Creighton's Hideaway Read online

  He shot her a sheepish grin, paused to figure out what else to tell her. “Sorry I rambled. I’m used to talking to trees, but they don’t ask questions.”

  “All of a sudden, I am really tired.” Shana swayed where she stood.

  He figured it was hard for her to admit any weakness. “You look dead on your feet. There’s milk and eggs in the fridge. Coffee, cereal, and a few canned things. Start a list of what you’ll need and I’ll make a grocery run in a couple of days. I’ll come by to check on things in the morning. Say, around ten.” Not one to follow compulsions, he stepped close and reached out. Creighton ran his knuckles across the softest, most feminine cheek he’d ever touched.

  Her eyes widened. She blinked.

  His action surprised himself as much as it obviously startled her.

  “Don’t forget to bar the door.” The words were barely out before he felt contrite over the gruffness of his voice. “Sis said this rustic stuff is all new to you.”

  An attractive, needy woman on his place was all new to him, too.

  ****

  Shana slid the bar on the cabin door through the brace until it connected with the interlocking woodwork piece. “Just what bogey-man am I locking out here?”

  She listened to the monstrous red and black four-wheeler sputter off into the distance. She swirled in slow motion to survey the room.

  Wrapping her arms across her body as though warding off a chill, she absorbed her surroundings. The earthy furnishings included a small bookcase amongst the necessities, accented by a braided rug in deep teal and burgundy at the center of the wide-planked floor.

  When her eyes blurred, she slouched back against the door. The bed drew her gaze to the right. She shuffled six steps and collapsed onto her stomach, without kicking off her sandals. Those interviews at Hope Circle had taken a lot out of her. Shana’s last conscious thought was thankfulness for Rita’s company and the image of Creighton’s smiling face.

  She awakened some time later, one body part at a time. What was wrong with her right arm? It felt as heavy as her old book bag. She lowered her arm and waited out the renewed flow of blood from shoulder to fingertips, and then rolled onto her left side. Shana opened her eyes to lengthening shadows and wondered at the unfamiliar fabric beneath her cheek. Then she remembered: Creighton Rice’s cabin on his ranch south of Verdigre.

  An unrecognizable noise jolted her upright.

  “Get it together, woman.” She stood, groped for a switch, found one next to the door. Light immediately flooded across the golden wood. She sighed in relief. Something was off. “Why do I have this foreboding feeling?” she asked her pile of luggage.

  So, what to do first? She ran her gaze over the totes. Her bags obstructed the design of the rug. Better get to setting the cabin in order. She reached for her largest bag and heaved it atop the bed. The smaller one with her laptop didn’t look right on the small dining table, but that’s where she would work.

  Shaking her head over the enigma of Creighton’s generosity, she emptied polo shirts and khakis into the two bottom drawers. She left the nicer jacket and blouses in the tote. Smaller items went in the top drawer of the chest. She ignored the mirror on the wall above.

  She utilized the hooks near the door for her sweater and light jacket, and she placed her sturdy athletic shoes underneath. One tote filled with toiletries went into the minuscule bathroom. Returning, she stretched for the canvas bag where it remained on the rug, and reared back at the loud knock on the door.

  “Yes,” she squeaked. Then louder, called, “Creighton?”

  “Yeah. How ya doin’?”

  Shana opened the door and her stomach rumbled, reacting to the beefy smell that greeted her. She couldn’t help the smile. “Is it morning? What smells so good?”

  “Steak sandwich. I figured after Rita’s remark about your eating habits that you wouldn’t even think about food tonight.”

  “Oh. You’re right.” She folded her hands in front of her midriff. “And Rita’s right. When I’m preoccupied I don’t give much thought to meals, especially when it comes to someone else’s deadline.”

  “That’s what I understood.” He lifted the food closer to her nose. “OK if I come in?”

  “Uh, sure.” She stepped away from the door.

