Creighton's Hideaway (6 page)

Shana tucked the end of the feather in the knot of her folded shirt sleeves and they continued on. Somewhere along the hike, she'd relaxed. The knot in her belly no longer threatened to choke her.

But she was ever aware of the man by her side, linked as though they were a unit. The great outdoors was also growing on her. Lincoln, her duplex, her job, didn't exist here. She stopped and turned to Creighton. “Could I have another drink, please?” She closed her eyes as she tipped back her head.

Then while Creighton drank, Shana cupped her hand over her eyes and gazed off towards the mounded ridges.

“When I was a kid and saw bluffs like that from the road, I'd look at the hills and want to go explore.” She turned back to meet Creighton's gaze. “Do you ever picture buffalo and Indians and horses when you look at the land?”

“A lot. I often wonder what it was like a hundred and fifty years ago. Or two hundred, when Lewis and Clark went through this part of the country. Exploring gets us in touch with the earth, and the sky. I would have loved it.” He ran his hands through his hair and then down his face. “I admit, I love it now!”

Shana knew without reservation that she also had it in her to love this land, and maybe even this man. Her eyes opened wide at the idea. Where had that come from? She had enough problems to deal with. A relationship? No way. The timing was all wrong.

Creighton swung his gaze back to Shana. “So, did you see a lot of hills from the road?”

“Sometimes Dad took us on trips. Mom and I went along when he guest lectured at other universities. He said history is learned as much by traveling and the discovery of new experiences, as by getting the information from books. Or teachers. But we stayed near universities in big cities.” She reached out again for the water bottle, and handed it back to him nearly empty. “Creighton, I've wondered why you don't have horses. I would think you need them in certain rough terrain.”

“I used to have horses.” He gazed off into the distance, loss shadowing his face. “Circumstances change. Now I keep busy with the cabins. The pickup works and I've got my ORV.”

“Your what?”

“My quad.”

She shot him a blank look.

“Off Road Vehicle, the four-wheeler,” he clarified then added, “Lord willing, I'll have horses again. Some day.”

They resumed their quick pace. Shana had paid no attention to the thickening brush along the creek until a path led off to another cabin. Situated between a plum thicket and cedar trees, it blended right in with the landscape.

“So, is this one of the rustic ones?”

“Sure is, complete with the little windowless building covering a deep hole out back.”

Shana grinned and rolled her eyes. “You said two cabins are used by hunters?”

The mottled brown roof drew her attention. She could see how an animal might perceive the dwelling as part of the environment. The front door set off a porch facing west, but there were no other windows on that side.

What a good place for someone to hide.

What a crazy idea. She chased away the scary thought. “So, what do they hunt?”

“Deer, of course. Wild turkey are near just to the north and west. Not really enough trees here for their cover. Some pheasant, but the population is dying out.”

“The land is really something, isn't it, Creighton? It almost breathes and grows on its own.”

He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. “Sounds like you could become a transplant, friend of my sis. The land does have a life of its own, one that's God-breathed.”

Why did he always spoil things with talk about God?

Creighton squeezed her once more. “And I don't want to live anywhere else.”

She heaved a deep sigh and almost lost her footing in her rush to put space between her and this man who had her insides all atremble. She glanced back at the hidden cabin. She had no name for the disquiet that slithered through her.

 

 

 

 

5

 

“Should we head back? Our water's gone and you're probably ready for lunch.” Creighton's voice soothed like a soft breeze.

Before long, the lowing of cattle drew Shana's attention to the gathering herd near a stock tank at the base of a small hill. She glanced at Creighton when she caught sight of a man.

“That's Roger Mills, checking the float in the water tank and changing the mineral block for his cattle.”

Surprised, she blurted, “The cows aren't yours?”

“Nah. I sold all ours after my dad died so I could pay off the mortgage at the bank. Rog rents the pasture for his cows and calves. Helps pay the taxes and keeps the ranch afloat.” Creighton waved.

