Creighton's Hideaway (2 page)

The four-wheeler rolled to a stop in the shade of a magnificent cottonwood tree. Creighton turned off the engine, and Shana stirred behind him.

“This is your home for as long as you like, or until the snow flies, whichever comes first,” he said.

 

****

 

His rumbling words vibrated through her cheek. She'd have to stay at least as long as it took to keep on track with her career path, as well as maintain her current position at The Pines Youth Center.

Shana raised her head and looked over Creighton's shoulder. Was there such a thing as rustic chic? Rustic class? The melding of man and nature? “It's not what I expected,” she ventured.

“Is that a compliment, I hope?” Creighton chuckled.

She directed a frown his way rather than a verbal response. She questioned her agreement to come to this place, so foreign compared to what she was used to. A bath was the only amenity Shana wanted besides a nice soft bed. “There's a real bathroom, isn't there?”

“Of sorts. Actually, you have a choice since only one of the cabins is occupied right now.”

“What do you mean by a choice?”

“Just kidding.” He laughed outright, and nodded towards the front door. “Yours has an inside facility, the only choice of bathroom for any friend of my sister's.”

“That's reassuring, since I've never used the other kind.” She leaned to the side and stood, the totes slipping off each shoulder. Her gaze roved over the roofline. The navy bag on her left arm fell unheeded to the ground. “What's it called? I don't think I've ever seen a roof like that.” Shana wanted to focus on the mundane, anything to keep her mind off her situation. “They probably have them in Lincoln, too, but I'm usually too preoccupied to notice roofs.”

“Baked enamel. Comes in a variety of colors. I think this blue matches your eyes.”

She gave him a mental point.

He kept right on talking, smoothing over the personal reference. “I've seen them on homes all over the Northwest. They're becoming more popular on outbuildings and some businesses here in Nebraska.”

“It's really nice. I think I like it.” She looked closer, noting finish detail. “Rita said you built the cabins yourself?”

“Sure did. The cabins I ordered from a log home outfit and I just put them together,” Creighton answered.

“You should be pleased with your work. They look very nice.”

He picked up all the bags in a smooth swoop and followed her onto the porch. With his free hand, Creighton slid open the wooden latch. He stepped aside so she could pass through. “There's a bar on the inside. No keys.”

Shana gasped.
Am I nuts for staying here?

 

 

 

 

2

 

Creighton dropped the bags.

“I had no idea it would be so beautiful,” Shana said.

He relaxed his alert stance. Her outburst had been a good sound of pent-up air, rather than an exclamation of distress.
You need to get out more, boy.

So captivated by her uncertain smile, no words came to mind. But he had the urge to give her a hug. He wanted to cuddle her like a lost kitten. Questioning where the idea had come from, he rubbed his eyes and ran his hands down the length of his face.

He tried to see his work from her point of view. The west wall was all glass and looked down over the creek, across the pasture, and up a ridge of mounded hillocks where white-faced brown cattle dotted the scene. He cleared his throat, more rattled by her presence than he wanted to admit. “Do you have any questions? Most cell phones don't work here. Feel free to use the land line at my place. Do you need me to show you anything?”

“Thanks for mentioning the phone. I'd better turn mine back on.” Shana scanned the room while reaching for her purse. “What else is there to see?”

It was one big, open room except for the bathroom tucked in next to the kitchenette.

She peeked around an unfolded screen along the opposite wall. The rustic white pine bed covered with a mauve and turquoise blanket woven in a southwestern design looked homey, but was it inviting to a city girl?

“The porch goes all the way around and there's a closet next to the pantry. Go ahead and open doors and cupboards—” He circled to make sure all was in place. “Make yourself at home.”

“Rita and I have talked about so many things, but I don't know much about life in the country,” Shana faltered. “When I need a break from my laptop would you show me around?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He grinned, gratified by her interest.

“I do have a couple calls to make,” Shana said as though speaking to herself. “My dad, especially. Guess I'd better check in.”

Creighton wanted to help her get her bearings so she didn't look so much like a little lost sheep. “Back to my place here. I like showing it off. For now, I'll tell you that there are five cabins. The creek kind of winds around and I just tucked them back so the cabins would be out of sight of one other, close to at least one tree for shade. There's a cabin between this one and the road. The third is south a ways and that's where the writer lady is staying. Her name is Valerie Dennis. Farther up are the two rustic ones, for hunters, minus indoor plumbing.”

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?