Creighton's Hideaway Page 12

  ****

  Between the rows of pines in the windbreak, newly fallen brown pinecones crunched and rolled beneath Creighton’s boots. The whistling wind and heady scent lightened the steps that had been leaden earlier in the day. The morning had been a black one: black mood, black memories, black good-for-nothing self-talk that only dissipated when he sank to his knees in prayer.

  Pen, paper, poetry. Unbelievably, words had flowed about his father. He marveled at the positive words that he’d suppressed in light of the low opinion and in-your-face accusations his father used to slam against Creighton.

  Careful to keep the trees trimmed for comfortable foot passage, his eyes widened in surprise when the sleeve of his navy shirt caught on a jagged limb. His shoulder wrenched at the same time that his feet skidded on loose pine needles, tossing him off balance.

  Creighton freed the splintered branch and smoothed the three-cornered tear in his jacket, Good thing he mended his own clothing. He scanned the unique pine so he could bring his handsaw later and fix the nuisance.

  A lilting soprano voice jolted him back to his childhood, and drew him like the legendary Lorelei. Chill bumps rose on his arms. The sensation rendered him as speechless as Shana’s kiss had the day before.

  Creighton wound his way through the trees into the open, and stood transfixed when he spied the subject of his thoughts. An open hymnal was balanced on her upraised knees. Notes soared pure and light as Shana sang the lyrics to his mother’s favorite song.

  God was surely present in this place. He closed his eyes and listened to Shana continue all the way through to the fourth verse. Shana lifted her chin. Her face glowed.

  His heart picked up its pace, and his cheeks grew warm. Were there tears clogging his throat? Something he was slow to name filled his soul.

  Then it came to him as Shana rose to her feet. Humbled. She’d humbled him.

  God had given him a gift in this dark-haired sprite who offered her friendship. And he had been too obtuse to appreciate its magnitude. Creighton’s feet remained in place as though they were stuck in a mucky feedlot.

  “Hi.” She closed the gap between them. “Is something wrong?”

  “That song,” his voice rasped like a cornhusk. Creighton cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s my mom’s favorite. I grew up with her singing, especially when she pinned the sheets out on the clothesline to dry in the wind.”

  Shana hugged the hymnal close. With a comical scrunched up face, she asked, “Did I slaughter it? I sight-read the notes.”

  “Not at all. It was beautiful. Your voice is lovely.”

  “Thanks. I don’t sing much anymore.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to use it. Come to church with me in the morning?”

  The sky glowed pink and purple. While orange streaks danced along the horizon, he waited for her answer.

  “Creighton, I left my business clothes in Lincoln. I only brought country clothes back with me.”

  “No problem. We’re casual. But Rita has things up at the house.”

  Reflections of the sun turned her cheek golden. “You’re right! She offered them to me. Guess I forgot.”

  “So, do you want to check them out now?”

  “Why not? Don’t think I have a hot date or anything.”

  Creighton didn’t want to think of Shana dating. Instead, he nodded at the hymnal. “That belonged to my mom. She had one in almost every room of the house.”

  “Did she sing in the choir or something?”

  “Actually, she played the church organ.” He reached out his hand. “Here, let me carry that.”

  Creighton tucked the old volume underneath his arm and wrapped his fingers around Shana’s hand.

  She gave a secretive woman’s smile that tugged deep at his midsection.

  They strolled through the brush strokes of sunset. A burst of reflected gold painted the clouds rosy pink in the east. The majestic sky squelched any more words.

  At the ranch house, he laid the hymnal on the counter and ran his hand up to the light switch in one smooth movement.

  “Rita tell you which room was hers?”

  “Second on the other side of the bathroom.”

  “Help yourself.” He entered the living area and turned on two lamps. “Since I didn’t feed you yesterday, I’ll rustle up something to eat.”

  She turned down the hall.

  How long would he be able to keep his dark side from Shana?

  ****

  Gravel crunched under Creighton’s boots when he greeted her outside the garage the next morning, “You look good.”

