by Mae Nunn
“Pretty stupid, huh? Not exactly the type of guy you’d want working with your kids today.”
“But you’ve changed, Luke. Everyone will be so proud of you when they realize what you’ve done with your life since then.”
The forgiving smile she gave him said she simply didn’t get it. He snickered, a sound that was part humor at her hopeful expression and part despair at the loss yet to come. He hated what he was about to do, but there was no choice. She had to walk away, leave him behind. Put space and time between them before she was sucked under with him.
“Claire, you’re living in a dream world. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get run out of town before I can get packed on my own and leave tonight.”
Leave tonight. Leave tonight. Leave tonight. His words echoed in time with the throbbing headache that still plagued her.
Claire felt light-headed, the oxygen sucked from her lungs. He had no reason to keep running. His secret was out. He said she was the woman he loved. But, just like her father, his feelings were all that mattered. He would go anyway.
“What about the Harvest Sons?”
“People like Moe Sanders won’t let me within a hundred yards of the Sons now. No.” He shook his head and then continued. “I’m not going to put everybody through that.”
“You’re just going to cancel their concert?”
“Of course not. I’ve already made some calls, and arranged for the same company who recorded the Battle of the Bands to take over. They’ll make all the arrangements so the show can go on as planned.”
“The church can’t afford that,” she protested.
“They’ll charge the same rate Ken agreed to in my contract.”
“You thought of everything, didn’t you.” She was defeated. Nothing left to lose.
“I’m trying to make everybody whole.”
“Well, try harder because I’m never going to be whole again. I need you, Luke. I love you.” She heard the pleading in her voice. It was sickening. It hadn’t worked with her father and it wouldn’t work now, either.
“I love you, too, Claire,” he whispered.
The green of his eyes glittered with tears of conflict. She bit the tender inside of her lip to quell the sob that wanted to surface at his admission.
He’d said it again. He loved her.
“But nothin’ good can come of it, sugar,” he continued, determined to spoil any chance they had to be together. “Our lives are on completely different courses. Yours is very public. You need exposure, feed on attention. If you don’t have that your business won’t be successful and you won’t be happy. I’ve gone so far underground that I’m not sure I even know how to be a public person again. Everything I touch from today on will be tainted by who I was and I can’t do that to you. I won’t.”
“Luke, please.” She tried again, her emotions raw, close to losing control. She grasped his hand with both of hers, physically trying to hold him back. He gripped her fast.
“Baby, let me say it differently.” He glanced away. “I’m such a big fake that my own parents disowned me. I’m so ashamed of the person I was back then. I don’t want to live in the spotlight, constantly being asked about those times, never being allowed to forget. It would be a prison for me.” His gaze met hers again. “Don’t you see? It’s the nightmare of my past that made me see the same thing in you. I was so alone and miserable as a kid that I could easily recognize your pain. Understand your shame. I can’t step back into that world again, can’t be trusted with the temptations that still taunt me, will find me now.”
“But you’re a new creature.” She tried for a Biblical approach.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he insisted, making the snap decision to force her at all cost to let him go, even if he had to be cruel to do it. Even if he had to lie. “When this fraud investigation is complete my name will be worthless and I’ll have even more reason to go underground. I’ve got to put as many miles between us as I can before the truth comes out. Then I can go on hiding, and you can too. Like you’ve done for years.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She leaned away.
The narrowing of his eyes made her want to flinch from his gaze.
“Oh, come on, Claire. You can drop the Pollyanna act with me. We’re no different in that respect. I may have been hiding behind my anonymity, but you’ve been hiding behind that perfect persona, that prima donna you’ve created for yourself, afraid one slip will justify what that jerk did to you. Confirm what you believe, that it’s really all your fault.”
His tactless words stung, a vicious slap to her senses.
“How can you speak to me that way?” She bristled.
“Because it’s true.” He mocked her. “We’re the same on the inside, you and me. Afraid, hiding our sins, dirty, not even trusting God’s forgiveness.”
The heat of his hands was as unbearable as the hurtful words he flung at her. She jerked hers free and pushed away.
What he insinuated was a lie! Wasn’t it? He couldn’t possibly have stolen from people who believed in him.
And what about his accusations regarding her? Were the guilt and unworthiness she still felt a part of not really trusting God? Never truly accepting His forgiveness? How could she have been so wrong about so many things?
If what he said was true, she was as much a fake as Luke.
Self-confident business woman. Public figure. Outspoken Christian role model. Was she only an image with no substance? And had she finally placed her trust in a man—fallen in love with a man—who was a fraud in every sense of the word?
“You know deep down that it’s all true whether you’ll admit it to me or not,” he spewed bitter words at her.
“Okay!” She held her hands up, demanding that he cease the verbal assault. “You’ve made your point. I get the message, loud and clear. And I’ll pass it on to the Sons. You don’t want to be in the spotlight. You’re outta here because you can’t chance a new life here with us. Don’t have anything to offer because you’re a big fake, even embezzling funds from the churches you worked with. Did I get all that right, Luke? Or Striker, or whoever you really are?”
