now the one she’d crafted so carefully threatened to dissolve as quickly as the packet of sweetener had melted in her steaming cup of morning coffee.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke plucked four ones from his wallet and waited patiently for his turn before the cashier.
“Good morning, Luke.” The barista behind the counter waved a cheery greeting. “The usual?”
“Yes, thanks, Britti.”
“You got it.” The friendly young woman turned back to her work. “You’re running pretty late today. I’d just about given up on you.”
He glanced at the big wall clock and noted the time. Nearly ten. Hours later than his usual coffee run. But he’d needed solitude to think over Claire’s incredible offer of help the night before. The urge to tell her how he felt was almost overpowering. But he’d limited his feelings to those of gratitude with no mention of the love he so wanted to share with her.
Luke paid the cashier and dropped the remaining bill and change into the tip jar.
“See you tomorrow?” Britti called.
“You betcha.”
He settled sunglasses on his nose, adjusted his baseball cap and lifted the steaming cup to his lips. He sipped cautiously and turned toward the spot where his truck was parked. As the tasty latte slid down his throat he spotted the pink Mustang and sucked in a breath of recognition, sputtering in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” Claire apologized as she climbed from her pony coupe. “When you weren’t at your apartment, I tried the church and Ken said you might be here. He told me to remind you about his scone, by the way.”
Luke snapped his fingers as he remembered his offer to pick up a pastry for the pastor, then smiled a greeting to the blonde before him, who was sweeter than any confection in the bakery. But she remained straight-faced. No hint of humor touched her eyes. As she neared his side she reached for him as a child reaches for a comforting hug. He opened his arms and she stepped inside his embrace. He felt her shudder as she sighed and relaxed against him, the stress from her worries passing out of her slender body while she drew strength from the contact.
“What is it, sugar?”
“I feel like such a fool,” she muttered, her face pressed against his chest. “I thought I could strike a deal, do my part and believe God would control everybody else.”
He patted her back with his free hand and took care not to slosh his drink. “I don’t know what kind of deal you’re talking about, but sometimes we’re better off avoiding tight spots altogether instead of hoping for divine intervention to save the day.”
“Yeah, but it’s a little too late to apply that wisdom now.”
“You wanna tell me what this is all about?”
She lifted eyes that pleaded for understanding. “Can we go sit inside and talk?”
“Would you rather follow me to the church or your office?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically, a cascade of hair brushing her shoulders. “I don’t want to infect any place special with this conversation.”
His skin prickled at her choice of words. If what she had to say would taint the very atmosphere surrounding them, how would the news affect him? He shrugged off the selfish thought and prepared to help her unburden from whatever troubled her so deeply. He held the door for Claire as they made their way to a corner booth in the nearly empty shop. He slid into the opposite seat and waited. She fiddled with her car keys, studying each closely as if one of the keys would unlock the answer to her problem.
Luke put his hand over Claire’s to still the agitated act and stared intensely until her eyes met his.
“Just tell me,” he calmly instructed.
Her stomach was a churning mass of raw nerves. She closed her eyes against the memory she’d spent half her life trying to erase. The darkness behind her lids was never enough to dim the light that had blazed on the ceiling of her mind’s eye for so many years. She’d focused on that light overhead as a distraction from the secret act that had been committed against her. She didn’t require the threats from the male voice instructor. Her shame was enough.
“Th-there was a voice teacher early in my competitive career. He was the best, c-came highly recommended.” She slipped into the stammer that accompanied her speech anytime she communicated the memories with her therapist.
“He c-coached me at his home for a couple of months.” She forced herself to look Luke in the eye, willing him to understand so she wouldn’t have to say the words. “We were always alone.”
His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, he nodded.
She looked away, hesitated for so long that he squeezed her hands, encouraging h
er to continue.
“I’m so ashamed of what happened, Luke. I was too young to understand. M-my mother never expected anything like that so she h-hadn’t prepared me, didn’t warn me.” She searched for the words, hating to speak of it with Luke.
“But you told her, right?”
She shook her head. “Not for a long time.”
He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.
“Claire.” There was anguish in the way he said her name. And just like before, she felt it was all her fault.
She’d endured the humiliation for weeks, silently accepting her fate, believing the teacher who told her this was her due for being a young temptress.
“When I finally told Mama I begged her not to go to the police.” Claire’s voice was no more than a whisper. She moved her lips to get the words out but forced little air along with the syllables, hoping to keep them from clinging to her, clinging to Luke.
“By then Daddy was long gone and we were on our own. I knew what kind of fuss there would be. I’d had a couple of important wins and Mama and I had mapped out our plans. Public embarrassment would have cost me my education.”
Luke stared at the tabletop. Slowly, unbelievably he shook his head. “And your mother just let the jerk get away with that?”
“Not on your life.” Claire always felt a measure of pride at the memory of how her mother had confronted the man. “She threatened him with physical alteration if he ever came near me again.”
There was a small puddle of shredded napkin on the table between them, the result of her need to destroy something as she told the story, as if by tearing apart the paper she could do the same to the memories. Luke swept it aside and took both of her hands in his once again. The warmth of his skin was a balm, soothing the icy chill that had settled over her spirit.
“You’re incredibly brave to tell me this when you didn’t have to, but it does explain some things.”
“I’m not telling you just so you’ll understand me better. There’s more.” Now he was going to find out what a fool she really was. Seeming world-savvy, Luke would probably never put his private life at risk by doing something as stupid as what she’d done. He’d even tried to warn her against it. But the worst was out. Only the ignorance and backlash of her decision remained.