  “Thank you.” She adjusted the collar of the turquoise blouse.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Shana caught the drift of lime cologne when he reached around her to open the passenger door. She lifted her sleeve and sniffed the fabric where his fingers had touched. The fragrance was more pronounced once he climbed inside the cab. “Nice touch. You smell really good.”

  “You like it, then?”

  “I like it.”

  “The stuff always seems strong to me. I only wear it to church.”

  “Then the ladies know when you’re coming down the aisle,” she teased.

  He flashed a smile, but made no comment.

  Shana sobered. She could count the times she had gone to church on one hand.

  Each was lost in private thoughts during the twenty-minute drive into Verdigre.

  “Is there anything I need to know before we get there?” Shana asked. “I’m a little nervous and I don’t want any surprises.”

  He reached over and covered her hand. “Nothing radical. We just roll around in the aisles.”

  “What?” she screeched and pulled back her hand.

  His laughter rumbled. “Couldn’t resist. The praise team—Valerie calls them a choir—opens the service. The words to the choruses are in the worship guide.”

  “That’s better.”

  “You’re easy to tease, kiddo.” His eyes twinkled as he continued to chuckle.

  “Guess so. I didn’t grow up with brothers the way Rita did.”

  The white church, complete with a steepled bell tower, glistened in the sun. If it was surrounded by snow it would look like a Christmas card setting. Today however, browning grass and varied marigolds welcomed everyone.

  Creighton pulled onto the limestone rock parking lot next to the church building. The front doors stood open and inviting.

  Valerie’s mid-sized white sedan was parked nearby.

  “Valerie will be surprised to see me. She asked me to come listen to the choir, said that the music leader is gracious in allowing her to sing the few weeks when she lives at the cabin.”

  Moments later, respectful greetings surrounded them as they took their seats.

  Creighton wore a proprietary expression when he introduced Shana.

  Valerie’s eyebrows lifted, and she waved her fingers when she caught Shana’s eye.

  Creighton shared the Bible so she could read along as he turned to the appropriate verses during the sermon. Pastor Harrigan did a passionate presentation of man’s sin. The solution was provided by the cross, man’s action was to believe. Could it really be that simple?

  The praise team, a group of six women and three men, sang. Valerie’s heartfelt alto solo brought tears to Shana’s eyes. Her favorite part of all was singing harmony with Creighton. And the question burned—could they progress to a harmonious relationship?

  Towards the end of the service she had the uneasy sensation that someone was watching.

  An elder read announcements and encouraged worshipers to greet one another before they dispersed.

  A tanned, muscle-bound blond man, a foot taller and more than twice her weight, shouldered between her and Creighton.

  “Noticed your friend, here, Rice.” He shoved a giant hand out to Shana. “How-do, I’m Howie Mitchell.” The man’s hand swallowed hers. He held on too long, and she tried in vain to pull away.

  Crei
ghton frowned and looked down at the handclasp.

  “Uh, oh.” Howie Mitchell released her fingers, and she refrained from rubbing them with her other hand.

  “Me and Creighton here go way back.” Deep brown eyes penetrated. Mitchell’s gaze was probably the one she had felt earlier.

  Valerie’s greeting interrupted the tableau. Shana let out a withheld breath. They proceeded down the aisle together, introductions continued out the door, where she shook Pastor Harrigan’s hand.

  On the front steps, Howie Mitchell’s voice boomed. “Haven’t seen these cabins at your place, Rice, maybe I’ll come out one of these days.”

  “They’re just cabins, don’t know why you’d be interested.”

  “Why not? I construct irrigation systems. Can’t I get a look at what you’ve built?”

  “Guess it wouldn’t hurt.” Creighton’s voice held caution and challenge, almost as though an imaginary gauntlet had been tossed. “Not if you send some business my way.”

  “Know a lot of hunters.” Howie put his charcoal gray Stetson atop his head. Then he smoothed the brim, nodded at the women, and swaggered off.