She snatched the bouquet of flowers from the vase and dumped them in the metal waste basket, innocent petals and drops of water scattering on the floor as they fell.
At the door she turned and extended a challenge, now positive he’d resist it.
“The concert’s been moved, by the way. It’ll be at the West Houston Amphitheater. Saturday night at seven. If you’re brave enough to stick around, drop by and check it out. You might be surprised by what the community you’re so certain will turn its back on you is doing to help somebody out of a tough spot.”
She yanked the door hard and it slammed on its hinges. Luke stared after her, knowing he’d gone too far, pushed too hard. But it had to be done. There was no other way. No matter the pain that pierced his soul, he could never have this woman he’d come to adore. He was poisonous. Toxic.
His father had called him worthless. Standing ramrod straight in dress whites, cap tucked officially beneath his arm. “Worthless,” he’d said.
And now Luke could add liar to the list of charges. His insides churned as the losses piled up. The reputation he’d worked so hard to create was crumbling like the rest of his life. But if the lie served its purpose, kept Claire and everyone else away from him, it was worth the sin.
And now, just like his parents, Claire was gone. On her way out of his life she’d even bought into the charge that he could be a thief. Had she ever truly believed he was completely innocent? Had standing up for him just been another pretty face she’d put on her life, another way of doing what she thought was the “right thing.” Again the image of Lisa Evans surfaced. She’d taken everything of material value and walked away. The only difference in the two women was that Claire had walked away with his heart.
Now, there was nobody left to judge him, nobody to disapprove, nobody he could disappoint, and no reason to rush
. Soon enough he’d be home to wander his little peanut field alone and ponder the woman who’d claimed to love Luke Dawson. Not wild and wildly rich Striker Dark, but scarred and imperfect Luke Dawson.
He glanced at the yellow roses thrown in the trash, the symbol of his beloved Claire, the Texas beauty. His gaze sought the crystal vase, empty and sad.
Just like his future.
The next morning Claire couldn’t decide if Pastor Ken’s study was cooler than usual or if the warmth had simply seeped from her soul. She’d always thought the emptiness she’d felt from her abuse and from watching her father’s old sedan disappear around the corner were the worst life had to offer.
Yesterday she’d been proven wrong.
“I don’t know what hurts more, the fact that he’s wrong about himself or the possibility that he’s right about me.”
She’d gone through the hours since their confrontation on autopilot. Sitting behind her desk, working out a thousand small details. Everything from trailer rentals for the Sturgis trip to tickets for carnival rides. It kept her body occupied with work, but her mind was with Luke.
Recent memories flooded the organized, predictable spaces in her subconscious normally reserved for comforting numbers and reliable facts. Instead, her mind’s eye suffered through snapshots of the man she loved in all his forms; a stranger on the bridge, a musical mentor on a lighted stage, a willing chaperone holding her hand and laughing at her childish screams, a tender protector who interceded for others.
Interceded for her.
But was he also a master at deception? A thief?
“Pastor Ken, doesn’t it make you angry deep down that he lied to all of us?”
Ken’s head popped up from where he’d been studying the screen of his laptop, a look of disbelief in his kind eyes.
“You’re starting to sound like Moe Saunders. That’s not really how you feel is it? Luke may have omitted the whole truth, but I don’t know that he ever lied to any of us. Certainly not to me.”
“But he let us defend him all this time not knowing who he really was.”
“I’ve known since the day we handled that incident with Nicole Arnold showing interest in Zach’s finger as a keepsake.”
The room shifted, leaned off-kilter. Fatigue was getting to her. What had he said? Ken had known? He must have read her puzzled expression.
“Luke needed to get some things off his chest. His feelings for you were at the top of the list and he thought I’d understand his fears more easily if I had the whole story. I don’t think he’d shared it for a lot of years and I was honored to have him confide in me.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“Luke’s made his peace with it. He told me yesterday morning when I picked him up at your place that he didn’t care who knew now. It’s only a matter of days before everything comes to light anyway.”
She looked at the man she’d always respected, seeing him from a new perspective. Even knowing the worst, he hadn’t been judgmental. He’d stood against his church council, determined to give Luke and the Sons the break they’d all deserved.
“What about Rambling Records? We still don’t know if Luke’s in the clear. You said yourself Luke wouldn’t feel responsible for that money if he was innocent.”
“I said he shouldn’t feel responsible. Big difference, but considering what I’ve seen of Luke Dawson I’m not surprised that he’s determined to make restitution.”
“But Luke said—”
Ken waved away the thought. “Luke wants you to let him go. That’s the only reason he told you that. Daniel says there’s no evidence of any tie between Luke and Scott Rambling’s shenanigans. I don’t need to wait for the official report to know our boy’s in the clear.”
Claire’s gut twisted. How could she have doubted Luke even for a moment? How could she have thrown such a hurtful accusation at a man who’d just said he loved her?
He’d even shared his heart with Ken.
“He told you he had feelings for me?” She tried to say it casually, but asking Ken for confirmation of another man’s emotions was like passing a note in study hall.
