Creighton's Hideaway (22 page)

“Creigh, you've done so much for me. I'll never be able to repay you.”

“Hold on there, friends don't hold accounts.” With a grin he added, “Besides, I might need you some day.”
That's a laugh. I need you right now
. He slid his thumb over the back of her hand and bent down to touch the side of her mouth with his lips.

Shana turned so their lips meshed. The kiss deepened.

They hastened to enfold one another closer, tighter.

Creighton eventually drew a ragged breath and ended the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers. They stood that way, with eyes closed, and heartbeats decelerating, until he could make out other noises besides the thrumming in his ears. He stepped back, ran a finger down Shana's cheek, and strode away. Before he rounded the corner of the garage, he turned.

She was watching him.

He grinned. “See you later.”

She lifted an arm in response and went inside.

Now he stood, filled with emptiness, staring at the vacant spot she had filled.

His hands fisted at his sides. Who had she met yesterday afternoon? By the size of the boot tracks, and the deep horseshoe prints in the dust, he had his suspicions.

 

 

 

 

18

 

Shana's vanilla scent lingered near the telephone from the night before. Now, Creighton lifted his hand to his nose and inhaled again. He stood still, allowing his senses to fill with her memory. Finally, he turned to wash up. After his hands were dry, he set out a couple of steaks to thaw.

Tomorrow. She'd be gone tomorrow. Back to Lincoln.

Had she arranged to see Mitchell in Lincoln? Was Mitchell's Christianity claim on the up and up? In the past, Howie Mitchell would have badgered Shana until she said yes, just to get rid of the guy.

Creighton needed to be involved in an activity somewhere that Shana hadn't been. His shop would be a good place to while away the rest of the afternoon. He stopped inside the door after he turned on the light. Then he shook his head and laughed. “I even smell her vanilla in here.”

Soon, the dry fragrance of sawdust filled the air as Creighton's power saw zipped through a hearty fencepost. He sanded the aged round post. He pictured the first ranchers who had strung fence in this part of the country. His grandfather, James, had passed the land down to Creighton's father Kevin. Then the ranch had passed into Creighton's own hands. Who would he pass it onto? A child of his and Shana's? “Bud. You are losing it big time.” He switched on the radio, but country lyrics were mostly about love. Love found. Love cherished. Love lost. He stabbed the button off. Creighton's thoughts were loud again. He couldn't get the image of those two pairs of footprints out of his mind's eye.

Shana remained on his mind while he prepared their evening meal. He went outside to catch her exiting the pine grove.

She waved in greeting. She was fine, in all aspects of the word.

“Salad's all made,” she greeted.

“You can take it on in and give the taters a poke. They're in the oven.” He slapped the grilled steaks on the platter and shut off the grill. Inside, he found her staring at the table. “What do you think?”

“You made these?” She traced around the edge of what used to be a fencepost, now made into candleholders, and followed the rippled tree rings, tinged sage to sepia.

“Yeah.” He placed the steaks on the counter. “Like ‘em?”

“Of course! I've never seen anything like them.” She lifted the tea-light candle from the middle and dipped into the roughened well with a fingertip.

“Well, they're yours.”

Shana picked up one of the fencepost candleholders tied with a piece of rusty barbed wire. “Thank you, Creighton.”

Her surprised pleasure touched him somewhere deep in the chest.

She turned over the cylinder and examined the bottom. “This is really something. Are these posts from the ranch?”

“Yep. Who knows how old. I made a pair for Rita, too.”

He indicated the centerpiece and then handed her a butane lighter. “Would you like to light the candles?”

Shana lit the wicks.

His breath hitched at the flame reflected in her eyes.

They ate in uncomfortable silences and unspoken thoughts.

Shana finally stood and started to clear the table.

“You can leave them, I'll clean up later.”

“Creigh…please.”

He looked at her.

She drew him into her embrace, but he held himself stiff, and she dropped her arms.

Creighton felt her gaze, but he couldn't meet her eyes.

“Why do you fight this, what we have?”

He felt the hurt that accented her words. Dare he admit how hard it was? “The fault is mine. I don't have an answer.” He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “You not only walked into my life. You walked into my eyes, into my dreams. I even smell you when you're not with me. You are everywhere!” His voice hardened. “And I just need some space!”

“You already have space all around you,” she reminded him.

“But I've never been invaded like this. It's like you've crawled inside of my head.”
And my heart.
He started to pace.

“That's where I want to be. In your space.” She stepped in front of him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Shana smoothed the mussed flannel across the breadth of his chest, gave him a pat. “I think you'll miss me when I'm gone.”

She picked up her candleholders, and mouthed her silent thanks. “See ya around, big boy.”

His last picture of her was her wistful smile.

 

****

 

The light she'd left on welcomed her, but Shana entered the cabin with caution, remembering her unknown, unwelcome visitor. She peered into every corner and prepared for bed.

Later, she gave up on sleep, and grabbed cushions from the couch. She made a pallet on the wooden decking, and focused on a plan of action for her return to Lincoln. A garage sale was necessary. If the Center's program was phased out, surely she could find a job and get back on her feet before too long. She'd be patient while her bank account grew.

And Creighton.

Well, she wouldn't forget him. He was part of her as much as this land which had worked itself under her skin. He had made her come to life. Even if her life was a different one, she felt at home here. Home could be on the ranch, here with Creighton.

The night enveloped her, and Shana eventually slept.

She was all packed and ready to go the next morning when she heard Creighton's deep, “Good morning, the cabin.”

Shielding her eyes with a hand, she welcomed the broad smiles of her parents.

“I'll let you get on with things, then,” Creighton said, and extended a hand to her father.

Her mother reached out to Creighton as well. She tipped her head to look at him. “Thank you. Thank you so much for taking such good care of our daughter.”

