Creighton's Hideaway (5 page)

“Screech owl. That's how they scare their prey.”

“A simple ‘
who-o-o'
won't do?” They both laughed at her poor owl imitation. She stepped aside so he could enter the cabin. “Want some juice or anything?” she offered.

“Sure, if you're going to be up for a while.”

“I have to, or I won't be able to sleep later. I need to get these fingers tapping on the keyboard.” She filled two glasses with cranberry juice, thankful that she wore an oversized football jersey and long flannel pants.

They crossed the room to sit in opposite corners of the couch.

“What do you do at night, Creighton, after your walks?” His surprised expression drew an unladylike snort from her, but he didn't answer. She asked again, “How do you pass the time all by yourself?”

“Not even Rita has asked me what I do with my evenings. When she and Ray visit, we play Scrabble or dominoes, or watch some DVD they bring along.”

She waited while he gulped the rest of his juice. He slanted a sheepish grin. “Promise you won't laugh?”

She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows, but didn't respond.

“I write poetry,” he answered in a low voice.

“What kind?”

“Some call it cowboy poetry.” One side of his mouth quirked down. He lowered his eyes. “That means it rhymes.” So he wasn't reticent on paper.

“What's it about? The range, cattle, stuff like that?”

“And more. To me it's what I know. And feel. God seems bigger out here. Or maybe I feel smaller.”

“He sure made me feel small the first time I compared my carefree world to the mistreatment so many children have suffered.”

“You can't feel guilty about that. You have a big heart. God chooses the families and places for us to be born into.”

She bounced to her feet and took three steps, which brought her nose-to-nose with the window glass. When would she shake this off? This getting her dander up whenever Creighton talked about God? Why were her reactions so close to the surface? It was more than her seclusion. Where was the control that had always been second nature to her? That uneasy, sick undercurrent of wrong swam in her gut again. How could she return to her job as a leader, a person for young people to turn to? She shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to rid herself of the source of her pain. The misery remained.

Creighton's breath brushed over her hair and his gentle touch warmed her shoulders. “Things won't calm down for you until you let it go, Shana.”

Her shoulders slumped. Her voice broke, “But, I've never felt so out of my comfort zone, like I have no control. I had my whole agenda in place and wasn't going to do anything about completing my degree for several more months. A couple of those kids need me. My whole foundation has been messed up.”

“I can understand how you feel. I've been there. Guilty because you're not doing what you're responsible for. But guilt doesn't come from God, Shana. Instead, He draws attention to our sinful nature. Trust Rita and the rest of the staff while you're gone. Finish what you came here to do.”

Shana slid away from Creighton's touch. “You'd better go. Maybe God works for you, but I haven't seen Him work for me.”

She tried to work. She really did. But what entered her mind shattered and scattered. She needed to call her dad. Tomorrow.

Deep inside, she knew something was going on at home.

 

****

 

Creighton's stomp through the night didn't release the hold Shana had on his senses. She had looked so lost, staring through the glass. “How do I reach her, Lord?”

The resident great-horned owl seemed to echo his query, with a mournful cry that sounded like a “how” rather than a “who.”

“You won't spook me into running.” He relived the time just spent with Shana in her cabin. Her body was as taut as a new electric fence wire. He wanted to spend more time with her, which made no sense. He lived here on the ranch to avoid tense, money- and power-driven people. All he wanted was a simple life, with no hassles.

Shana was so filled with agitation that it affected him when he was near her.

Underneath the emotions that she revealed, he knew there lay a talented, giving soul.

Rita had shared some of the situations they ran into with the youth at the lock-down facility, how messed up the kids were. They all needed the leadership that Shana provided. He had witnessed her fight to hold herself together, to avoid any appearance of weakness.

What was it about her that wouldn't let him go? That thought jump-started his heart as effectively as the owl's hoot had. Her big expressive eyes, her freckles, her underlying spunk fighting for release. How good, how alive, he became in her presence? The instinct to wrap her in his arms and be all he could be, for her?