  Creighton placed the pan with the foil-wrapped wonder on the table and turned towards the kitchen area. She pulled out a chair and sat, filling her gaze with Creighton as he reached for a plate and set it on the table.

  He slanted a grin her way before pulling a roll of paper towels from underneath his arm. “I don’t leave napkins around to tempt mice, so I hope this is OK.”

  “I don’t mind.” As if on cue, her stomach gurgled.

  He turned and reached for a glass. “Water or milk?”

  “Water. Please. And, thanks, Creighton. It’s been a long time since someone waited on me like this.” She hesitated. “At least, not since I lived at home.”

  “No problem.” His voice was as warm as the fragrant sandwich Shana sliced in two. He said, “Makes me think of having Rita around.”

  “She may have expounded on the way you took care of her, but I like to take care of myself,” she commented to his back. Shana imagined he only wanted to help, but she was determined to do for myself.

  “Enjoy.” Creighton sprawled in the corner of the sofa and stared through the windows into the black night. He appeared to study her reflection in the glass.

  She swallowed three bites, attempting to ease her discomfort. “Why didn’t I hear you drive up? I sure jumped when you knocked.”

  “I didn’t think about that. Next time I’ll call out. I often take walks at dusk. I enjoy the coolness after the heat of the day.”

  “It may be cooler. But it sure is dark. And quiet.” She searched into the night beyond the glass for some kind of reassurance.

  “After street noise, you bet.” He chuckled. “It may be less noisy than traffic, but the night is far from quiet.”

  She finished her sandwich and stood to clear the table. “I must have been hungry. That was delicious.”

  “Can that wait a minute?” Creighton motioned towards the opposite end of the sofa. “Have a seat. It’s not as dark out there as you might think.”

  He got up and turned on a light above the kitchen sink.

  Shana tracked his efficient movements, surprised at her appreciation of the way he glided across the room to hit the switch that shut off the ceiling lights.

  Coming around to sit again, Creighton pointed. “See. Look at the stars.”

  The muted light behind them showed a small reflection in the glass. She let her eyes adjust and was soon able to discern deeper shadows around the creek and the hills silhouetted against the horizon. The clear inky blackness glittered with thousands of lights.

  “All I have to do is look at that sky to recognize how small man really is. And what an awesome God we have,” Creighton’s velvety voice flowed into the dim room.

  Shana snorted. The testimonies of people in recovery and the home lives of her young clients hardened her response to Creighton’s words. “If He’s so awesome, how come such bad things happen to innocent people, young people who can’t fend for themselves?”

  “God’s the one to answer that, Shana, not me.” Creighton rested his arm across the back of the sofa. “Feel like talking about your jaded outlook on mankind?”

  She jumped to her feet, holding her middle, fighting the threat of tears. She remained stiff when Creighton cupped her shoulder in his warm, large hand. Shrugging off his touch was pure reaction. She was all worked up. Anxious over an unknown she couldn’t put her finger on. She vented. “You should know I don’t want to be here.”

  “Guess I’ll take my cake pan, then, and let you do whatever you need to do.”

  Anger thrust and threatened to pulse through her pores. She kept her back turned to Creighton. After he had gone, Shana charged around the room, wondering why a stranger would attempt to comfort her. She
roamed and stood at the windows in turn, her mind all a jumble. She spoke into the quiet, “How in the world can I concentrate if I’m going to think about how kind Creighton is to me?”

  She didn’t like being told what to do, or how to think. First by her boss, now Creighton pushed his religion on her. To his credit, his manner intrigued her. But not his talk of God.

  Her father had passed on details of his students’ ideas on religion. Some claimed all people needed for survival was a Savior. Is Jesus real? Is He really the one and only Savior?

  She yawned and welcomed the need to call it a night. She tugged on her pajamas in the small bath, readied for bed by lining up her bottles of skin care, and found solace in the familiar routine. She padded across the braided rug, onto the cooler wood of the floor, and surrendered to the ink of night.

