Creighton's Hideaway

by LoRee Peery

  At nine o’clock Shana returned to her office with a second cup of coffee, surprised to see Max Collins, a board member, seated in her guest chair. While she walked around the corner of her desk, he stood and closed the door. Her smile of greeting faded, and the insides of her stomach went to war in response to his closed expression.

  “There’s no other way to say this, Ms. Arnold.” Back in the chair, he looked at the folded hands in his lap. He cleared his throat. “Except right up front. We’re closing down your age group of the program. Placement has been procured for the remaining four youth.”

  The rush of her pounding heart flooded her ears. If she were standing, her knees would have gone. Oh, dear God, what do I do now? What else could happen? She stared, waiting for more.

  Collins complied. “Don’t take this personally. It’s really nothing you’ve done, Ms. Arnold.” He glanced up, somewhere over her head. “Due to a misappropriation of money on the part of one of our board members, there is no longer funding for the program.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t see at all.

  “There’s no need to organize anything, just to leave again. You’ve got ‘til the end of the week.” He braced his hands on his knees and stood. He held out his hand, all the while looking at her buttoned collar.

  “End of the week?” she squeaked, managed to clear her throat. “I agree. There is no need to dig into anything. I’ll quit now, after saying good-bye to the kids. You make sure I get paid for this week and then I’ll leave my keys and ID card.”

  “I’ll give you a well-deserved, excellent reference. Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry? In these economic times? And do you have any idea the trouble I’m in outside the job?”

  “You can expect a bright future once you have your master’s degree in hand.”

  Shana wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to run back to Creighton’s ranch. Her coffee grew cold. She sat. She stood. She leaned. She went for more coffee. Her hand brushed a pink message slip next to the phone when she returned to her desk. Investigator Shelbourne needed her to call. Urgent.

  “Does the name Sammi Ambrose mean anything to you?”

  “Uh, vaguely. Why?”

  “The print we found.”

  Shana frowned in an attempt to clear the overload of assaults. “I’ll call you if I remember. But this is really a bad time.” Had they said good-bye?

  Trembling, not giving conscious thought to what she was doing, she gathered her few personal belongings. Her quivering fingers hit more wrong letters than correct ones as she typed an email to Rita asking if she’d box up Shana’s two cactus plants in a day or two. A whimper escaped. She pushed in her keyboard lap tray. She dropped her head into her hands.

  Why now, God? I was bouncing back from the loss of my money. Now it’s the loss of my job. And, who in the world is Sammi Ambrose? Shana straightened, and lifted her chin. I will not cave in. Not now. Not here. She snagged her lap tray and attacked the computer keys, erasing all files that didn’t pertain to the program, and messages from her e-mail inbox.

  And what was in Rita’s future?

  Later, she couldn’t remember speaking to anyone on her way out of the building. She walked to her mother’s car in the parking garage, and in a daze, drove to her duplex. Once there, she thanked God for getting her through south Lincoln safely.

  She settled in to the familiar, shocking numbness, unable to feel or think. Somewhere deep inside, she was angry. But right now, she didn’t have the energy to follow through. She lumbered around in a daze. At one point, she pulled out her high school yearbook, wondering why the idea came to look inside for Sammi Ambrose, but she couldn’t muster the oomph to open it.

  Hours passed.

  She opened her eyes to a darkened bedroom. Could a person pass out from shock? Her head buzzed at a loud pounding that would not stop.

  The hammering thuds came again, and she realized it was not inside her head after all.

  On legs that trembled with every step, she went to the door. Did those fingers belong to her? She had such a hard time turning the dead bolt.

  “Shana? Come on, baby, please open the door!”

  Creighton! Creighton was here?

  The lock finally cooperated. The door knob turned at the same time.

  “Shana. Oh, thank God.”

  He was here.

  She was in his arms.

  But why was he shaking? Or was that her?

  “Oh, look at you. You’re as cold as ice. Come here.”

