Creighton's Hideaway Page 8

  Shana joined in on the second verse. By the time the song was finished, a lovely alto/soprano duet, Shana felt less burdened. She reached over and gave Valerie a long hug, then took her leave. The newly forged friendship filled a lonely spot in her heart.

  Later from her deck, she perused the landscape from all four directions. She chose the west side, content to lose herself in the activity of the creek. Clouds that had lingered throughout the day covered the horizon. However, the bottom half of the sun burst through the clouds with the orange-red glow of molten lava before it disappeared behind the cloud cover. She detected electricity in the air and rubbed her arms at the sudden chill of the wind.

  No wonder Creighton chose to stay near his creek way out here in the boonies. A person could get lost in the beauty of nature, ignoring the ugliness of reality.

  ****

  Creighton shut off the radio. A storm was imminent. Had he shown Shana the blanket drawer underneath the bed? If the storm hit, she would need the extra heavy-duty sleeping bag stored there.

  He ambled through the common room, pleased as he remembered word play over their game of Scrabble. Since Shana had been here the night before, the ranch house rooms resonated with emptiness. He built a fire and hoped she’d be warm enough this night. Creighton reclined where he had sat twenty-four hours earlier, and brooded, staring into the red and yellow flames.

  When he detected blue flame, Creighton broke his contemplation of the fire. He couldn’t believe his own imagination when he pictured Shana nursing a baby, their baby, in the armchair near the fireplace. The beautiful image of Shana, not to mention a little someone, had barged in on his comfort zone. He scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to erase the vision. The telephone rang.

  Two more rings jangled as he crossed the room to the kitchen counter.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Bro. What kind of answer is that?”

  Creighton shook his head once again. Was he hearing things? “Tom?”

  “That’s me. Thomas James Rice through the air to your landline. Watching the weather channel. You’re in for it, looks like.”

  This was crazy. How long since they had talked? Three years?

  “Wow, Tom, you took me by surprise. Yeah, I was just thinking I need to get some candles handy and make sure the batteries are up for the flashlight. Not to mention there’s a new tenant, and she’s kind of a city slicker.”

  “I won’t keep you, then.”

  Silence on the line. Creighton had nothing to say. Seemed all their lives what he said had grated on his younger brother’s nerves.

  “Got a letter from Rita awhile back,” Tom said. “Can you imagine us being uncles?”

  “It’s gonna be something all right. Maybe we’ll see you for the big event?” Since Tom had been on the East Coast for seven years, he’d only traveled back to Nebraska a couple times.

  “I might just surprise you before that. Maybe even come to Nebraska for the holidays. My fiancée has never seen a ranch except in the movies.”

  “What’s that? You’re getting married?”

  “Can you believe it? I’m taking the plunge before my big brother.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “That’s terrific, Tom. I’m happy for you.” At least, he tried to sound happy. But a lifetime of rubbing each other the wrong way stood between them.

  “Thanks. The line’s getting some static so I’ll let you go do what you gotta do.”

  “Hey, thanks for calling!” Creighton said before hanging up.

  Lightning flashed. He headed for the pantry door. He set candles out on the kitchen counter and placed three large ones in a box. Vanilla and spice, thanks to Rita. He hoped Shana would approve, instead of preferring floral scents. The candles went into a plastic sack with an extra flashlight. He grabbed a slicker and ventured into the electrically charged night.

  ****

  A strobe-like flash of lightning brightened the dark cabin.

  Shana shivered. She wore layered shirts and two pairs of pants. There has to be a way to heat this place.

  Her next thought was of Valerie. She pictured her new friend in long woolen underwear underneath two skirts; and one of those knit caps with braided ties. That produced a giggle that at least tickled her insides.

  Shana grabbed the quilt from the bed and curled back into the corner of the sofa to watch nature’s display through the wide windows.

