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.
The Southern Savage requires a Master. Do you have what it takes to dominate this machine?
The advertisement dared the reader. The rest of the full page ad listed the specs of the soon-to-be-released custom chopper, the signature bike of Savage Cycles of Houston.
Luke scanned the page for any mention of the owner. Finding none, he laid the paper on the table, folded his arms across his chest and squinted in concentration. Though he’d known her less than twenty-four hours, Claire Savage was possibly the most interesting woman he’d ever met. There was something apart from her physical beauty that demanded appreciation.
He found the self-confidence that bordered on arrogance appealing, and the matter-of-fact way she spoke of her accomplishments very attractive. Instead of the smug “I’m all that” kind of pride, she displayed a satisfied sureness that said she was capable and knew it.
There was no doubt she had a brilliant mind—the most worrisome part. After she’d left for the evening, Brian had offered a few unsolicited bits on her background. Seemed the mixture of pageant queen and Ivy League grad uniquely qualified her to serve as role model and femme fatale for the teens at Abundant Harvest. According to the boy, who was clearly smitten with her, the cool part was Claire didn’t let all her achievements go to her head.
Luke recalled having the same foolish thoughts about Lisa when they’d first met. But something about this Miss Texas was different from the financial shark who had bled Striker Dark dry.
The way Claire held her head—chin just a bit high—was definitely practiced. But when he’d stared into her eyes he’d caught a glimmer of what lay beneath the public veneer. He wasn’t sure it was confidence at all. He’d seen part bravado, part suspicion and something else. Fear maybe. Now what would a woman with the world by the tail have to fear?
She was a celebrity in this community, in this state actually. She had roots, an enviable past and was busy orchestrating a very public future. But he had a hunch she was afraid of something.
“Lord,” Luke spoke aloud, “do me a favor, will Ya? Keep that woman busy with her own life and out of my hair?”
Claire closed her Bible and stood for the final prayer that