Creighton entered his home and paused inside the kitchen doorframe. A big house for just one man. How empty the rooms were. His steps echoed through the great room on the way to his lonely bedroom.

 

****

 

Shana rolled to her side yet again, thinking of her comfortable, roomy bed back in Lincoln. Not that this bed wasn't OK, the mattress was even cushioned with memory foam. And it was warm.

“But it's not home,” she moaned. A tear escaped, and dried on her cheek. She drifted off to sleep, only to dream of a sinister presence in her home, touching and taking her belongings.

When Shana next woke, dawn was spreading its wings across the sky. She smiled, stretched, and marveled at the fulfillment of a few hours rest. Her next thought was of Creighton. She wanted to see him, to feel his presence. Maybe they could do something together today.

Would he want to spend time with her, after the way she had treated him last night?

She bounded out of bed, eager to shower, enjoy her coffee, and make it a good day. She would not dwell at all on circumstances out of her control. She could not control or change the backgrounds of others. She'd refuse to focus on the The Pines getting along without her, or the fact that this retreat was forced on her by her boss. She'd do what she had to, in order to reach youth so they would have brighter futures. She was done feeling sorry for herself.

Twenty minutes later, Shana leaned against the deck rail. A red squirrel scurried over the ground between the last pine tree of the windbreak and the cottonwood near her cabin. Her contemplation was interrupted with the clear alto notes of Valerie's voice singing from around the bend in the creek. She sang of peace, a river, and sorrows.

The notes soared closer and bobbed with the top of Valerie's hat as she neared.

The four-wheeler roared close and immediately ceased.

A duet ensued when Creighton's rich baritone voice joined Valerie's on the last line in the refrain.

The stereo effect caused laughter among the trio, followed by a chorus of greetings.

Valerie stopped at the foot of the deck steps and rested her palms on the walking stick. “I'm putting together a new chapter, so I won't stay. But I'll see you two later.”

They waved Valerie on.

Creighton's gaze fixed on Shana.

She couldn't look away.

“Would—”

“Creighton—”

They laughed again.

“Ladies first.”

“I'm sorry about last night. I was about to come looking for you. Do you have time to show me around today?”

“That's what I started to ask, if you would like to see some of the ranch.” He pointed at her bare feet. “Do you have hiking shoes with you?”

“My cross-trainers. Will they work?”

“Sure. It's getting too cool for the rattlers.”

“No way. As in rattlesnakes?” her voice shook with unease.

“I'm kidding again. I haven't seen one in years. I'll wait here until you're ready to get started.”

Shana made quick work of putting on socks and shoes, warmed by Creighton's rich voice and soft laughter. She slung the sleeves of a khaki shirt over her shoulders, and bounced through the door.

“Wow, you are fast,” Creighton commented.

Shana's fingers trembled as she tied the sleeves in a knot over her rust-colored T-shirt. Her quivery tummy made her wish she had eaten breakfast. Creighton's deep hazel eyes created a hunger that she recognized as being unfulfilled by a token bowl of cereal or piece of toast.

They turned and descended the board steps side-by-side.

“Do you want to start near the buildings or walk the creek?” he asked.

Shana considered. “Since I haven't exercised in days, how about the creek? I feel the need to really stretch my legs.”

“Sounds good to me.” Creighton placed a muscular arm over Shana's shoulders and steered her around the cabin towards the creek.

The breeze of the perfect day complemented the warmth of the sun. The sky was clear cerulean. Due to recent rains, some grasses were green except for those that had gone to seed. The cottonwoods were glazed with patches of yellow leaves, as though telling the world cooler days would soon approach.

Shana concentrated on breathing, taking in the sights, scents, and sounds.

They walked in companionable silence until they came to Valerie's cabin.

“Wait.” She placed her hand on Creighton's arm. “I just want to look at this.”

