Creighton's Hideaway (3 page)

She yawned and welcomed the need to call it a night. She tugged on her pajamas in the small bath, readied for bed by lining up her bottles of skin care, and found solace in the familiar routine. She padded across the braided rug, onto the cooler wood of the floor, and surrendered to the ink of night.

 

****

 

Creighton swung his arms wide, taking an extra-long walk, wishing he had grabbed a jacket before he left for the cabin where Shana now stayed. “Show me how to help her, Lord. She needs a friend and I guess I'm it for now.”

She had felt small next to his side, brief as the contact was. The memory of Shana's vanilla scent remained with him as he walked through the open air. Sure beat the smell of sawdust. He sighed. He had offered a brotherly arm, but she wanted to stew in her independence.

The wind soughing through the pine branches agreed with his thoughts when he passed through the windbreak. He had always considered it a soothing sound, and missed the wind when he was away from home.

An owl's w
ho-o-o
greeted him when he stepped into the open. “One less mouse for me to catch if you get one, ole buddy.”

Thoughts of Shana accompanied him the rest of the way into the ranch-style house. Was he up to the challenge of introducing her to his Lord? “We're in your hands, dear God, and tomorrow is a new day.”

The dark night embraced him as Creighton continued to ponder this newest cabin dweller. Whether she recognized it or not, there was no mistake in the timing of her presence. It had been a long time since he wanted to get to know a woman.

Then, without warning, the slurred voice that hadn't haunted him in some time rang in his ear.

What makes you think you can do her any good? You know you can't do anything right! You good-for-nothing so-and-so.

Creighton flinched at the invisible blow.

 

 

 

 

3

 

Would tomorrow never come? Shana should be exhausted, but her state of mind was in upheaval. She wanted to be back at The Pines, working with the kids. An unexplainable, unnamed urgency, a misgiving swirled. She changed position, longing for relaxing comfort.

A bird's cry pierced the air.

Her body flinched, and her eyes popped open.

What was being slaughtered out there?

Wide-eyed, she stared at the shadowed ceiling. What had happened to the light from the stars?

Eventually, she tossed the blankets aside and got up, staggered across the room to turn on the light above the sink. She opened, and then banged shut cupboard doors. “Aha!” she exclaimed at the discovery of a can of hot chocolate mix.

Shana soon curled up in the corner of the sofa, folded her legs, and let her thoughts drift, cupping the mug of rich chocolate with both hands. While she sipped, she reflected on the declining number of teen clients back at The Pines in Lincoln.

Those kids found ways to get high from the most unlikely sources. Jason, whom they had just taken to the emergency room. Libby, who sucked her thumb at age twelve.

Shana's most recent clash of wills with Jerry, the overnight supervisor who resorted to using restraint before reason. And all those people recovering at Hope Circle in O'Neill.

“This is getting me nowhere!” She stumbled to her feet and swayed, lightheaded from lack of sleep. As though caught in a bad dream, she set the mug on the table and went back to bed.

She gave up on sleep after the howl of what she assumed was a lone coyote, and fixed her gaze on the green numbers of the microwave clock. A whole hour's worth of progressive minutes passed before she rose and turned on all the lights.

She unpacked her canvas tote of books onto an empty shelf underneath a well-worn, leather-bound Bible and a hymnal. She stacked an historical fiction book
,
a book on coping through the grief process, another tome on psychological disorders, and a couple literary magazines. She piled her resource notes next to her laptop on the small table, and set to work.

Before long, a cardinal's clear song welcomed the predawn sky. That musical scale was joined by other birds she couldn't name.

While coffee gurgled in the small maker, Shana discovered that one of the glass window panels was a door. She slid it open and stepped outside, meandering around the deck that encircled the cabin. She imagined a curly-haired girl riding ‘round and ‘round on a pink three-wheeler. Where had that thought come from?

Chasing that mental picture, her parents came to mind. She went inside and grabbed her cell to see if it would work outside. No go. Had she doubted Creighton?