Roger lifted his hat and simultaneously opened his truck door. He gave a shout, then the sound was drowned out by the engine revving to life.

Creighton led her to a narrow bend in the creek where he stepped across. He was just turning when she jumped over. She lost her balance and grabbed onto his waistband. His strength enfolded her during their awkward dance.

Her nerve endings hummed at the contact with his strong body. Their laughter was interrupted.

The rickety truck approached. The pickup jolted to a stop. Roger Mills jumped out of the cab and shook Creighton's hand.

Creighton introduced his friend, and Roger tipped his hat Shana's way in the manner of someone who'd stepped off the movie set of an old western. His scruffy beard and hooded eyes had the look of a man who spent his life outdoors.

Shana enjoyed watching the men joke back and forth. She paid more attention to their expressions and lively banter than to their actual words.

What was the cliché about a New York minute? Time was endless here in the lazy sunshine. The moderate temperature and blue sky were perfect in her estimation—a different world. Had Shana's drive to succeed, and her perfectionism, kept her from living in the moment? Here, and now, she smiled and drew a deep breath, standing tall.
I am living in the moment.

A shrill, grinding squawk yanked her gaze from the distant horizon.

“Hey,” Creighton scrunched his nose and yelled. “When you gonna fix your truck? Sounds like a cricket with laryngitis.”

Roger gave a good belly laugh, tipped his hat, and turned his pickup back towards the cows.

 

****

 

The day had warmed up so much that Creighton was wet with sweat by the time they reached Shana's cabin. He tried to jerk off his red flannel shirt, but the tail caught in his hip pack. The movement checked his desire to touch Shana. Was there a name for this push-pull thing? He was drawn to her. He itched to lighten her load.

She had no place here.

But there was no reason to treat her as anyone different than a friend. A friend of his sister's, and Rita trusted him to be decent to Shana.

She was also here on a temporary basis. Besides, she was out of his league.

He yanked the shirt free. “I've got plenty to keep me busy. I kind of took the morning off, so I'll catch you later.”

Shana's face fell.

He figured she was going to invite him to eat, prolong their time together.

Thoughts of how lost she looked when she told him good-bye, obviously puzzled over his abrupt leave-taking, rode with him while he and the quad hummed to his house.

Man, I've got to get into a project. She's not going to be here long enough for us to know each other well. Besides, I don't need a woman to mess up my life.

Yet, memories of Shana wouldn't leave him. He pictured her mouth as she spoke and as she smiled. Shana's sweetly shaped lips were full. Natural pink and kissable. Dare he kiss her?

He parked and turned off his quad, and then pocketed the key, thankful for the action that calmed his wandering thoughts.

The first thing Creighton noticed when he walked into the kitchen was the light that blinked on the answering machine. He walked by the telephone on the counter and opened the refrigerator. He stood there with the door open, while cold air misted around his over-heated body. He swigged three-fourths of a carton of orange juice. The juice container went back on the shelf, and he shut the door with a swing of his elbow. He swiped the moisture off his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned. The walk with Shana had been all right. Country life seemed to agree with her.

“If she'd just eat so she doesn't fall over,” he said to the empty room.

He turned to access the message. There were two.

“Hey, Creigh, just checking on things. How's Shana? Is she eating? Are you keeping her company? She might get down while she's there. We miss her here at work. It's tense though, undercurrents for some reason. I gave your number to Professor Arnold. He's trying to reach her. Guess that's all. Love ya.”

“Love you too, sis,” he mumbled as the tape continued.

“Edmond Arnold here,” an older male voice boomed into the room, “Rita gave me this number. Please have Shana call her parents. We couldn't get through on her cell. I don't know what's up, but I need her to call me about some bank business.”