  “Whew!” Valerie exclaimed. “He’s a big one.”

  “And don’t he know it.” Creighton’s narrowed eyes remained on the other’s broad shoulders until Howie Mitchell climbed into his pickup.

  “I’ve never seen him before.” Valerie turned to Creighton and squinted against the sun’s glare. “You know him well?”

  “Used to. We ran together when we were kids.” He rubbed his temple, as though a headache threatened. “Got into some trouble.”

  “I can’t figure out why this fresh air speaks to my stomach, but I want ice cream,” Shana said, to break the tension. “Would there be a store open in town?”

  “How about chunky chocolate vanilla? I have some back at the ranch.” Creighton licked his lips.

  “Now I’m hungry,” Valerie put in. “If I bring caramel and chocolate toppings, am I invited?”

  “Sounds good to me,” he offered. “I’ll follow you back.”

  Why did Creighton always exhibit such restraint? Did he ever have an urge to kiss her?

  “So, Creighton, what kind of trouble did you and this Howie get into?”

  “Why do you want to know?” he gruffed, knuckles white on the wheel.

  “I want to know about your past adventures.”

  “Maybe I’m not the nice guy you think I am.”

  Shana cupped Creighton’s shoulder. She felt his warmth through the soft, rusty brown cotton. Sunlight deepened the contrast of cinnamon and gold of his hazel eyes. “Creigh, I know you’re a nice guy. For some reason, you don’t think so. I’m not real up on this forgiveness stuff. But I would think that if God can forgive anything, and we buy into that, then He should enable us to forgive ourselves.”

  “What’s happened to you?”

  “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me. I haven’t been angry at all today.” Shana circled her hand down the side of Creighton’s shirt, pleased that the solid flesh underneath jumped in reflex as her hand smoothed up and down his arm. She kept her hand in contact with him until he turned into his driveway. Never before had she reached out to touch a man. But a smile followed the thought, and she turned to the window so Creighton wouldn’t wonder at her secret vow.

  He would like her touch.

  13

  In his kitchen after a cold steak sandwich and chips, Creighton replayed running into Howie Mitchell. Good old Howie. Rice and Mitchell, the drinkin’ buddies. They’d been together on those blacked-out nights that even now, gave Creighton nightmares.

  He set out bowls and checked the cupboards for anything that resembled ice cream toppings. His jaw soon ached from the clenching. Wait a minute—was this jealousy he felt? He couldn’t bear the thought of Mitchell and Shana together. Though she’d given no indication she was interested, Mitchell’s dealings with women had never been respectful.

  He slammed a cupboard door so hard that it bounced back open. No way. If Mitchell did come around, Creighton would make sure not to leave Shana alone with the man.

  A knock sounded on the door just as he pictured himself planting a real kiss on her lips. He drove his hand through his hair, and then massaged his neck with his fingertips.

  He swung the door wide to admit Shana and Valerie. Creighton only saw Shana. Sunlight sparkled around her. He curled his free hand against his thigh so he wouldn’t reach out and touch her.

  “Found some nuts.” Shana shook the can as she breezed right in.

  “And I found butterscotch to go with the caramel and chocolate toppings,” Valerie added with a swing of her plastic sack.

  “I’ll start scooping.” Creighton forced thoughts of Mitchell to the back of his mind.

  Shana lined up the toppings and nuts on the counter. Then she opened the refrigerator door.

  Creighton came up behind her and in a possessive gesture, rested his fingers on her shoulder. He sighed inwardly and inhaled the vanilla fragrance of her hair. No need to even think about how right the physical contact felt. He’d ponder it later, though.

  “See if there’s a jar of maraschino cherries,” he extended a finger, “clear in the back corner of that shelf.” He leaned over to confirm if his memory was right, found his mouth right at her ear when he spied the jar, and kissed her ear lobe.

  She jolted. Her head cracked his chin.

  They both reared back.

  The fridge door rattled.

