Claire jammed a fist on each hip as she glared into the darkness. The huge room fell silent awaiting her response.
“Are you just gonna stand there in a double huff?” he asked.
She was positive she heard the guy snicker.
“Pastor Ken, may I speak with you for a moment?” Claire planted the mic back into the stand and headed down the steps. She took several unsure paces up the aisle, as she waited for her pupils to make the switch from white-hot spotlights to the dimly lit auditorium.
A side door opened, allowing slanting rays of afternoon sun to pour inside. She was distracted from her mission as all heads turned to follow the progress of a runaway pup, barking with obvious pleasure and loping up the aisle toward Claire with a half-dozen teens in hot pursuit.
Chapter Two
Her agitation forgotten, Claire gave in to the force of a smile as it spread across her face at the unusual sight. This particular animal was so energized and jubilant that, for a few seconds anyway, nobody seemed anxious to curtail the pup’s activity.
On stage, where Dana continued to set up the band for the evening service, she crossed one mic path over another and a screech of feedback blared.
The dog darted beneath a row of seats, crouched in the darkness and whined in puppy terror.
A male figure left the sound booth, navigating the darkened aisle in long, determined strides.
“My apologies, folks. I’ll take care of this.”
The voice was soft and humble, but definitely the same one that recently questioned her skills.
“Hang on, Freeway. I’ve got you, buddy.” He held up a hand to ward off the approaching teens, a quiet signal the situation was under control.
Dropping to one knee, he extended his arm, palm to the floor and allowed the dog to sniff cautiously. The sniffing soon turned to contented licking and happy tail thumping. The puppy crept from beneath the seat and into the waiting arms of a master who cradled the pet in a gentle embrace. “Freeway trusts me,” he said simply.
Claire’s breath caught in her throat at the overwhelming sense of familiarity.
“Sorry about that, Pastor Ken,” Brian apologized for the group, then herded everyone toward the door.
“No harm done,” the pastor assured them. “Give us fifteen and we’ll be ready for you guys.”
“I’ll put Freeway on a lead and find him a shady spot for a nap.”
“Great idea, Luke. That’ll give Claire time to finish her sound check.”
Claire was positioned in the aisle between the open door and the stranger in the shadows. She stepped aside to allow him to pass. Each step brought him closer to her.
Closer to the light.
“Oh, forgive my lack of manners.” Pastor Ken hurried to Claire’s side. “Hit the house lights, please,” he called to a volunteer and the florescent bulbs overhead blazed to life.
“Claire Savage, I’d like to introduce Luke Dawson. Luke, Claire is the young woman with the incredible voice I was telling you about.”
She reached to steady herself on the back of a nearby folding chair. Standing before her was the Good Samaritan who had monopolized her thoughts for the better part of the day.
Luke clenched his teeth and waited for the response that almost always accompanied an introduction. People never said anything out loud, not in front of him anyway. But unspoken pity for his permanent disfigurement was there. Loud and clear.
If they only knew he’d been through fourteen grueling procedures to get to this point. Skin grafts were amazing, not magical, and there was a limit to what reconstructive surgery could accomplish. The remaining scar on his neck was the last remnant of the fire and a constant reminder of the all-consuming demon that was only a snort away. He’d long ago accepted the ugly scar on his neck. And in an oddly comforting way, facing the vestige of his freebasing accident in the mirror every day kept him from slipping back into the pit of his destructive past.
He shifted Freeway’s lanky frame and extended a hand. She hesitated before dropping her purse onto the seat of the nearest chair and accepting his grasp.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and for once a greeting surprised him.
Sincere interest flickered through the molasses-brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. It usually took a few minutes of polite conversation and the mention of his profession to solicit that wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow look. Was she going to run right past sympathy and slide into open and outright curiosity? This was a first.
Most folks seemed eager to keep the contact brief, as if the disfigurement on his neck was transmissible. This woman held on, prolonging the grip, all the while her eyes fixed on his. She appeared to size him up through the touch. He had to admit it was an appealing change, and the closest thing to intimate contact he’d allowed in years.
Her blunt cut hair had glistened under the stage lights with too many shades of blond to be anything but natural. It hung straight, just past her shoulders, with bangs that could use a trim. She was tall. The kind of tall that had probably cost her a date to the prom because high school boys were too cowardly to dance with her. Shoulders back, chin high, she looked him eyeball to eyeball with no apology for her height.
Something about the almost overconfident gleam in her dark eyes caused him a moment of discomfort. Of déjà vu.
He shifted his attention to her dress. She’d opted for trousers and a jacket on a day of record Houston heat. He was certainly in no position to judge since he stood there in his perpetual “uniform,” consisting of jeans and a long sleeved black T-shirt with Praise Productions printed in script across the back.
“Claire Savage,” he slowly repeated her name as he released her hand.
She trailed her fingers lightly over Freeway’s head and paused at his long nose allowing the pup to take in her scent and taste. The sure sign of an animal lover.
“If her name rings a bell it’s because a few years back Claire was Miss Texas and first runner-up for Miss America. She did a bunch of those milk commercials.” Pastor Ken offered the information over one shoulder as he returned to his evening duties.
“No, I couldn’t possibly know you from that. I’ve never been subjected to a beauty pageant and hopefully never will. Sorry.” Luke shook his head.
“Understandable.” She chuckled. “Woman parading before judges in beaded evening gowns is not everybody’s cup of tea.” Then, her gaze narrowed slightly, the brown of her eyes deepened as she appeared to study him. “And no need to apologize, Luke…” She hesitated.
“Dawson,” he reminded her.
“Dawson,” she drew his name out slowly. She impaled him with a stare that spoke louder than words and the déjà vu made sense. Lisa Evans. The way this beauty sized him up with her eyes reminded him of the first time he’d met Lisa.
“My fifteen minutes of fame were fairly regional,” Claire continued, “so it’s not like I was ever a famous celebrity or a notorious rock star.”
The threat of trouble bubbled up from his core. He’d built an honorable profession by keeping a low profile. Facial reconstruction had disguised him so thoroughly that retreat had never been necessary. But as the saying went, there was a first time for everything. So he followed his gut and changed the subject.
“The only thing notorious around here will be Freeway if I don’t get him off this floor and out to the grass.”
“Oh, sure,” she agreed. She gave the yellow paw a light squeeze and stepped out of their path.
Claire