  Lightning zigzagged across her view. Thunder clapped. A tree limb snapped. Rain hammered the metal roof. The door exploded with sound. She jumped at the noise behind her and the quilt slid to the floor. At the sound of Creighton’s muffled voice, Shana scrambled from the couch. She opened the door and stepped back so he could enter.

  He pushed a plastic sack at her from underneath his slicker, freed himself of his rain gear, then pulled the door closed behind him. “Whew! That came up fast.” His eyes glistened with excitement with the next streak of light.

  “You like storms, I take it?”

  “Can’t help myself.”

  They grinned like kids in the rousing atmosphere.

  “Candles,” he said, pointing at the sack she held close. “Flashlight.”

  “I haven’t even turned the lights on. We don’t have electricity?”

  He flipped a switch, light glowed for an instant. But the next burst of lightning came within seconds, and then the room plunged into deeper darkness.

  “No lights now.” Creighton chuckled. “Good thing I came when I did.”

  He pushed the button on the flashlight in his hand, and switched the ceiling light off. He handed the flashlight to Shana and crossed to kneel at the side of her bed. “I think I forgot to show you this the other day.”

  She felt rooted in place on the braid rug, mesmerized by the intriguing sight of Creighton as he pulled open a wide drawer that she had no idea existed.

  He stood, displaying a black nylon sack held in both hands. “Sub-zero sleeping bag.”

  Creighton tossed the roll on his shoulder and shoved the drawer closed with a booted foot. Then, with a flick of both wrists, he unfurled his cargo across her bed.

  The room seemed extra small all of a sudden, filled with him, as he touched her bed. He then stood so close to her, the rattling of her insides was enough to compete with the clacking branches outside.

  He reached for the plastic sack she gripped.

  Her breath came out in a rush as she let go.

  “Mercy, your hands are like ice.” He set the sack on the table, and then removed another flashlight and three candles in jars with handles.

  Lightning brightened the room again.

  Creighton blocked her view of the table and took her hands in his. He wrapped her cold fingers within his grasp. She held her breath yet again when he placed them on his chest underneath the open plaid shirt. Her fingers heated in rapid succession where they rested against the ridged nap of his dark turtleneck.

  A crack and crash from the elements swooshed the air from her lungs.

  Creighton dropped her hands. “Ouch, that was close.” He gave a head shake and strode away from Shana. He yanked open the kitchen drawer that held matches in a tin and proceeded to light the candles.

  What was close? Shana tracked Creighton’s movements. Their mounting awareness of one another, or the turbulence outside?

  Flames flickered above the lit candles. Shana wrapped her arms around her middle. She realized she was crying when the candlelight wavered through the moisture from her eyes.

  Creighton stood rigid as a post where his hands gripped the sofa back. When he finally turned, she lifted shaky fingers to brush the tears from her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice was gruff.

  “I, I, don’t know.” She sniffed and fought her inner chill. “I’ve been ill at ease ever since I interviewed those patients for my thesis. All of a sudden, I feel guilty and I don’t know why. I’ve been trying hard to ignore this skin-crawling notion that something is real
ly wrong.” Tears streamed faster. “And somehow I feel that my life is threatened. I can’t explain it. I know it sounds crazy.”

  Creighton stepped closer.

  She sucked in a breath.

  He groaned and held her close.

  “So much has hit me! This glorious land where you live. Valerie’s kindness.” Her words came out muffled against his broad chest. Her eyes drifted shut. “The wildness of the storm. Your nearness, churning me up inside. I like being near you, but I never know if you’ll be decent and almost kiss me, or if you’ll be moody and act like you don’t want me around.”

  He tightened his hold. “I’m trying to sort out my own feelings here, Shana. You’ve got me mixed up, to say the least. You don’t know my background. If you did, you’d run. I will say, that whatever you’re feeling about me, I probably feel the same way about you. I sure do like to hold you like this.”