“No problem all the way around.” He touched the bill of his cap Shana's way, and left.

“Come on up,” Shana prayed her smile didn't waver and that tears wouldn't choke her words. She greeted them with long hugs.

“How are you, sugar?” her dad asked.

“I'm good.” She led them around the deck to the back of the cabin, pointing out her favorite spots in each direction.

“Looks like you've been comfortable,” her father said.

“I have. But unfortunately, I need to return to the real world.” She nodded to her bags lined up by the front door. “Guess it's time to head back and face the music.” She took a deep breath and asked her mother, half joking, “Do you want to walk down to the creek or hike anywhere?”

“No way,” her mom answered. “Hiking from the house to here was enough for me. And we have to go back.”

“I'd like to have lunch at Green Gables,” her father interjected.

Shana locked the sliding glass door, took one more encompassing glance around the room, and leaned down to pick up her totes. Her father took her other bags. Her mother closed and barred the door after them.

Creighton was nowhere to be seen when they loaded up in the gravel driveway near the ranch house.

She whispered a good-bye that drifted with the breeze. Her heart was heavy. She listened to her parents' chatter, and soon they were entering the barn-turned-restaurant known as Green Gables.

Creighton should be here
.

Shana missed him already. How had that happened so fast? Somehow, she choked her way through lunch. Later in the car, she leaned her head against the corner of the backseat and pretended to sleep most of the way. When she opened her eyes, she watched the passing landscape and replayed her previous trip to Lincoln with Creighton.

Oh, Lord, please be with him and let me have peace that You will guide me as far as he is concerned
.

Her father pulled up behind her mother's vehicle parked in the driveway of Shana's duplex.

“What in the world—”

“I don't believe this—”

Shana trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. Yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed her front door. She announced with clogged throat, “I think I want to go back to the ranch,”

Trying to swallow the lump of tears and terror, she attempted to ask her dad for his cell phone. By the time she'd cleared her throat the third time, her dad snapped his cell shut.

“Shelbourne said they're done here, and now that you're home we can take it down. He left his card inside, reminding you to give your prints as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

She felt older than her parents combined, moving without grace. Missing most of what her mother said while her father went through all the rooms, she declined their generous offer to stay and help her get comfortable.

“I already made up your bed with clean sheets and put some food in the fridge for you,” her mother said.

“Call if you need anything,” her father added.

Shana unpacked right away, and followed her regime of leaving no clutter or anything left undone before she could relax. She found just the right spot for the candleholders on her small kitchen table. She topped them with lemon-scented tea lights from a kitchen drawer and smiled at the thought of Creighton seeing the candles in their new home.

She called Rita after dinner and asked about the troubled youth left in their program.

Rita asked about Creighton.

Shana fumbled for words, couldn't find any.

“I know my brother. I have this strong sense that he loves you. It carries through when he phones me. But he hasn't acknowledged it to himself yet,” Rita said.

Dare she hope?

“Tomorrow I'm going to formulate a battle plan in order to get the program back on its feet. And especially salvage your position, Rita.”

After the phone call, Shana rooted around in her small duplex. Though much larger than the cabin, she felt stifled. She went into the small backyard and couldn't see the stars. The milky glow in the sky brought tears of longing for the expanse she had marveled over the night before, bundled in a sleeping bag on the cabin deck.

Sunday morning the jangling phone jostled her from sleep. Her alarm almost hit the floor, but she managed to save it a second before picking up her cell.

“Hello?” she mumbled.

A deep rumbling chuckle thwacked her wide awake.

“Creighton?”

“Morning, Sunshine. How's my city girl?”

“I'm fine.”
I
j
ust wish I was with you.
“Is anything wrong?”

“Not a thing. I wanted to make sure you got home safe and sound.”

Suddenly shy, Shana was speechless. Silence hummed. Then her mind and her voice meshed so she could answer. “Thanks for calling. I should have reached you earlier. I'm fine, Creigh. But, I'm feeling sad for Rita.”

“Why?”

“She didn't tell you about her job situation?”

“Not in detail. She probably figured that I'd hightail it down there.”

Tension mounted in the pause.

“You gonna tell me, or do I have to hit the road?”

“Looks like there's no funding for her position after the baby's born.”

“What?” he roared.

Shana's eyes rounded in appreciation of his protective nature, which warmed her through and through.

“She's not worried about it, Creighton. She'll receive pay through the maternity leave, at least that's what she was told. You know Rita, she's trusting that God will take care of her family.”

Shana pictured him running his hands through his hair or scrubbing his eyes to ease the frustration.

“I'll call her later and let her know I'm praying for her. But you call if she needs me.”

“Of course.”

Silence again. Shana longed to know what Creighton was thinking.

He finally spoke, “I'll say so long then. You take care.”

“You, too.”

But he didn't hang up.

“Creigh?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“No, I can tell you're bothered about something. “Talk to me. Please.”

“Mitchell. Howie Mitchell.” He blurted.

She swallowed and hoped he couldn't hear it. “What about him?”

“Did you meet him at Leslie's old place?”

“I didn't meet him, Creighton. We ran into each other.”

She imagined his jaw popping and clenching.

“Creighton, are you feeling jealous?” She couldn't hold back the smile that formed.
As if Howie Mitchell could ever be the man for me.

It was much easier, and more fulfilling to concentrate on Creighton's feelings instead of home invasion. She wasn't going to mention the crime scene tape or getting printed at the police station.

“I don't know what I feel. Angry, maybe.”

“To me, what you feel is as important as what you think. So if you think I planned to meet some guy out in the middle of nowhere—which I can't fathom as possible unless he sent a homing pigeon—and you're feeling angry or jealous about it, then I think you need to come to terms with what I mean to you. Plain and simple.” She took a deep breath and released it in a huff.