A bleached bovine skull, a rock collection, and dried grasses in an earthenware pot were accented by a sunflower and goldenrod frond on a stair step. A piece of petrified wood graced each side of the bottom step.

“She has an impressive variety of small artifacts inside,” Creighton answered her unvoiced question. “When Valerie comes here in July she walks in the water, rather than beside the creek, and picks up pieces of camel bone, dinosaur teeth, flints that seem to have been worked by American Indians.”

“Really?” Shana's eyes squinted against the sun. She used her free hand as a visor to look up at Creighton. “Amazing. That stuff is in your creek?”

Creighton's eyes crinkled back at her. “I call it God's creek. His gifts for our pleasure.”

She looked away from the glaring sun.

Creighton and his God. Again.

He moved to create a shadow for Shana, then shook her hand off his arm, only to catch it and wrap her fingers in his rough warmth. “We need to find you a hat.”

She met his gaze and was captivated by how green his eyes appeared. She saw flecks of rust and golden brown in their hazel depths. A lump formed in her throat. Her whole being reacted to his touch, sparked by the meeting of their hands.

She looked back at the oddments adorning Valerie's deck. Her mouth went dry. She gave her head a small shake, a vain attempt to focus on something other than Creighton's effect on her.

Creighton paused to grin. He deepened his voice to mimic that of a narrator. “Whole herds of prehistoric animals were buried under the ash in this part of the state. And the rest, they say, is history.”

Shana jostled him with her shoulder. “I'm glad Valerie has touched history here.”

Creighton turned back towards the creek.

Shana lost her footing.

He reached out a steadying hand. “You OK?”

“I'm kind of lightheaded.”

“I don't suppose you've eaten yet,” he reprimanded, as though speaking to a younger sister.

She shrugged, feeling sheepish. “Too much caffeine, and not enough food.”

He led her to a shady spot. “Sit.” From a small pack that hung from his belt, Creighton thrust a silver wrapped rectangle at her. “Eat.”

Shana bit into the berries and nuts of the whole grain energy bar, thankful for his care, yet upset with herself for her negligence. She ate and watched the gentle flow of the water in the creek. The bar was gone in seconds. She folded the wrapper and stretched to slip it into her pants pocket.

Her breath caught, her line of vision concentrated on Creighton. He guzzled a long drink from a water bottle, making muscles define across his shoulders and along his arms. His legs looked just as strong. She glanced away when he lowered the bottle.

Was her heart in trouble here? Her head was no longer dizzy, but a clenching remained in her stomach that had not one iota to do with hunger.

“Water should help.” Creighton held the bottle out to her.

She stood on shaky legs and thanked him. Her lips fixed where his had been. After four gulps, she handed it back, avoiding his eyes. She should have her own provisions. Next time, she vowed, as she looked forward to more time spent with the handsome rancher poet. “Thanks again, Creighton. I'll bet you think I've been acting like a child.” She gazed off into the distant hills.

“Not at all. You're just a bit out of your element here. Now, I'd be lost in your environment at the youth center.”

She shook her head and grinned. “You'd better not be lost out here. You're leading me!”

A bob-white whistled from a small plum thicket across the creek. Creighton answered the quail. As with his mimicked cricket trill, Shana couldn't tell the difference between man and fowl.

He smiled down at her, and reached out a hand. “Ready to go?”

She placed her hand in his, more comfortable than the first time, and they continued on. In some places they had to step a few feet away from the water where twisted foliage, soupy mud dotted with green lichen, or piles of limestone interrupted a smooth path.

As much as Shana wanted to soak in the landscape, she focused on her footing.

The cattle drank from this water in the deeper spots and their deposits had to be avoided.

In a tall bunch of wheat grass the brown length of a huge feather protruded. She plucked it from its resting place. “What a giant feather! Creighton, what is this? Turkey? Hawk? Eagle?”

“That's from a red-tailed hawk. We can see many eagles in flight along the river. You'll probably run across a turkey feather or two out here. They are narrower and longer.”