Creighton's Hideaway (16 page)

“Know a lot of hunters.” Howie put his charcoal gray Stetson atop his head. Then he smoothed the brim, nodded at the women, and swaggered off.

“Whew!” Valerie exclaimed. “He's a big one.”

“And don't he know it.” Creighton's narrowed eyes remained on the other's broad shoulders until Howie Mitchell climbed into his pickup.

“I've never seen him before.” Valerie turned to Creighton and squinted against the sun's glare. “You know him well?”

“Used to. We ran together when we were kids.” He rubbed his temple, as though a headache threatened. “Got into some trouble.”

“I can't figure out why this fresh air speaks to my stomach, but I want ice cream,” Shana said, to break the tension. “Would there be a store open in town?”

“How about chunky chocolate vanilla? I have some back at the ranch.” Creighton licked his lips.

“Now I'm hungry,” Valerie put in. “If I bring caramel and chocolate toppings, am I invited?”

“Sounds good to me,” he offered. “I'll follow you back.”

Why did Creighton always exhibit such restraint? Did he ever have an urge to kiss her?

“So, Creighton, what kind of trouble did you and this Howie get into?”

“Why do you want to know?” he gruffed, knuckles white on the wheel.

“I want to know about your past adventures.”

“Maybe I'm not the nice guy you think I am.”

Shana cupped Creighton's shoulder. She felt his warmth through the soft, rusty brown cotton. Sunlight deepened the contrast of cinnamon and gold of his hazel eyes. “Creigh, I know you're a nice guy. For some reason, you don't think so. I'm not real up on this forgiveness stuff. But I would think that if God can forgive anything, and we buy into that, then He should enable us to forgive ourselves.”

“What's happened to you?”

“Maybe you're rubbing off on me. I haven't been angry at all today.” Shana circled her hand down the side of Creighton's shirt, pleased that the solid flesh underneath jumped in reflex as her hand smoothed up and down his arm. She kept her hand in contact with him until he turned into his driveway. Never before had she reached out to touch a man. But a smile followed the thought, and she turned to the window so Creighton wouldn't wonder at her secret vow.

He would like her touch.

 

 

 

 

13

 

In his kitchen after a cold steak sandwich and chips, Creighton replayed running into Howie Mitchell. Good old Howie. Rice and Mitchell, the drinkin' buddies. They'd been together on those blacked-out nights that even now, gave Creighton nightmares.

He set out bowls and checked the cupboards for anything that resembled ice cream toppings. His jaw soon ached from the clenching. Wait a minute—was this jealousy he felt? He couldn't bear the thought of Mitchell and Shana together. Though she'd given no indication she was interested, Mitchell's dealings with women had never been respectful.

He slammed a cupboard door so hard that it bounced back open. No way. If Mitchell did come around, Creighton would make sure not to leave Shana alone with the man.

A knock sounded on the door just as he pictured himself planting a real kiss on her lips. He drove his hand through his hair, and then massaged his neck with his fingertips.

He swung the door wide to admit Shana and Valerie. Creighton only saw Shana. Sunlight sparkled around her. He curled his free hand against his thigh so he wouldn't reach out and touch her.

“Found some nuts.” Shana shook the can as she breezed right in.

“And I found butterscotch to go with the caramel and chocolate toppings,” Valerie added with a swing of her plastic sack.

“I'll start scooping.” Creighton forced thoughts of Mitchell to the back of his mind.

Shana lined up the toppings and nuts on the counter. Then she opened the refrigerator door.

Creighton came up behind her and in a possessive gesture, rested his fingers on her shoulder. He sighed inwardly and inhaled the vanilla fragrance of her hair. No need to even think about how right the physical contact felt. He'd ponder it later, though.

“See if there's a jar of maraschino cherries,” he extended a finger, “clear in the back corner of that shelf.” He leaned over to confirm if his memory was right, found his mouth right at her ear when he spied the jar, and kissed her ear lobe.

