Creighton's Hideaway (15 page)

And vulnerable. Angry and guilty as well. Time to move on.

“That's terrible.” Valerie's voice was sympathetic. “But surely, the bank will figure it out. These people are smart, they take other identities like you and I change clothes. It's not your fault. And at least you are safe here with Creighton and me to watch out for you.”

Shana's inward gaze kept glimpsing Creighton's eyes in the gold, browns, and blues that surrounded her. The sky was the color of the shirt that he'd worn the day before. Her frustration mounted, and she walked faster. Somehow, the very air smelled like him. The rush of the gusting breeze reminded her of the whistle of the wind through open truck windows, all those hours on the road with Creighton.

Did her presence here on the ranch somehow threaten him? This pull to know him better had nothing to do with an encroachment of his little world on a long-term basis, did it? He was more than a diversion from her financial troubles. Couldn't he go with the flow and let them have good times together? Be friends as they both loved and supported his sister?

Deep down, she wanted to be more than friends.

Shana knew from Rita's stories that Creighton was a great guy. Giving, unselfish, understanding. Her best friend didn't even have to tell her that, after all that he had done for Shana already. “What would you do if you were in my shoes, Valerie?”

“Can't answer that, sweetie, except that I'd get on my knees and talk to God. Creighton doesn't affect me the way he does you.” She paused and then gave a sly laugh.

“I'm not talking about Creighton, now. I mean about my life. I'm afraid I don't have job security, even when I do get my Masters. In my not-so-distant past, I would have dug in at work and fixed all the wrongs that seem to be going on in our program at The Pines. This theft thing makes me feel so totally helpless. I hate that feeling.” She stopped walking to catch her breath. “Would you mind if I just scream out my frustration?”

Valerie's eyes crinkled. “That would get Creighton's attention.”

Shana stretched, and then bent forward at the waist. She rested the backs of her hands against the earth, in an attempt to relax her strained body. The new perspective gave her a tingly warm surge of resolve. She would not give up. On her future job or saving money. And she wouldn't give up on Creighton, either.

Valerie burst forth into song. “Onward, Christian soldiers, trouncing down the creek.”

“Oh, Valerie, can I take you home with me?”

“No, I like my cabin. But I'm glad the song helped. There's battle in your eyes now, girl.”

“Thank you for listening to me.” Shana threw her arm around the older woman's waist and briefly rested her head against Valerie's shoulder.

“That battle hymn was smart-alecky on my part. Do you remember when I said hymns really help lighten the load?”

Shana nodded.

“Try a song tonight from that hymnal in your cabin. Maybe your spirits will lift.”

They sauntered along the creek on their return walk, eyes ever alert in the sandy soil for reminders of the past.

Shana discovered a rounded piece of worked stone.

Valerie assured her that the dark gray treasure had been a tool chiseled and used by some Native American Indian from the past.

Shana looked up at the expanse of sky. Peace enfolded her. She needed to count her blessings. She was healthy and young. She had parents who could help if she absolutely needed them to. The good things in life had to be from God. So she expressed a silent thankfulness to a God she wasn't comfortable with yet. She had vented her anger for the moment, gloried in Valerie's company, and knew meeting Creighton was meant to be.

“Just one more thing,” Valerie's knees popped when she dropped onto a step at Shana's cabin. “Creighton is not resisting you as much as he resists the way he sees himself through the imagined eyes of his own father.” Valerie's eyes crinkled and the grooves deepened at the sides of her mouth. She draped her long denim skirt between spread knees and then folded the fabric, baring her knees. “See these pachyderm legs? The price of vanity. I spent my youth roasting my flesh in the sun. Now I have to cover up these elephantine wrinkles with long skirts.” She patted the fabric back in place and stood to grab her walking stick. “Creighton has wrinkles from his past, too, Shana. He sees himself as someone unworthy of love. I'm praying that you might be the person to erase all those marks visible only to him.”

She'd much prefer contemplating Creighton than her current situation.

How long will this nightmare haunt me and will it harm anyone around me? Do I have the right to drag Creighton into this mess?
She could have continued her whole life without the knowledge of how many identity theft crimes went unsolved. She fisted her hand and pounded on the deck railing. Was this crime against her a personal one? Did she have an enemy?

Had she committed a wrong that she was being punished for?

 

****

 

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.

Creighton 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.”