Amazing Love

by Mae Nunn

  “I hate it when people do that. It scares me to death.”

  “Sorry, I probably should have waited till we got to the house so you could concentrate on the road.”

  “I actually listen and drive at the same time quite well. For a blonde,” she added, making light of the abrupt announcement so he’d continue.

  As they passed beneath the hazy yellow glow from a tall streetlamp, he seemed to study her face as if trying to gauge her reaction to his admission. He was silent for long seconds as he watched her, his eyes giving away the concern he must feel. And, she admitted to herself, he had reason to worry. Anyone else who’d intruded in her business would be on the receiving end of a stern lecture right now.

  Anyone but Luke.

  Luke was a grouchy white knight. A fixer. He made his living helping others do things better, avoid pitfalls, put their best foot forward. She should have known that pouring her heart out to him was an invitation to help her out of a dangerous spot. And considering what she and Pastor Ken were up to, she was in no position to throw stones.

  “Today’s Times seems to have lost interest in that follow-up piece on you.”

  Her breathing stopped. The fluttering in her chest a telltale sign of the fear she’d been holding in check all day. She took her right hand off the wheel and pressed her fingertips to Luke’s forearm. His muscles were tense and rigid. His hands were clasped together in front of him, tight fists of nervous energy.

  “Tell me,” she said simply.

  “I happen to know a lot of kids in the business, so I offered to hook O’Malley up with a pretty sensational story.”

  “About whom?”

  “Oh, it’s a guy who played heavy metal before he made the switch to contemporary Christian. I hope you won’t be offended by me saying this, but—” a mischievous smile spread across his handsome face “—it’ll sell a lot more magazines than your story.”

  She studied her mirrors before cautiously crossing two inside lanes of traffic and pulling to the side of the road. Her wheels grabbed the pavement a few feet from a concrete barrier that would shield the ever-present daytime road crew. She checked the emergency lane behind them for oncoming traffic before shoving the gearshift into Park and turning to Luke.

  “I hope you know I didn’t come to you this morning expecting you to do anything but listen. I can fight my own battles, Luke, I always have.”

  The mood of his smile shifted from playful to thoughtful as he took her hand.

  “And I’m sure you’d have managed just fine on your own. But the fact of the matter is that not all battles are worth the effort. I had a hunch that if I got in front of O’Malley I could steer his sensation-seeking radar in another direction so you wouldn’t need to fight at all. I’m sorry I interfered without your permission, but I couldn’t sit by and watch somebody who means so much to me get hurt.”

  She stared at the large hands that cupped hers and waited for him to continue, hoping for an admission that his motivation came from him heart and was not the same protectiveness he showed all his kids. The rain picked up, slapping the old SUV with curtains of water, blown sideways by gusts of southern wind.

  “Forgive me?” he asked.

  “Anything.”

  He lifted his right hand and trailed it down the side of her cheek, caressing her skin with the back of his fingers. She angled her face toward the tender gesture and kissed his knuckles. Her throat tightened with the longing to tell him what she’d discovered that morning when she’d been driven to unburden herself to Luke, to turn to one person only for guidance and comfort.

  She loved him.

  But he wouldn’t want to hear her profess the love that overflowed from her heart, couldn’t return her feelings.

  “Come on, sugar, but let’s get out of this weather.”

  He turned his attention to the panels of glass that surrounded them. Layers of white were creeping up the insides, enclosing them by an opaque curtain.

  “Where’s your defroster?” he asked, twisting dials on the shadowy dash.

  Afraid to speak over the profound sadness that thickened her voice and filled her eyes, she brushed his hand away and groped for the knob she’d twisted a bazillion times since her mother financed the used truck that was Claire’s high school transportation. As the system pumped a steady supply of warm air, she clicked on her left turn signal and grabbed the steering wheel to merge into the stream of headlights. With her vision blurred by hot tears, she glanced toward her side mirror and accelerated.

  The deafening blast of a horn warned there was a huge vehicle almost on top of them. She gasped from the jarring sound and jerked the wheel hard to the right, overcorrecting.

  The tires spun on the slick pavement and the Wagoneer slid sideways.

  Her eyes flew to the tunnel of clear vision that was spreading across the windshield just as the front quarter panel of the SUV smacked the concrete barrier.

  A shotgun report roared in Claire’s ears. Her face and chest stung from an immediate and powerful slap that left her skin smarting. White powder swirled about her, turning the front seat into a snow globe of confusion.

  She choked on the air filled with floating debris and the warm blood that rushed from inside her lip. Feeling the surge of a gag that would bring up her dinner, she prepared to lean toward the floor of the passenger’s seat.

  Luke’s strong left arm shot across her upper body and pinned her securely.

  “Hold on, Claire. A truck stopped behind us to help.”

  “Luke,” she groaned.

  “I’m okay. Are you hurt?”

  “No, but I feel like I’m gonna barf.”

  “You caught that air bag right in the face. Just take a few deep breaths and let your head stop spinning.”

  “I want to go home,” she groaned.

  Her door swung wide and rain pelted her through the opening.

  “Don’t move, little lady.” The overall-clad truck driver used his large body to shield her from the weather.

