Creighton's Hideaway (9 page)

Would a future baby someday be conceived in this home?

Would she ever know the joys of motherhood?

She found Rita's room and took note of the offered clothing before heading outside, but decided to investigate the fit later. “Back to the world of finishing life as a student.”

She opened the door.

The fog had cleared.

Damp air surrounded her as well as birdsong. “I wish I felt like singing. What could be going on at work that we've lost half our clients?”
And good staff
, she thought as she walked.

In her cabin, Shana looked over her notes and clarified a few sentences. But her mind wasn't on the task, so she grabbed a bottle of water and went down the back deck steps. The day had turned humid and warmer. At the base of an ash tree, she grabbed a thick tapered walking stick for balance for when the contours of the land changed.

Shana strode onward, lost in the calm beauty of her surroundings. How much of the scenery belonged to Creighton?

A dove cooed. The breeze caressed her cheek. A hawk soared low, its wing tips curled. Once she had left the cabin, man intruded. The sky wasn't blue enough to trace the contrail, but she heard the thunder of the distant jet engines. She had heard people who loved the land refer to it as “God's country.” Was this God's country?

Creighton and Valerie would say so.

Shana walked for an hour, her thoughts circling often to Creighton. Did he long for a female companion? Were his books and poems enough to warm him during bitter Nebraska winters? His touch had been that of a friend when they stood and watched the deer. Her heart whispered,
He's more than a friend.
How had he thought of her in those moments?

Near her cabin, she capped the bottle and searched for a narrow spot to cross the creek.

Creighton hailed her, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

Why hadn't she jumped when she heard his voice? Because he belonged to this land? Or because he belonged in her thoughts?

“You ran down that hill so fast I thought you might go into a somersault.” He looked wonderful.

She had the urge to jump into his arms, but giggled instead. “It felt really good. I think this place is growing on me.”

“I headed your way because I wanted to make sure everything was OK after you talked to Rita.” He sobered, and looked deep into her eyes. “Do you need a ride back to Lincoln?”

Those skittering feelings raced through Shana again, until she had to look away from his penetrating hazel eyes. “Thanks for the offer, Creighton. Rita's concerned about some things that are happening at work, but she said they can handle it without me for now.”

Shana brought her gaze back to his. “She sends her love.”

The word hovered in the air before he responded with a simple, “Thanks.”

“I'm starving. Have you had lunch?”

He burst out laughing. “You're healing, woman. If you're hungry, not all is wrong with your world.”

He reached out and his fingers encircled the back of her neck in a gentle, playful manner. Their eyes locked. She remembered the night before and again thought of his kiss. Correction. The kiss that almost was.

She zeroed in on his mouth. The expanse around her ceased to exist. Her world was filled with Creighton.

 

****

 

Who am I kidding? Here I thought I could treat her like a kid sister, or my kid sister's friend. Not going to happen.

Creighton's contemplation of Shana continued while he fought to make his hands behave. When she was near, his hands had a mind of their own. At the touch of his fingers to her softness, it took all of his self-control not to pull her close.

“We're going to have to talk about this, Creighton.” Her voice came from a long way off.

“Huh?”

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Shana was warm from her sprint down the hill. Could she feel his rapid pulse?

“This.” Her breath came out as a whisper. “Creighton. Is it possible to be only friends?”

Had she read his mind? He drew back his hand, and his fingers brushed hers as they passed. A movement near the buildings caught his attention.

His friend's pickup.

Relief flashed through him at the reprieve. “I just remembered something I need to talk to Rog about.” He shot her a brief glance. “We probably should talk. Later.”

He all but ran in his haste to get away from her.

“Hey, bud, what's your hurry?” Roger Wells asked as Creighton approached.

“Figured you might need some help. Haven't talked to you for a few days.”

Roger nodded at Shana rooted in the same spot Creighton had left her. He slid Creighton a lopsided grin. “I imagine you've been a little preoccupied. She's quite a looker, in a lost-little-girl sort of way.”