  ****

  Creighton swung his arms wide, taking an extra-long walk, wishing he had grabbed a jacket before he left for the cabin where Shana now stayed. “Show me how to help her, Lord. She needs a friend and I guess I’m it for now.”

  She had felt small next to his side, brief as the contact was. The memory of Shana’s vanilla scent remained with him as he walked through the open air. Sure beat the smell of sawdust. He sighed. He had offered a brotherly arm, but she wanted to stew in her independence.

  The wind soughing through the pine branches agreed with his thoughts when he passed through the windbreak. He had always considered it a soothing sound, and missed the wind when he was away from home.

  An owl’s who-o-o greeted him when he stepped into the open. “One less mouse for me to catch if you get one, ole buddy.”

  Thoughts of Shana accompanied him the rest of the way into the ranch-style house. Was he up to the challenge of introducing her to his Lord? “We’re in your hands, dear God, and tomorrow is a new day.”

  The dark night embraced him as Creighton continued to ponder this newest cabin dweller. Whether she recognized it or not, there was no mistake in the timing of her presence. It had been a long time since he wanted to get to know a woman.

  Then, without warning, the slurred voice that hadn’t haunted him in some time rang in his ear.

  What makes you think you can do her any good? You know you can’t do anything right! You good-for-nothing so-and-so.

  Creighton flinched at the invisible blow.

  3

  Would tomorrow never come? Shana should be exhausted, but her state of mind was in upheaval. She wanted to be back at The Pines, working with the kids. An unexplainable, unnamed urgency, a misgiving swirled. She changed position, longing for relaxing comfort.

  A bird’s cry pierced the air.

  Her body flinched, and her eyes popped open.

  What was being slaughtered out there?

  Wide-eyed, she stared at the shadowed ceiling. What had happened to the light from the stars?

  Eventually, she tossed the blankets aside and got up, staggered across the room to turn on the light above the sink. She opened, and then banged shut cupboard doors. “Aha!” she exclaimed at the discovery of a can of hot chocolate mix.

  Shana soon curled up in the corner of the sofa, folded her legs, and let her thoughts drift, cupping the mug of rich chocolate with both hands. While she sipped, she reflected on the declining number of teen clients back at The Pines in Lincoln.

  Those kids found ways to get high from the most unlikely sources. Jason, whom they had just taken to the emergency room. Libby, who sucked her thumb at age twelve.

  Shana’s most recent clash of wills with Jerry, the overnight supervisor who resorted to using restraint before reason. And all those people recovering at Hope Circle in O’Neill.

  “This is getting me nowhere!” She stumbled to her feet and swayed, lightheaded from lack of sleep. As though caught in a bad dream, she set the mug on the table and went back to bed.

  She gave up on sleep after the howl of what she assumed was a lone coyote, and fixed her gaze on the green numbers of the microwave clock. A whole hour’s worth of progressive minutes passed before she rose and turned on all the lights.

  She unpacked her canvas tote of books onto an empty shelf underneath a well-worn, leather-bound Bible and a hymnal. She stacked an historical fiction book, a book on coping through the grief process, another tome on psychological disorders, and a couple literary magazines. She piled her resource notes next to her laptop on the small table, and set to work.

  Before long, a cardinal’s clear song welcomed the predawn sky. That musical scale was joined by other birds she couldn’t name.

  While coffee gurgled in the small maker, Shana discovered that one of the glass window panels was a door. She slid it open and stepped outside, meandering around the deck that encircled the cabin. She imagined a curly-haired girl riding ‘round and ‘round on a pink three-wheeler. Where had that thought come from?

  Chasing that mental picture, her parents came to mind. She went inside and grabbed her cell to see if it would work outside. No go. Had she doubted Creighton?

  She lost all track of time, as though it didn’t exist, where she sat resting on a rough-hewn bench in the southwest corner of the deck. With her back to the deck rail, she sipped her coffee. She took marginal note of the breeze, the soft burble of the creek below her left shoulder, the sun as it appeared on her right.

  Then the sound of a woman singing penetrated her thick thoughts.