  They did a four-legged shuffle over to the sofa. He gathered her onto his lap and swaddled her in a wine-colored fleece throw. Then he wrapped her up, blanket and all.

  The phone rang.

  They ignored it.

  Creighton murmured phrases that she couldn’t make out, but the breadth of his chest combined with the rumbling comfort of his voice seeped into her consciousness.

  Little by little, inch by inch, through Creighton’s physical support, Shana started to thaw.

  When the buzzing became a dull hum in her head, she managed to speak. “Creigh? Why are you here?”

  “Rita called.”

  “Rita!” She pushed against his chest and sat up. “They didn’t fire her, too?”

  “No.” He rubbed soothing circles over her shoulder and back. “They’ve found a spot for her working with elementary-aged kids in another program. Ray thinks The Pines undoubtedly wants to guard against a lawsuit because of her pregnancy.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “But I don’t think she’ll stay after the way they treated you.” He bracketed her head with his hands and caressed her cheeks with calloused thumbs.

  Shana attempted a smile, but it turned into tears.

  “Ray can watch over Rita. You are my concern.”

  Tears flowed unchecked as she turned her face into his cupped hand. “I’ve said thank you, Creighton, so many times.”

  “I don’t think I’ve done a thing. Yet.” His thumb wiped the moisture from her cheeks, one at a time. “Do you have tea? Something warm would help, I think.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth the tangles. “I must look frightful.”

  “Not to me. But if you feel like it, a clean face might help you feel better.”

  “Oh, boy. It must be bad.” She tried a chuckle but it came out a tiny moan. “Right, I’m up and at ‘em.” She followed her words with action and felt aged as she laboriously planted her feet on the floor. She reached for Creighton’s hand and preceded him into the kitchen.

  Once there, he pulled a chair out for her. “Now sit. Just direct me to where things are.”

  “Hey, Mr. Boss. I thought you wanted me to wash my face.”

  “Well, you’re here now. You can wash later.”

  “How about we compromise.” She tried to smile, finding it hard to believe that he was actually here. “Please run the water really warm, not hot, and hand me a cloth I’ve never used on the dishes. There, in that bottom left drawer.”

  “Now, who’s bossy?” Creighton teased back.

  Soon she buried her face in the lemon-yellow cloth and scrubbed it over her salty cheeks. Suddenly, she jerked away and dropped the cloth in her lap.

  “What?” Creighton knelt at her side.

  “I had a flash of that horrid perfume stink and how sick and all alone I felt when I discovered that some stranger had invaded my home.”

  He tossed the cloth over his shoulder and engulfed her with his warm hands. “I can’t say I know how you feel. But I can empathize.” He searched the depth of her eyes. “If God wants you to know who was responsible—”

  “The yearbook!” She stood, knocking Creighton off balance.

  “The what?” The poor guy looked confused. He leaned against the cupboard with his shoulder.

  “Investigator Shelbourne asked me if I knew Sammi Ambrose. I think I had some classes with her at Lincoln High.”

  “Take it
easy.” Creighton stood, placing a comfortable hand on each shoulder. “Sit back down. After your tea, we’ll have a look. Then Shelbourne, or whomever, will find her if she’s the culprit. Rest in that knowledge.” Creighton squeezed her shoulders. “Back to that tea. Just let me rinse the washcloth for you again.”

  “Herbal teabags are in the freezer.”

  He questioned via raised eyebrows.

  “I don’t drink it that often.” She took the warm cloth from his hand and smoothed it over her forehead. “Just rinse out the teakettle there for water.”

  He followed her directions, and then turned from the stove after adjusting the flame so the water could heat. “Cups?”

  She guided him to where things were.

  When all was ready but the water, including the plastic bear containing honey, he pulled out the other chair, but didn’t sit down next to Shana. Creighton wet the cloth at the sink and knelt next to her before gently wiping around her eyes.

  “Raccoon, huh?” Shana asked.