A zing of irritation zipped through Creighton at the prospect that a younger Roger could make him jealous.
Whoa.

“Bet she's a lot more woman than she looks—”

Creighton cut off his friend. “She's got a truck load of business—getting a degree and keeping her job.” He looked back. Shana was now out of sight. “She doesn't need a man butting into her life on top of it.”

“I'm just a recycled teenager myself, you know.” Roger let loose with his gravelly laugh before he finished. “Can't help but notice such a good-lookin' filly.”

“There is more to Shana than her looks, Rog. She's stressed. She's probably in financial trouble. And that raises my protective instincts. She means a lot to Rita and you know how I love Rita. Shana's a savvy career woman. A city woman. I doubt she even owns a pair of jeans.” He stared off into the distance.

“You're sold on her all right.” Roger took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh before he returned the dusty protection to his head.

Creighton lowered his eyes and watched the tail end of a striped ground squirrel disappear in the dirt. Then in frustration, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “That's why it won't work. She'll go back to her job in Lincoln. And the big difference between us, she doesn't believe in God. According to the Bible, I can't get mixed up with her.”

Roger pushed up the bill of his sweat-stained hat, scratched his hairline, set the hat back in place, and studied Creighton from beneath the rim. “I'm not book educated, but I'd say you're already mixed up with her.”

That's the truth
.

“But what do I have to give her? There's always the possibility that I'll end up a mean old drunk like my old man. I don't have a steady income. I'm moody.”

“Aw shucks, I just realized I forgot my violin,” Roger interrupted with a mime to go along with his words. “OK, I agree that you're moody. But I would imagine that she can make you laugh. You kept up your real estate license, right?”

Creighton nodded.

“There you go. You have a resource if you need to make money. Put that faith of yours into practice and go with the flow. Be honest with yourself. Do you think it's a mistake that she's here on the ranch?” The more he talked, the rougher Roger's voice rasped.

“You've given me something to think about, pal. Now I better take it all to the Lord.” Creighton rubbed the back of his neck, feigned a punch at Roger. “Mind if I ride along with you for a while?”

“Glad to have the company. Just don't ruin my tunes by singing along.” Roger spoke the last five words as notes to an unnamed song.

“If you'd ever get with the program and play country tunes, I'd know ‘em all so I wouldn't spoil your precious rock ‘n roll,” Creighton jibed.

He pushed Shana to the back of his mind, with the certainty she would stay in his thoughts much longer than she'd be on the ranch.

 

 

 

 

8

 

Shana organized her notes, selected the best parts of her interviews, and cut and pasted text for two hours without leaving her chair. She stood and stretched and rolled kinked muscles then searched for a diversion from the bookcase. As much as she treasured her old classics, she found her mind too scattered to get into any fictional muddled shenanigans.

A Nebraska magazine with a wooly bison on the cover slid from the stack so she took it outside. She looked up from the deck bench and scanned the skies. Still gray. A glance back down at her book page revealed the tiniest movement. Shana soon became enthralled by a tiny white spider. Its clam-shaped claws grew larger than its body. Against the white of the page, the spider looked yellow. She watched the creature crawl to the edge of the page and then disappear on its web.

What would it be like to disappear on a web like that? She slammed the magazine closed.
Maybe I have disappeared for a while, here in Creighton's hideaway.

She slid to the side of the narrow bench in search of the elusive golden spider, and shivered. A premonition crawled down her spine. The old cliché, “someone walking on my grave,” held new meaning.

“A life chapter. Is that what I'm going through here?” Saying it out loud made it a transition of sorts.

The sky may have been gray, but the earth was too full of color for her to lose herself in mental blues. There was nothing wrong with this compassion she harbored towards the downtrodden. Even if she wanted to cry, she'd face it head-on, and take some kind of action for their treatment.

She repeated the grief steps out loud, tears streaming as she pictured those in group therapy who struggled so with the steps in an attempt to overcome their dysfunctional backgrounds. Why in the world could she feel the emotion so strongly herself? She quivered. Was a hard knock in life about to hit her personally? No way would she wait for it. She'd walk off the uneasiness and be ready for the unknown.