  “But I’m a mess right now!” She choked on a sob. “All emotional. I have a job to do. Young people depend on me. I’m used to making plans and doing things in order.” She drew a shaky breath and pulled back. “Maybe I’ve had too much time to think. Wishing I was there to help Rita. She’s doing both our jobs.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “I need to stay here and finish writing. I think this place is growing on me. But after the call from Rita, I’m torn. I feel I’m needed back at The Pines.”

  They clung to one another while the storm raged around the cabin.

  One of Creighton’s hands caressed Shana’s hair and the other rubbed circles up and down her back.

  Bit by bit, muscle by muscle, she relaxed in his warmth. When she let out a ragged breath and started to move back, Creighton released her. She held on to his corded forearms, and he cupped her elbows.

  “Sorry to lose it.” She let out on a quivery breath. “And thanks.”

  Absorbed by his touch, she valued his appreciation of the life and land around him. Heat stirred and spread through her like the lava-colored sky she had witnessed at the end of the day. Had she gone through her busy, career-oriented world half asleep? He made her feel safe in his strong arms, yet stirred her up inside.

  Creighton looked away and released her, creating physical distance between them, but they had bonded on some intrinsic level.

  “It’ll be chilly in here tomorrow if the rain keeps up. I’ve stored an electric heater under the bottom pantry shelf.” He indicated the candles. “Course, it only works if the power’s back on.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “You, and Valerie, have an open invitation to come to the house. She’s made herself at home there before. She just ignores me while she types away at her laptop.”

  “And what do you do on chilly, wet days?” She shot him an impish half smile.

  “Cook. Catch up on laundry. Try a poem, or two. Read.”

  “I could always beat you at Scrabble again.”

  He groaned, pulling a laugh from her. “On that note I’ll head back,” he said. Creighton shrugged into his rain slicker, and then tousled her hair as he passed.

  Shana held the door open for him. “Sure you’re ready to brave the storm?”

  “Aw, shucks, ma’am. ‘Tain’t nothing,” he said, and brushed a roughened finger down the length of her nose. “Stay warm.”

  ****

  Creighton grudgingly admitted that a different storm brewed within his soul as the four-wheeler slid through the night.

  He needed to stay away from Shana.

  He couldn’t stay away from her.

  He tried to pull back, but she drew him closer.

  That’s how it had been with booze. He knew it wasn’t good for him, yet he was compelled to tip that first bottle. Don’t kid yourself, Buddy. His thoughts whipped through his head like dust in a summer storm. She may prove addictive, but Shana was a good temptation.

  Except, they lived in different worlds.

  “She may be good for me, but I’m sure no good for her!” He roared back at the thunder.

  Oh, Lord, please make this storm a short one. No way can I be closed up with Shana in my house again.

  A jagged streak split the sky in answer.

  Creighton’s mind traveled back in time. He was nine years old when he first met Leslie White Raven, a Lakota Sioux boy from South Dakota. The details of Leslie’s adoption by Creighton’s neighbors two miles north were long forgotten. But electrical storms brought back the details of Leslie’s death.

  When there was free time back then, Creighton saddled up Blaze and crossed the road. Leslie met him at an old cottonwood south of his own home, astride his mount, Silver. They spent countless hours playing cowboys and Indians, riding across the hills as they chased imaginary buffalo and wild ponies. Their special place was atop a hill where unexplained rocks formed numerous circles. The boys believed that tipis from long ago had been erected there for hunting season.

  The land holds the spiritual energies of my ancestors.

  Leslie’s imagined voice brought moisture to Creighton’s eyes.

  A tree cracked and groaned behind him. Creighton shivered, glad his ride home was almost over. He recalled the late afternoon darkness on that long ago day that sent him on a gallop south while Leslie raced north to his own home.

  Only Leslie didn’t make it home. Two hours later, Creighton’s mother took the call. Silver had galloped into the barnyard without his mount.

  Now thankful that his current ride was over, Creighton parked the ORV and ran into the house. He leaned against the kitchen door, ignoring the raindrops dripping onto the floor from his slicker. Tears came as readily now as they had when he heard at age eleven that Leslie was gone. Struck by lightning. His best friend’s life ended at ten years of age.