  “What happened?” From behind his back, Valerie’s words came muffled under the buzzing in his ears.

  What had happened indeed?

  The humming refrigerator motor faded in the light sensation that zinged through him. The door remained open. Creighton and Shana stood in a world of their own.

  She finally looked away, just as the door drew to a close, and said, “Oh. The cherries.”

  He turned back with the certainty that the sweet dessert could never satisfy what gnawed at his gut.

  They decided to eat their treats on the rustic porch that spread across the front length of the ranch house. To his knowledge, Shana had always entered at the back of the house. Now she walked the length of the porch, trailing her fingers over the rough-hewn log columns, glancing down at the smoothness of floor and railings.

  “What’s the difference between a porch and a veranda?”

  “They’re basically the same. To me a veranda has spindly fancy posts for columns and narrow balusters. Something you’d see on a cottage or Victorian home. Technically, I believe it’s on the second floor, like a balcony. But I’m far from an expert.”

  “That works.” Shana nodded, and then sat back in one of the three rockers.

  Creighton studied her mouth as she crunched on an almond. He was safe in Valerie’s company. If he was alone with Shana, his thumb could wipe away the sticky stuff at the edge of her full bottom lip. The tip of her tongue reached out to draw in the speck of butterscotch.

  They locked gazes.

  OK, I’m not going to fight this anymore, Lord. I believe she’s here because it’s part of a plan only You can see.

  Shana slanted him that I-know-something-you-don’t-know, feminine look, as though she knew exactly what was going on inside his head.

  Where was the little lost girl under duress?

  He dropped his spoon back in the bowl. The only sweetness he wanted now didn’t come from ice cream.

  ****

  Creighton was as yummy as the ice cream toppings. The butterscotch and caramel matched the gold of his eyes. And the chocolate reminded her of his hair. She found it very hard to keep up with Valerie’s chatter about Queen Anne home renovations, and Creighton’s talk of tongue and groove, joists and fascia.

  Before long, they all groaned over their gluttony.

  “Let’s take a walk.” Shana waved towards the southeast.

  “That’s where I used to ride my horses,” Creighton said. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Co
unt me out,” Valerie put in. “Refurbishing and Queen Anne talk reminded me of some details for my work-in-progress I need to jot down before I forget.” She stood and reached for their bowls and spoons.

  “Thanks,” Shana and Creighton chorused. They were slower to rise to their feet.

  Shana felt nervous for the first time in his presence. Maybe it was the memory of his lips on her ear, the surprising thrill that had shot through her in front of the refrigerator. She couldn’t help the giggle that erupted.

  “What?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.” She ignored the voice that prompted her to get to work on her laptop.

  “I’ll hold you to it. I need different shoes, and we’ll be off.” Creighton flicked on the radio before leaving for the back of the house.

  Valerie had already rinsed out their bowls and left them in the sink before she left.

  Lyrics drifted through the air from the radio, something about wide open spaces. Her heart quickened as she identified with the young girl’s dream to strike out on her own.

  “Now what are you smiling about?” Creighton had entered the room silently.

  “This song is great! I’ve never heard it before.”

  “Well, ma’am,” he emphasized, “out here in the sticks we listen to country music.”

  “You’re one of a kind.” She hooked her hand around his elbow. “I think I like you, brother of my friend.” And I hope you turn into more than a friend to me.

  Creighton bent to kiss her nose, moved her hand from his arm to clasp her fingers, and headed for the door. “I know I like you. Ready for that hike?”

  “Ready if you are.”

  The ringing phone interrupted their exit. Creighton answered, never taking his eyes from Shana. Then he said, “One moment, please.”

  A sick feeling gathered in her stomach as she reached for the phone. “Yes?”

  “This is Brian Shelbourne, Lincoln Police Department, Ms. Arnold. Sorry to call on Sunday, but I’m monitoring the activity on your account. Thanks for agreeing not to totally close it out. Can you please give me the exact dates you’ve not been in Lincoln?”