She skipped down the deck steps. What was Creighton doing? She wouldn't seek him out. She'd take up Valerie on her invitation to visit. In front of the now familiar cabin down the creek, Shana stretched her hand over a fist-sized piece of petrified wood.

The door creaked, drawing Shana upright.

“Hi, how did you know I really needed a break right now?” Valerie smiled her greeting, hugging her shoulders to remove her own kinks.

“Can't say I did, but I needed more company than my own thoughts,” Shana said with an answering grin.

“You look like you have lots of mixed thoughts.” Valerie grabbed the bottom of her denim skirt and held the fabric so it wouldn't swirl against Shana's shoulder as she came up the steps. On the same level, she wrapped a companionable arm around Shana's waist. “I do get lonely for another woman at times. Do you drink tea?”

“Sure do.”

“Come on in then. I have an herbal assortment.”

Valerie's personalized cabin greeted Shana with comfort and warmth. Sky blue, beige, and burgundy quilts in geometric and southwestern designs covered the couch and bed. A peaceful, quilted fabric scene graced each wall.

“These are lovely!” Shana stood in the center of the room and rotated in a thorough attempt to absorb the various shades and textures. A rustic wooden rocker sat at the foot of the bed with a quilt in progress draped over the arm.

“Did you make the quilted wall hanging in the cabin where I stay?” Shana asked.

“Yes. I've made three for Creighton. He kept one and put one in each of the front two cabins.” Valerie handed Shana her tea bag in a mug of hot water on a saucer. “Milk or sugar?”

Shana shook her head and glanced at the table. Scattered notes and books teetered in piles next to a closed laptop.

Performing a balancing act, Valerie seated herself on the edge of the couch. She set her own tea, along with a heaping plate of gingersnap cookies, on a narrow antique bench with faded red paint that served as a coffee table.

“As you can see, I don't use the table for meals. This is my spot unless I'm outside.” Valerie patted the cushion next to her and swished her tea bag in the hot water.

They steeped their tea in placid togetherness a few moments, watching the birds flit along the creek outside the glass wall.

Valerie blew, took a tentative sip of her tea. Then she blurted, “Creighton means ‘from the estate near the creek.'”

“Excuse me?” Shana frowned at her new friend.

“I'm sorry. I often speak my thoughts out loud. Refuse to admit that I talk to myself.”

Shana admired Valerie's ability to laugh at herself.

“‘From the estate by the creek' is the literal meaning of Creighton's name. I have a thing for word and name sources when it comes to my writing,” Valerie explained.

“From the estate near the creek,” Shana repeated. She felt her smile grow as she pictured Creighton on the land he nurtured. “The name fits all right.”

“I like Creighton. He's a fine man. But at times he is his own worst enemy.” Valerie seemed to listen to her thoughts during a few sips of tea.

“How do you mean?” Shana spouted the question before she thought about it, regretting the encouragement to take the conversation further. But she wanted to know the answer.

“He's too hard on himself. As much as I believe he loves the Lord, he hasn't accepted total forgiveness and slips back into his past on occasion.”

“Is that why he comes off as moody at times?” Shana sipped her own tea and toyed with the idea of snatching another cookie off the plate trimmed in cobalt-blue.

“I'm sure that's part of it. But you'll have to ask him. Actually, I think he needs to talk some things out.” Valerie finished her tea, picked up a cookie, and folded her legs underneath her long skirt. She plumped a pillow and rested her back against the arm of the couch before turning to Shana. “Speaking of which, do you need to talk things out?”

“Don't we all? Rehashing those stark interviews with troubled youth made me consider the pampered way I grew up.” Shana breathed deeply and on the exhale looked out the window. “Sometimes I just want to be a little girl again and cuddle up on my daddy's lap. I always felt safe and secure around him. I loved spending hours on end in his office in Oldfather Hall on the Lincoln city campus.”