  Creighton shook himself out of his reverie and shed the slicker. It must be a night for tears. Why did he have to recall those youthful escapades now, when he was all stirred up over Shana?

  He left the rest of his wet outer clothes next to the washing machine, and wandered through the storm-darkened house to his room. The flashing strobe from the wild outdoors matched his tingling nerves. He prayed for rest.

  The jangle of the phone yanked Creighton from a restless sleep. He squinted at the clock that blinked its steady red 12:00.

  “That means I have electricity,” he mumbled. He grabbed his watch. It read 3:47 in the AM. The phone rang again, and he reached to pick it up.

  “Thank God,” his brother-in-law’s voice responded to his mumbled hello. “I was afraid with the storm up there your phone might be out.”

  Creighton rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Instantly awake, he sat up. “Ray. What’s wrong?”

  “Rita’s in the hospital. She started cramping last night, and then bleeding. She’s stable now.”

  “Are you home?”

  “No. They want to keep her twenty-four hours to make sure she doesn’t go into labor. Sorry I called so early, but I figured you’d want to know.”

  “Hey, man, no need to apologize.” Creighton yawned. “Should I head out right now?”

  “Thanks. I know Rita would appreciate that offer. But don’t hurry, just pray for now, OK?”

  “You got it,” Creighton answered. “She probably needs a woman, so I’ll wait until first light to wake Shana. See you for lunch.”

  The men said their good-byes and Creighton flicked on the bedside lamp. He bowed his head and prayed for his sister. Looking up, he laughed. “God, you must have some sense of humor.”

  He had dreaded the idea of being closed up with Shana here in the house. Now they’d be in a much more intimate enclosure, his truck cab, for nearly four hours.

  His whole being groaned at the idea…with what, dread, or expectation?

  9

  Shana adjusted the shoulder strap of her seat belt and found comfort on the wide bench seat of Creighton’s spacious pickup cab. There was so much room that she felt like a child. She grinned to herself at the sight she must have been, jumping up to the high seat. At l
east Creighton gave her a hand. His presence now filled the interior of the truck. It was much safer to keep her eyes on the scenery along Highway 14 than shoot glances his way. She attempted to concentrate on what lay outside the vehicle, but her worries centered on Rita and any threat to the life of the baby she carried.

  Was Creighton worried, or did he just pray?

  He had pounded on her door before 6:00 that morning, gruffly related that Rita was hospitalized, and asked if she could be ready to leave for Lincoln a half hour later.

  Silence was heavy in the pickup. Creighton wore a frown.

  A hawk on a post caught Shana’s eye. She turned to look out the back window. Perhaps her eyes were deceiving her.

  “What do you see?” Creighton asked.

  “Now, that’s curious.” She swung back to face him. “I thought I saw a hawk on that post back there. But it wasn’t. It was a squirrel. Weird to see a squirrel so far from trees.”

  “Quirk of nature, I guess.”

  “They’re quirky on campus.” Shana smiled at the memory. “I used to see squirrels and their silly antics on city campus. During the summer, it was common to walk past a noisy trash receptacle. Closer inspection revealed the tip of a squirrel’s tail peeking from the rim. Once on their way, they’d rattle the leaves and bushes and race out in front of students and instructors. I’ve seen them with nuts, leaves in their paws and sticks in their mouths.”

  The university felt like it was a world away.

  Creighton slowed down for the low speed limit through Neligh and pulled into the gas station. “If you want anything you’d better get it now. I don’t plan to stop again unless you really need a restroom.”

  “Haven’t had enough coffee yet.”

  Before long, the gas pump shut off.

  Creighton walked into the building. On the road again, Creighton said, “Sorry I’ve been so quiet. I know the ride’ll go faster if we talk. Have you thought about what you need to do after we’ve seen Rita at the hospital?”