She jolted. Her head cracked his chin.

They both reared back.

The fridge door rattled.

“What happened?” From behind his back, Valerie's words came muffled under the buzzing in his ears.

What had happened indeed?

The humming refrigerator motor faded in the light sensation that zinged through him. The door remained open. Creighton and Shana stood in a world of their own.

She finally looked away, just as the door drew to a close, and said, “Oh. The cherries.”

He turned back with the certainty that the sweet dessert could never satisfy what gnawed at his gut.

They decided to eat their treats on the rustic porch that spread across the front length of the ranch house. To his knowledge, Shana had always entered at the back of the house. Now she walked the length of the porch, trailing her fingers over the rough-hewn log columns, glancing down at the smoothness of floor and railings.

“What's the difference between a porch and a veranda?”

“They're basically the same. To me a veranda has spindly fancy posts for columns and narrow balusters. Something you'd see on a cottage or Victorian home. Technically, I believe it's on the second floor, like a balcony. But I'm far from an expert.”

“That works.” Shana nodded, and then sat back in one of the three rockers.

Creighton studied her mouth as she crunched on an almond. He was safe in Valerie's company. If he was alone with Shana, his thumb could wipe away the sticky stuff at the edge of her full bottom lip. The tip of her tongue reached out to draw in the speck of butterscotch.

They locked gazes.

OK, I'm not going to fight this anymore, Lord. I believe she's here because it's part of a plan only You can see
.

Shana slanted him that I-know-something-you-don't-know, feminine look, as though she knew exactly what was going on inside his head.

Where was the little lost girl under duress?

He dropped his spoon back in the bowl. The only sweetness he wanted now didn't come from ice cream.

 

****

 

Creighton was as yummy as the ice cream toppings. The butterscotch and caramel matched the gold of his eyes. And the chocolate reminded her of his hair. She found it very hard to keep up with Valerie's chatter about Queen Anne home renovations, and Creighton's talk of tongue and groove, joists and fascia.

Before long, they all groaned over their gluttony.

“Let's take a walk.” Shana waved towards the southeast.

“That's where I used to ride my horses,” Creighton said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Count me out,” Valerie put in. “Refurbishing and Queen Anne talk reminded me of some details for my work-in-progress I need to jot down before I forget.” She stood and reached for their bowls and spoons.

“Thanks,” Shana and Creighton chorused. They were slower to rise to their feet.

Shana felt nervous for the first time in his presence. Maybe it was the memory of his lips on her ear, the surprising thrill that had shot through her in front of the refrigerator. She couldn't help the giggle that erupted.

“What?”

“Maybe I'll tell you sometime.” She ignored the voice that prompted her to get to work on her laptop.

“I'll hold you to it. I need different shoes, and we'll be off.” Creighton flicked on the radio before leaving for the back of the house.

Valerie had already rinsed out their bowls and left them in the sink before she left.

Lyrics drifted through the air from the radio, something about wide open spaces. Her heart quickened as she identified with the young girl's dream to strike out on her own.

“Now what are you smiling about?” Creighton had entered the room silently.

“This song is great! I've never heard it before.”

“Well,
ma'am
,” he emphasized, “out here in the sticks we listen to country music.”

“You're one of a kind.” She hooked her hand around his elbow. “I think I like you, brother of my friend.”
And I hope you turn into more than a friend to me.

Creighton bent to kiss her nose, moved her hand from his arm to clasp her fingers, and headed for the door. “I know I like you. Ready for that hike?”

“Ready if you are.”

The ringing phone interrupted their exit. Creighton answered, never taking his eyes from Shana. Then he said, “One moment, please.”

A sick feeling gathered in her stomach as she reached for the phone. “Yes?”

“This is Brian Shelbourne, Lincoln Police Department, Ms. Arnold. Sorry to call on Sunday, but I'm monitoring the activity on your account. Thanks for agreeing not to totally close it out. Can you please give me the exact dates you've not been in Lincoln?”