  “I don’t think she’s injured, just shook up from the air bag blast,” Luke advised the trucker. “Claire, are you sure you don’t want an ambulance?”

  She waved away the question.

  “We just need a wrecker,” Luke told the trucker.

  “Got it.” The door closed against the downpour.

  Luke leaned across the console, draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She hugged him hard, a sob springing from her throat. He kissed the top of her head and rocked her like a child.

  “It was a beat-up old SUV, but it might still be salvageable.”

  “It’s not my truck, it’s you. I could have killed you.”

  He tipped her head and used his fingertips to brush away the tears.

  “Shhh,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m the proverbial cat with nine lives and I’ve still got a bunch left. As a matter of fact, I need to tell you about the first one so let’s get you home.”

  “Thanks, pastor, I’ll see you in half an hour,” Luke said, ending the phone call. He closed his eyes and pleaded a silent prayer for the words to break the news to Claire, fearing this might be the last time they’d be together.

  “I can give you a ride.”

  Her insistent voice brought him back to the present, where he stood shivering in her kitchen.

  With four animals in tow, she emerged from the hallway that led from her bedroom and bath. She’d made a quick change into dry clothes and brought a large towel for Luke. He could wrap it around his shoulders to absorb some of the dampness in his T-shirt but there wasn’t much he could do about his soaked jeans and shoes.

  He stood dripping on the rug, leaning against the edge of the counter, feeling like his back was once again up against a hard place with nowhere to turn. He glanced at the wall clock, watched the sweeping hand click away the seconds as the last few moments she might ever respect him ticked away with it.

  “There’s no way you’re getting behind the wheel without s
ome sleep first.” He refused her offer. “Ken was already up and he’s going to drop by for me on his way to the church. As a matter of fact, he’s a little annoyed that we didn’t call him in the first place instead of riding with the wrecker.”

  “That’s Pastor Ken, all right.”

  She crossed the room, shook open the beach towel, draped it around Luke’s shoulders, and ran her hands down his chest to mop up the dampness. The heat of her touch was stronger than his will-power. He pulled her against him, not caring that her dry clothes would be wet in an instant. She wound her arms around his waist, hugged him hard and nestled her cheek to his chest.

  “I have something to tell you, sugar.”

  She made to tip her head back to look him in the face, but he pressed her closer to his heart.

  “No, let me hold you a little longer in case you never want to hug me again.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he corrected. “It can.”

  She pushed away enough to see into his eyes. “Luke, whatever it is, there’s nothing we can’t work through.”

  He dipped his head, inhaled her fresh scent and kissed her softly, making a sweet memory.

  “Let’s sit at your table.”

  The animals trotted behind them to the breakfast nook and plopped on the floor at their feet. Luke covered the chair with his towel and sat, stretching his legs in front of him, creating the distance he was certain she’d want once she heard what he had to say.

  “You were right. O’Malley’s on to something. He knew the truth about your abuse by that creep and was prepared to ambush you with the information to get your reaction.”

  She closed her eyes and ducked her head, unable to bear the tender look of sympathy she saw on Luke’s face. Her soul cried out for help.

  Oh, Father, why are You testing me this way? Why now, when I’m finally getting over those horrible memories? When I’ve found a man I can love without shame?

  She felt the light pressure of his hand on her knee, warm and reassuring. She opened her eyes but wouldn’t meet his gaze. Couldn’t.

  “I thought I’d gotten past it, survived it,” she murmured to herself.

  “You have. That’s what I’m telling you. O’Malley has a bigger story. You’re not in danger of being exposed.”

  Her eyes met Luke’s. He sat up tall and pulled his long legs close to the kitchen chair. His hands were once again pressed together between his knees, his body language distant like he was closing off from the world. From her.

  “I know you love music but you don’t seem like the type who’d listen to heavy metal. Do you remember the band that did ‘Electric Love’ and ‘Ain’t No Fool’ and a lot of other mega hits in the 90s?”

  This had to be the most bizarre twelve hours of her life. She still felt light-headed from taking the impact of the airbag blast to her face. Then the ordeal of loading the SUV in the pouring rain and hitching a ride with a wrecker. Now, out of the blue Luke wants to talk about 90s rock?

  “Luke, I’m confused but I’m not stupid. Anybody under the age of eighty would know about Striker Dark. What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “That’s me.”

  She squinted, trying to make sense of the words.

  “I’m Striker.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re that guy with the long black hair and the spiderweb tattoos who…”

  “Burned his face up freebasing,” he finished her sentence, then tilted his head so the scars on his neck were obvious.

  She held her palms outward, fed up. “I don’t know where this is headed, but that’s a ridiculous story, Luke.”

  He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and shook his head as if telling himself there was no other way.

  He stood, turned his back to her, peeled the long sleeves off and lifted the damp black T-shirt over his head. Luke held his arms out to give her the full view of the infamous artwork.

  She felt her jaw sag at the picture he made. His back and arms were an intricate web spun by an artist’s needle. A menacing spider the size of Luke’s open hand so believably detailed that as he rotated his arm it appeared to crawl across his shoulder in search of innocent prey.