Ken’s smile was understanding. His knowing eyes squinted with kindness.
“It was much more than that, Claire. He was already falling in love with you and he was troubled about where it was headed. He was in tune to all your body language, knew there was heartbreak in your life and didn’t want to add to it. He wanted me to pray with him about his past, about you. He’s so afraid he’ll blemish your reputation, undo all your hard work.”
She stilled, her hand poised above the gold cross she’d been worrying constantly for the past thirty-six hours. For the first time since she’d stomped out of his apartment she began to consider Luke’s feelings. From what she’d read on the Internet and seen in the cable spots, he’d had a much harder time of it than anything she’d experienced, since his actions had been judged in the media. Naturally he’d guard his privacy closely, just as she did.
And how many times had he told her and others that his work was more than a business? It was his mission, the way he gave back, showed his gratitude for God’s goodness. And now he’d even admitted it was the work he did to earn forgiveness, to try to cleanse himself from the deeds of his youth. Was he really afraid the dirt in his life would make her dirty, too?
She understood that logic. Felt it herself at times.
“Let me show you something I keep handy.” Ken interrupted her thoughts. He leaned down and tugged open his bottom desk drawer, rummaged beneath some papers, and handed a snapshot across the desk.
“Recognize anybody in that photo?”
Claire studied the group of scruffy haired college-age men in baseball caps and dark sunglasses. They puffed their chests out to display the crude slogans on their shirts. Arm in arm, they held beer cans aloft in a cocky salute. She raised her eyes to Ken for a clue.
“Just an average bunch of reprobates, huh?” he teased.
She shrugged, no idea where this was headed, and no energy to figure it out.
“Does this help?” He dragged a nearby Astros cap over his head, slipped on his sun shades and brandished his diet soda can.
“You?” She stared at the photo, amazed that her pastor was once a rowdy young man. “This is Ken Allen?”
“I wonder the same thing every time I look at it,” he chuckled. “But I keep it close to remind me that everybody has something in their past they might regret and they’re entitled to keep that something private. It’s the sum total of our life experiences that makes us who we are today.
“Claire, what you’ve been through has made you a survivor, determined never to be a victim again. Luke’s no different. His past is what produced the strong, caring Christian man he is today. Give him a break, accept him as he is.” Ken leaned forward and placed his warm hand over Claire’s icy ones.
“And give yourself a break, too.”
“Claire, that fella from Today’s Times magazine is out here. You got a minute?”
Her head snapped up from the endless list that had occupied her days. With her mind so crowded with pain and worry, she hadn’t given a thought for Arthur O’Malley since the night of the accident. If he was in Houston that couldn’t be a good sign. Maybe the follow-up piece was back on again.
“Just what I need,” she groaned into the speaker phone.
“I can tell him you’re tied up but he already knows you’re here because your car is out front.”
“No, it’s okay, Justin. Give me a couple of minutes and then tell him to come on back. Unfortunately, he knows the way.”
She puffed out a sigh that blew her bangs off her lashes, a reminder that she was days overdue for her hair appointment with Manuel. Pulling open her pencil drawer, she reached for her spare cosmetic bag and hand mirror. She held the glass aloft and studied the reflection. Tired smudges marred the skin beneath her eyes, a host of zits threatened to emerge on her chin at any moment and the only lipstick sh
e had left was on her teeth. A rueful smiled twisted her mouth, first over the pitiful picture she made and then at the silly thought of doing anything about it. She was working day and night and there was nothing wrong with looking the part. She shoved her supplies back in the drawer and pushed it shut. Arthur O’Malley had all the story he was going to get from her. If he’d unearthed information someplace else, she’d just trust God to use it for good.
“Knock, knock.” O’Malley stood at her door, looking deceptively charming, polished and professional, an alligator briefcase in his hand.
She rose and noted the way her silk slacks bagged at the knees and her blouse sagged from the summer heat. So what?
She refused to give him a warm welcome. “What brings you back to Houston so soon?”
“The same thing that’s got half the journalists in the country in a stir. Striker Dark.” O’Malley smiled, the Cheshire cat so sure he knew all.
“Oh.” She motioned for him to take a seat and she sunk back into her leather chair.
“Not much surprises me these days, but I have to admit that visit from Dawson was a shocker. I’m guessing we can count on you to keep him from slipping back into oblivion.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but my future has nothing to do with Luke.”
“After what that guy did for you, you can’t be serious.” He squinted, eyeing her closely. “But you’re looking fairly miserable right now, so maybe you are.”
She shoved the bangs out of her eyes.
“Listen, this week has been one of the longest in my life and it’s only Friday. I still have the weekend to get through.”
“Sorry, I won’t keep you much longer.” He pulled a legal-size envelope from his briefcase and deposited it on her desk. “I just needed to drop off these drawings of the bike that you loaned me. Dawson’s conditions required that I return them immediately and personally guarantee you the follow-up piece is permanently cancelled. In light of the recent developments, I’m sure you understand.” He stood. “I’ll be on my way. I’ve got a meeting with Dawson within the hour.”