She lost all track of time, as though it didn't exist, where she sat resting on a rough-hewn bench in the southwest corner of the deck. With her back to the deck rail, she sipped her coffee. She took marginal note of the breeze, the soft burble of the creek below her left shoulder, the sun as it appeared on her right.

Then the sound of a woman singing penetrated her thick thoughts.

“Oh! Good morning. You must be Shana.”

Shana stood to greet her visitor, who had a curved walking stick in her left hand and grasped the handrail with her right, in order to climb the steps to the deck.

“I'm Valerie Dennis, from just around the bend to the south. Isn't it a glorious morning?”

Shana couldn't help but smile in reply. She welcomed the older woman by extending her hand.

Brilliant blue eyes shone behind rimless glasses, beneath a battered wide-brimmed straw hat tied with a faded red kerchief. “So, I hear you're taking a forced vacation.” Valerie leaned back against the rail, revealing leather high-top boots over heavy gray socks, underneath her long denim skirt. “I'm a really good listener if you want to talk. But as far as I'm concerned, the great outdoors is a balm to the soul.”

Shana frowned at the thought of being a conversation topic.

Valerie unscrewed the cap from the bottled water attached at her waist and took a healthy drink. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her smile deepened the fine lines in her face, which all seemed to smile, accentuating the memory of each year lived. “Have you checked out the creek yet?”

“I guess I hadn't thought about it,” Shana responded to Valerie's pleasantry, and felt her tension release.

“How about taking a walk with me?”

“I'm not much of a country person, but I do like to walk. My favorite place to ramble is on University Campus in downtown Lincoln. The flowers are always so beautiful.”

“Not many flowers here this time of year, but lots of color abounds. I always look for feathers. And of course, I'd be thrilled to find an arrowhead.”

“OK, I guess. Let me shut off the coffeemaker.”

They walked along in silence, Valerie's quick steps out of sync with her patient way of observation and conversation. They followed the creek as it wound northwest towards the road. Half the distance between Shana's cabin and the road, a twin cabin stood, appearing to be the same as Shana's except for the roof, which was a deep red.

Creighton rounded the corner of the deck and leaped down the steps in two skips. “Morning, ladies.”

Shana faced the unacknowledged reason for her sleeplessness, wondering what it was about the man that had invaded her thoughts. Her mind had dwelt on him more than her job, or her writing. Maybe it was the intent way he had of looking into her eyes, as though he wanted her to reveal her deepest secrets, while at the same time guarding his own.

“Good morning yourself,” Valerie responded. “Checking up on things?”

He turned away from Shana to answer Valerie. “Yep. Just my usual rounds to make sure no critters have decided to invade. This one proved tight.” His glance swung back to Shana. “Care if I walk with you a bit?”

At the nod of her head, he fell into step at her side.

They followed Valerie along a narrow creek path.

Awareness of Creighton filled her, when she hadn't known she was empty. Shana felt awake for the first time that day. He was so full of life that she wanted to jump along for the ride, wherever that may lead.
He smells like the air, fresh, piney and earthy, yet a little sweaty, all red-blooded male
.

“Did you sleep all right, Shana?”

She startled when he spoke and tripped over a root hidden in the tall grass.

“I'll see if I can find you a walking stick,” Creighton said. He steadied her with his hand. “They help keep your footing out here.” His fingers were warm where they touched her elbow. “Back to my question, did you sleep OK?”

“Not really,” she said in a low voice. “I crashed for a bit right after you left the first time. Whoever says the country is quiet, needs to come visit.”

Creighton chuckled. “Yeah. But it's a peaceful noise, rather than a clanging one. And you do have to get used to it. It's hard for me to fall asleep when I'm away. City noise grates on me.”

They continued on in companionable silence, Creighton close enough to lend Shana a hand if she stumbled.

Once, Valerie grabbed her hat when a sudden wind gust threatened to toss it in the air.