  “Oh! Good morning. You must be Shana.”

  Shana stood to greet her visitor, who had a curved walking stick in her left hand and grasped the handrail with her right, in order to climb the steps to the deck.

  “I’m Valerie Dennis, from just around the bend to the south. Isn’t it a glorious morning?”

  Shana couldn’t help but smile in reply. She welcomed the older woman by extending her hand.

  Brilliant blue eyes shone behind rimless glasses, beneath a battered wide-brimmed straw hat tied with a faded red kerchief. “So, I hear you’re taking a forced vacation.” Valerie leaned back against the rail, revealing leather high-top boots over heavy gray socks, underneath her long denim skirt. “I’m a really good listener if you want to talk. But as far as I’m concerned, the great outdoors is a balm to the soul.”

  Shana frowned at the thought of being a conversation topic.

  Valerie unscrewed the cap from the bottled water attached at her waist and took a healthy drink. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her smile deepened the fine lines in her face, which all seemed to smile, accentuating the memory of each year lived. “Have you checked out the creek yet?”

  “I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” Shana responded to Valerie’s pleasantry, and felt her tension release.

  “How about taking a walk with me?”

  “I’m not much of a country person, but I do like to walk. My favorite place to ramble is on University Campus in downtown Lincoln. The flowers are always so beautiful.”

  “Not many flowers here this time of year, but lots of color abounds. I always look for feathers. And of course, I’d be thrilled to find an arrowhead.”

  “OK, I guess. Let me shut off the coffeemaker.”

  They walked along in silence, Valerie’s quick steps out of sync with her patient way of observation and conversation. They followed the creek as it wound northwest towards the road. Half the distance between Shana’s cabin and the road, a twin cabin stood, appearing to be the same as Shana’s except for the roof, which was a deep red.

  Creighton rounded the corner of the deck and leaped down the steps in two skips. “Morning, ladies.”

  Shana faced the unacknowledged reason for her sleeplessness, wondering what it was about the man that had invaded her thoughts. Her mind had dwelt on him more than her job, or her writing. Maybe it was the intent way he had of looking into her eyes, as though he wanted her to reveal her deepest secrets, while at the same time guarding his own.

  “Good morning yourself,” Valerie responded. “Checking up on things?”

  He
turned away from Shana to answer Valerie. “Yep. Just my usual rounds to make sure no critters have decided to invade. This one proved tight.” His glance swung back to Shana. “Care if I walk with you a bit?”

  At the nod of her head, he fell into step at her side.

  They followed Valerie along a narrow creek path.

  Awareness of Creighton filled her, when she hadn’t known she was empty. Shana felt awake for the first time that day. He was so full of life that she wanted to jump along for the ride, wherever that may lead. He smells like the air, fresh, piney and earthy, yet a little sweaty, all red-blooded male.

  “Did you sleep all right, Shana?”

  She startled when he spoke and tripped over a root hidden in the tall grass.

  “I’ll see if I can find you a walking stick,” Creighton said. He steadied her with his hand. “They help keep your footing out here.” His fingers were warm where they touched her elbow. “Back to my question, did you sleep OK?”

  “Not really,” she said in a low voice. “I crashed for a bit right after you left the first time. Whoever says the country is quiet, needs to come visit.”

  Creighton chuckled. “Yeah. But it’s a peaceful noise, rather than a clanging one. And you do have to get used to it. It’s hard for me to fall asleep when I’m away. City noise grates on me.”

  They continued on in companionable silence, Creighton close enough to lend Shana a hand if she stumbled.

  Once, Valerie grabbed her hat when a sudden wind gust threatened to toss it in the air.

  When they met the barbed wire that crossed the creek near the road, Valerie stopped humming. She turned and spoke for the first time since Creighton had joined them, “I sleep like a baby. This is God’s country, so full of writing inspiration.”

  Shana studied the soft character lines in Valerie’s face. Was the peace she exuded for real? Had she ever been tormented by tragedy?