  “A beautiful one.” He repeated the toss, slinging the dishcloth over his shoulder without moving his gaze from her face. She heard it plop in the sink. Then he ran a caressing finger over her brows, one at a time. Creighton whispered, “Ah, friend of my sister, light of my life. Let me take care of you for a while.”

  She longed for him to do just that, but some deep instinct called for her to argue. “But, Creigh—”

  “Shh. I’m staying tonight. On the couch. You’ve had too many mind-numbing blows in just a few weeks.”

  “But good things have happened as well.” Could her heart glow through her eyes?

  “I’ll grant you that. You’ve established faith in the Lord.”

  “And I found you, on your wonderful ranch.”

  Her comment obviously pleased him.

  Creighton leaned back on his haunches and almost lost his balance. “You have some color in your face now,” he said, full grin in place. “Back to business. Tell me where that yearbook is. Then I’ll rustle up some grub.”

  She smiled at the cowboy slang. She closed her eyes for a moment to help her clear her thinking. “I’m not very hungry.” When she opened them, he was close enough she could count his eyelashes. She smiled at his single-mindedness. “I give in. How about chicken broth and buttered toast?”

  ****

  “Simple fare, I can handle,” Creighton answered. His insides had felt like a swarming beehive ever since his sister’s phone call. “You wanna keep me company or get comfy on the couch?”

  “I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.” She ran her fingers through her hair and the unruly curls bounced back into chaos.

  “Just stay where I can see you.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Her voice came out stronger, less tremulous.

  Creighton silently shot a thanks to the Lord.

  “Wait,” she sat straight up and glared at him. “There’s something wrong with this picture. I was your guest and you waited on me. Now you’re my guest and you’re still waiting on me!”

  How about if I share my want, no, my need for each of us to wait on the other for the next sixty years? The thought rocked him to his soul.

  She bounced up to hug him from behind.

  He covered her folded hands where they rested against his middle. Creighton closed his eyes and willed time to stop, all for the sweetness of Shana. His mind went back to his wild days—high school, then at Wayne State. When he returned after his father’s death, he used the ranch as an excuse to get away from Howie and his other rowdy friends. He’d never guessed he wasn’t content until Shana bombarded his world.

  “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. What matters is who you are now.” She somehow finished his thoughts.

  Can it be, Lord? She didn’t seem to care who he’d been. What he’d done. He closed his eyes. Her words went to the depth of his being. He separated her hands and rotated to face her. “Shana, if I’m becoming comfortable with who I am now, it’s because of you.” When did it happen? Creighton didn’t know the exact timing, but one thing was certain. He loved her. He couldn’t say it right now, but he could show her. A man could only take so much temptation. He leaned down and kissed Shana where her soft neck met her collar bone. He slid his lips up and planted a lengthier kiss just under her ear. Soft, she’s so soft.

  Her long sigh encouraged him.

  He framed her face with his hands and caressed each corner of her mouth.

  When Shana’s lips trembled, it filled him with hope.

  Holding himself back, Creighton didn’t kiss her. Yet. His lips continued their journey. Between her upper lip and her nose. Each cheek. Each eyelid and brow.

  Finally, his mouth pressed on hers. He poured out everything he had in an attempt to show the depth of his feelings. He deepened the kiss.

  Shana’s fingers funneled into the hair at his nape. When her body slumped against his, he drew back.

  Creighton slowly opened his eyes. “Guess it’s time we talk about us.”

  20

  “Would you please ask a blessing on the food?” Shana asked.

  “’I sought the Lord and He answered me. And He delivered me from all my fears,’” Creighton quoted for their prayer of grace at the table.

  “Where’s that?” Shana asked. Her hand clasped in his.

  “Psalm thirty-four, verse four. Those words have repeated themselves over and over in my head the last few days. I finally had to say them out loud.”

  “Thank you. I’ll memorize those words for my prayer, as well.” She pulled her hand away and took a sip of chicken broth. Then she wrapped her fingers around the mug. “And thanks again for the candleholders.” She shot him a grin. “I think of you and the ranch and Valerie every time I look at them.” Shana longed to share ten thousand simple meals with Creighton by her side.