When they met the barbed wire that crossed the creek near the road, Valerie stopped humming. She turned and spoke for the first time since Creighton had joined them, “I sleep like a baby. This is God's country, so full of writing inspiration.”

Shana studied the soft character lines in Valerie's face. Was the peace she exuded for real? Had she ever been tormented by tragedy?

“Wait until you hear the yips of a coyote pack,” Valerie continued, “it doesn't matter how deeply I'm asleep, if they run the creek I sit straight up in bed because they sound like they're right next to me. They make me feel more alive somehow. And I contemplate the vast land they have to roam in.”

Shana had no control over the spontaneous smile that erupted at Valerie's infectious appreciation for being alive.

“Maybe you can join me on an evening walk and I'll help identify the night sounds,” Creighton said to Shana. “There really is nothing to be frightened of. I've always believed that knowledge overrides fear.”

“That sounds like a plan. At one point I thought I heard a mountain lion.”

“Mountain lion?” His eyes crinkled tight when his smile widened.

“I read in the Lincoln paper that they've been spotted not far from here.”

“Possible, of course. But I've never seen one. Bobcats, a couple.” Creighton slung an arm across each woman's shoulders and squeezed. “I'll protect you, ladies.”

After a good laugh, the threesome retraced their steps.

Shana reflected on Creighton's comment about knowledge overriding fear. She knew the city and felt displaced here. She heaved a heavy sigh that drew Creighton's attention.

“You'll be fine, you know. Nothing touches our lives that proves too much for us to handle. Believe me, I know.” Myriad expressions crossed his countenance. Tenderness, a touch of bitterness, resignation; all sheltered under an umbrella of an I'm-here-to-watch-over-you promise.

Valerie strode on, but they stood looking into each other's eyes.

Shana blinked when a cricket sang its chirrup from nearby.

Creighton answered with an identical trill of his lips.

She giggled.

“Creighton, your talents never cease to amaze me.” Valerie laughed. She pivoted to face them, walking backwards.

“What can I say? I'm a talented guy.”

“Talent and knowledge can go hand in hand sometimes,” Valerie inserted. She balanced on her stick and looked from one to the other. “I've got one for you. What's a group of owls called?”

Creighton and Shana exchanged puzzled looks, raised eyebrows and all.

“OK, I'll bite, word lady,” he said. “I don't have a clue.”

“Parliament,” Valerie answered and shook her shoulders in a way that said, “so there.”

Their frolic ended a few strides later when Creighton took his leave. “My ride is here. I need to check the other cabins. I decided to go into town today so on my way back to the house, I'll get your supply lists.”

“I'm driving to O'Neill myself when I'm done working this afternoon, Creighton, so I'll get my own things this week,” Valerie informed him.

“Then I'll see you later, Shana.” He bounded away.

“What kind of writing do you do, Valerie?” At this point Shana needed a spark of conversation to push her mind into concentrating on her own writing task.

“Nonfiction. Women's literature. I've written essays on my sister's cancer and the time we spent together before her death. But I've never undertaken a thesis. What's your title?”

“‘The Way Back: A Long and Winding Road.' Thanks for asking.” Shana's first impression had been wrong regarding Valerie's free spirit. If the woman had gone through watching her sister die, she had known troubling rough times.

“That's a great title and encapsulates a life journey for many of us.”

How could Valerie be at such peace with the world? So happy, after going through an illness like cancer?

The women grew silent.

Shana considered what supplies she needed, compiling a mental list as they retraced their steps. But she kept remembering the ripple of healthy muscles she noticed when Creighton moved. His light, yet strong, touch had enervated her. When he looked at her, it was as though he saw something in her that she didn't know she possessed.

They reached the steps to Shana's cabin, where Valerie drew a long pull from her water bottle. She lowered the now empty container. With a gentle smile, she turned to Shana. “I try to stick to schedule, but please stop in if you need anything. Even just to chat.”

“Thanks. But I need to get busy writing myself.” Shana watched Valerie's hat bounce out of sight.

How much time did she have before Creighton came by?