  Striker Dark, that notorious bad boy of the 90s, standing there in her kitchen.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed the quiet exclamation. No wonder he didn’t want Daniel Stabler digging into his past.

  He dragged the shirt back on before turning to face her. “Sorry, but that was the simplest way to make you understand.

  “I’m the kid who grew up in the spotlight. The person Today’s Times is going to feature. I gave O’Malley the answers to everybody’s questions about what happened to me after the fire. He’s running it in this week’s issue and we taped some teasers for their cable news station.” He nodded toward her television. “I’m sure they’re already being aired.”

  Her head throbbed. Her heart pounded. She dared not make any assumptions but hope overflowed her spirit.

  “After all these years, why did you expose yourself like that, Luke? Why didn’t you protect your reputation, your privacy?”

  He moved to stand before her and knelt to one knee so they were eye to eye. He held his hands outward, palms up, an invitation. She placed her hands in his. He smiled and squeezed them lightly.

  “Because I finally found someone more important to protect than myself. The woman I love.” His voice was low, quiet, but there was no mistaking the words he spoke.

  Blood surged through her heart, increasing the pounding in her head. Knowing it was a moment she would treasure for the rest of her days, she struggled to note the details. The damp smell of him, the appealing stubble of his day-old whiskers, the deep emerald-green of his eyes, their corners pinched with something that looked suspiciously like sadness. Why would he say the words she’d been waiting all her life to her with regret on his face?

  “And that’s why I have to get out of here.”

  She snapped out of her memory making and back to the present. What had he just said? “Get out of here? What are you talking about?”

  “I need to get packed up and on the road before people see that spot and recognize my voice. Abundant Harvest will be crawling with the press if they think I’m there. I won’t put Ken and the Harvest Sons through that mess.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s been what, twelve, maybe fourteen years since all that happened? You can’t really believe it’s going to be that big of a deal?”

  The doorbell rang. He gave her hands a final squeeze before he stood. “That’ll be the pastor.” Luke moved to the built-in desk and depressed the start button on her computer.

  “I suggest you spend an hour surfing the net for Striker Dark. Then I think you’ll have the picture of just how big a deal this is gonna be.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Lord, I know You didn’t bring me to this point to let my life unravel now. Show me Your will for my future, and give me the strength to accept it.”

  Luke ended his time of prayer and opened his eyes to the empty carton that needed to be filled with his kitchen items. The last thing he wanted to do today was pack and run but it wasn’t his choice to make. Every hour that he stalled put the hounds closer to his heels.

  His father had been right. Trouble seemed to find Luke wherever he went. He’d spent so many years running from it, trying to put a safe distance between him and his excessive past, always afraid one day it would catch him unaware.

  The television anchor gave the afternoon weather report. Luke knew he had to get moving. He could be loaded and on the road in less than three hours if he worked fast.

  Knuckles rapped softly on his front door and Freeway woofed at the intrusion.

  “Luke, can I come in?” Claire called. The question caused him to suck in a quick breath of surprise as he heard uncertainty in her always-confident tone. He felt a smile of relief crease his face as the pup wagged his tail at the familiar voice.

  “It’s open,” Luke
shouted.

  She peeked around the door facing, her eyes wide and filled with hesitation. Freeway loped across the room to greet their unexpected visitor. Luke held out his hand and prayed she’d still take it. She moved into his kitchen, set a bunch of yellow rosebuds in a crystal vase on the counter and slipped her fingers into his. When she gave his hand a small comforting squeeze it was like she’d squeezed his heart instead.

  “I read on the Internet this morning where you once hated being confined to small spaces.” She gestured to the tiny apartment.

  “Been doing a little research, have you?”

  She nodded. “Is all that stuff true?”

  He closed his eyes, ashamed of what she might have read. Might have seen. He felt her hand press his for an answer.

  “Most of it.” He looked into eyes sweeter than molasses. “Striker was a character I was only supposed to play on stage. Some of his antics made Lucifer seem like a choir boy. I’d like to blame everything on Striker but all the foolish decisions and sinful behavior were mine alone.”

  “You look so different from the person in those pictures. It’s hard to believe that was you beneath the beard and long hair.”

  “Most of my face looked like this after the fire.” He touched the scar on the side of his neck. “I told the surgeons who did the reconstruction to change everything they could. By then I’d given my heart to Christ and I didn’t want any part of that old life. I needed to start over, use my talents for His service, and I knew I’d never be taken seriously if people recognized me.”

  Her curious gaze roamed across his face, possibly searching for the irreverent kid he’d been all those years ago. She was too polite to ask the question on her mind so he made it easy for her.

  “I was smoking cocaine, my favorite recreation back then. My shirt caught fire and all that hair was like dry tinder. By the time my buddies got me rolling on the floor to put out the flames, my skin was more like melted putty than flesh.”

  She winced at the blunt description that was nothing compared to the reality. The combination of rehab for drug addiction and burn recovery without pain meds was a living hell. But a hell he’d brought upon himself. Only God’s grace had seen Luke through it and in gratitude he’d turned his craft into a mission field.