Shana complied.

“OK. We've caught someone on video, who looks an awful lot like you, hitting the ATMs around town. Is there anyone you may know who could be doing this?”

“You can start by going to my apartment. Someone has been there and my parents are the only ones who knew where the spare key was kept.”

Creighton shot her a bug-eyed, dismayed look, apparently shocked that there was more going on in Lincoln.

“Officer Young took the report of my car theft,” Shana said into the receiver, then thanked him and disconnected. “Who would do this to me, Creighton? I think someone is posing as me.”

 

****

 

Creighton grabbed a couple bottles of water from the counter and opened the door, grinding his teeth the whole time.
She hadn't trusted me enough to confide in me about the break-in
?
They'd had the whole trip back to the ranch. And he had started to think they might have something going.

Once outside, Shana erupted. “They're rarely caught, you know. That's what I do know about identity thieves. But some strange woman went into a branch of the bank where I don't go.”

He felt his own rage building. He needed her to know she wasn't in this alone.

“It's not enough that my home was invaded, my car taken. Now, a stranger is pretending to be me. She ordered new checks. She gave a new address to a post office box.” Shana stopped pacing. Her next words came out in a ragged whisper. “The rest will soon be history, I guess. All my dreams of a new house are in someone else's pocket.”

Creighton nestled her against his chest.

Her shoulders rose and fell with her wild breathing.

He smoothed his hand over and over against her hair and back.

Shana finally pulled away and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, friend. I can do nothing with the situation in Lincoln, but I can finish what I came here to do. Let's not spoil the remainder of this day with what is out of my control.” A haunted expression crossed her face.

Creighton had been thinking about opening up to her about his past, gathering courage to consider her more than his sister's friend. He had his secrets as well. And instinct told him that she wasn't immune to his nearness, either.

“Ouch!” Shana, reached for her ankle, caught by a prickly pear cactus.

“I should have suggested that you wear boots,” Creighton mumbled. He knelt to check the damage.

She rested a hand on his shoulder for balance.

He opened a pocketknife, used the blade to move the sticky petals of the cactus aside, and lifted her foot. Creighton put his hand on her hip so she wouldn't topple over. “Steady, now?”

She nodded, seeming as reluctant to lose contact with him as he was with her.

He scraped the cactus needles to loosen them, and felt her wince. He pulled three needles from the side of her soft leather shoe. “Only the big spikes, I don't think you got any of the little slivers.” To make sure, he ran a finger inside the top of her sock. He stood up and brought both hands to the sides of her face.

She closed her eyes as their lips met.

Soft, softer than expected.

At last!

He put everything that had been building up inside into their connection, trying to impress that this was not the kiss of her friend's brother.

Was she as full of longing as he?

He yearned for her to be what he'd been searching for, the missing element from his life. She made him feel like he'd finally found purpose. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.

Her hand drifted from his shoulder to his own hand, leaving a trail of heat all the way to his fingertips.

With a sigh, Creighton pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. “Shana, Shana. What am I going to do with you?”

Did she have to float to her senses as he did?

“Why do you have to do anything with me?”

He put space between them, rubbed his knuckles down her face. Then he tucked both hands in his back pockets. “You're leaving. Probably by the weekend, right?” He really didn't expect an answer. “We live in different worlds. I'm way out here, with no regular income, just living.” He turned to the side, and his eyes roamed the horizon, the landscape that enfolded him.

They could work it out. Couldn't they?

“Creigh, can't we just enjoy these few days? Maybe if you talked to me more, it would help to say things out loud. I get the impression that you think I'm not good enough for you—”

“Not good enough?” He lifted his face to the sky, seeking the right words. “That's one of the problems. I could say the same to you. I'm not good enough for you to tell me about having your apartment broken into? I've been thinking you were too good for me. Or, at least you would be, if you shared my faith.”