Creighton waited for the beep and pushed the button to save messages. He sighed and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Can't I pull myself together before I face her again, Lord?” He splayed his fingers across his face, and then dug them into his hair, trying to ease some of his tension. “Guess there's a reason for her being here, since You make no mistakes.”

He considered returning immediately to tell Shana of the calls, but opted for a short detour to make a sandwich. He added tomato juice to the stew he'd prepared earlier. Eventually he grabbed an apple and his cap, and then headed back to his newest tenant's cabin, walking off some of his frustration rather than taking the quad.

He continued to fixate on Shana's features. There was no forgetting that smile. It was so hard not to focus on her mouth. Hers was indeed a mouth he itched to kiss.

 

****

 

Shana glided around the cabin in an attempt to figure out what to do with the pretty brown hawk feather. She recalled her dad saying that Indians believed an eagle's feather shouldn't touch the ground after it had fallen and been picked up. She finally laid the feather on the table.

When Valerie's arrangement came to mind, Shana grabbed a knife from the drawer and went outside. She wandered a bit. Her eyes rested on the hills each time she stood after gathering varied colored grasses. A stand of crimson-tinted sumac caught her eye, but the crimson leaves rose across the creek, too far to retrieve.

She recalled how Creighton had pointed out some sumac shrubs on their walk earlier. The scrubby plant could be used for tanning, dyeing, and even medicine. Snippets of a lighthearted song trailed after those thoughts of Creighton. The morning had been one without complaint, all that time spent with him. She made a mental note to remember water and maybe something to eat for her next long hike, chastising herself for earlier naïveté.

Inside, Shana rummaged through the cupboards and finally used the coffee can—after she dumped the contents in a sandwich bag and stuck it in the small freezer—to arrange the eagle feather and gathered grasses. She wrapped a red checkered dishtowel around the can to cover the label, and placed it on the table.

“Now that's a nice touch.” Such a small thing, yet the action proved that she wasn't totally useless. A few minutes later, she admired the arrangement while eating yogurt and a salad.

“Hello, the cabin.”

Shana valued his courtesy. Haste had replaced manners for many hurried Lincolnites.

Creighton had listened to her request for a heads-up. He, or anyone, could just walk around the deck, appear on the other side of the glass, and scare the wits out of her.

That didn't take much effort lately.

She swallowed her bite of carrot and yelled, “It's open.”

He stood a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the indoor light.

Her body revved to full alert.

His gaze skittered over her before settling somewhere over her right shoulder.

She ignored her obvious warmth and tried to sound lighthearted. “Hi again.”

He didn't return the greeting. What was with his lack of response? The smile she wanted to greet him with died before it was born.

Creighton had yet to look her in the eye. “There were a couple of calls for you. Your dad said something about the bank trying to reach you. And Rita. Feel free to use the phone any time. You'll see it in the kitchen. House is always open. I'm headed down to work on some old tack in the barn.” And just like that, he was out the closed door.

Had Rita ever mentioned how moody her brother was?

Shana took a bite of yogurt. The cherry vanilla now tasted like mud. She rinsed it down the sink. She tossed the rest of her salad over the deck rail, hoping to catch sight of a squirrel or rabbit, glad that the threat of rattlesnakes wasn't viable. She mulled over the bank situation as she walked to Creighton's house. How serious could it be?

Discomfort entered the empty ranch house with Shana, where the rich aroma of cooking beef greeted her. Instead of warming her stomach, the scent churned the knot that balled there. Shana noticed the condensed moisture on the lid of the slow cooker not far from the telephone.

“What a guy. He cooks.” She shook her head over that silliness. “Of course he cooks. No fast food way out here.”

Shana dialed the familiar number. “Hi, Daddy. How's Mom?”

“We're fine. The point is how are you, stuck so far out in the boondocks by yourself?”

“I'm not exactly by myself, and I guess I'm OK. I don't like relying on Creighton so much, though.”

“That's Rita's brother, right?”

“He's a nice guy,” Her voice softened with the statement.