  Later, after the kitchen had been cleaned up, she turned to face him. “Thank you for driving down. I’m fine now. The Lord will take my fears and direct my paths.”

  His whole face relaxed. He exhaled notable relief, and drew her to him. In his presence, she felt as though she could face anything.

  Sheltered in the safety of his arms, Shana’s voice came out muffled against his shirt front. “What were you going to say?”

  Creighton rubbed her back from waist to shoulder and down again. Then he laced his fingers with hers and drew her to the couch. They sat, and he tucked her in tight next to his side. It was the most natural thing in the world to rest her head against his shoulder.

  Shana counted four deep breaths, waiting for him to speak.

  “First, I want you to know that I’ve never said this to any other woman.” He touched a finger underneath her chin and lifted her face. “I’ve been looking for you my whole life, only I didn’t know it until we swayed on the bridge over the Elkhorn River. I love you, Shana.”

  She sucked in air, held it, and eventually managed, “Wow.”

  He shushed her with a thumb across her lips.

  Shana slid his thumb away before touching her lips to his. Only their hands and lips touched, but Shana swayed as though an earth tremor had shaken the house.

  Creighton broke the kiss and nipped her bottom lip. “I have some details to work out. Like, I could sell real estate here in Lincoln, as well as at home.”

  “You have a license?”

  “Yes. Don’t interrupt.”

  She answered his grin with one of her own. Then she snapped her mouth shut and bit down to prevent another interruption.

  “I can change my address. Maybe work here six months of the year and on the ranch the rest of the year. Roger Mills could watch over the cabins.” Uncertainty filled his voice, “What do you think?”

  “I think that I love you, too.”

  “That helps. Do I detect a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”

  She ran her bottom teeth over her top lip, groping for the right words. “There’s so much going on in my life right now. I feel that my emotions are all just
under the skin waiting to erupt. I’m just now finding a strength I didn’t know I had. I need to discover what I’m made of. I don’t think I should jump right into letting you take care of me because I’m down on my luck at the moment.”

  “No such thing as luck with Christians, Shana.” A flash of steel replaced the uncertainty in his voice.

  She pulled back, clasping her hands in front of her body. “I have a newfound love for the Lord that keeps drawing me back to the idea that all this turmoil will come to an end. But this identity thing is hovering over me. Add the loss of my job, and you…”

  “You’ve got me lumped in there like I’m not a good thing.”

  “Let’s sleep on this, shall we?” She stood and directed him to the linen closet for blankets and a pillow. She checked the back door lock and reentered the living room at the same time as Creighton. He had gone to his truck for his belongings. She watched him secure the front door lock before he turned to her.

  They strode towards one another, never breaking eye contact. Without a word, they shared a long kiss that left them both shaken.

  “We can’t say good night without me asking your forgiveness for my harshness,” Creighton’s deep voice rumbled from his chest. “Remember, luck has nothing to do with Christians, Shana. If we’re walking with Him, He directs our paths.” He whispered a finger over her lower lip. “I know these guys who put their dollars down every Wednesday and Saturday, longing for the luck of the lottery draw. God wants us to place our futures with Him.”

  “I understand.” She pecked him on the chin. “You’re forgiven.”

  ****

  Shana awakened the next morning with Sammi Ambrose identified. Their initials were close, so once in a while papers got mixed up in high school classes. Shana remembered Sammi as Gothic-looking before the label took hold, dark and brooding, and a girl who kept to herself. In class, Shana was often rattled to look up and discover Sammi Ambrose staring at her in a way that was dark and brooding and distasteful. Scary.

  Creighton was not on the couch when she left her bedroom. The blanket and pillow were back on the storage shelf and the pillowcase in the laundry basket. A note from her telephone message pad protruded from a prong of barbed wire on one of the fencepost candleholders.