by LoRee Peery
“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 he
r 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.
“Guess that eases my mind somewhat. We’d like to come see you and bring your car so you have something to drive.”
“I don’t need to go anywhere. That’s the idea. To keep me here so I get this thesis written. It would be silly for you to bring two cars. I’m fine.”
She listened to the hum of silence on the line, and then braved the reason for his earlier message.
“So, Dad, what’s this about the bank?”
“I go in all the time, you know. One of the officers was at the window when I went in this morning. Since my name is on your account, both came up. She asked me if you had something exciting going on since there was unusual activity on your account.”
“What do you mean?”
“A couple big checks cleared. You buying new furniture, or something?”
“Very funny. You know I need a house first. So, did you have a statement printed out?”
“Sure did. I’ve got it right here.”
“What does it show?”
“Right before you left Lincoln, two checks came through. One was for a little over five hundred dollars and another for nineteen hundred.”
“Whaaaaat?” her screech echoed through Creighton’s kitchen, higher pitched than a night owl’s.
Her father’s voice was calm as usual. “Like I said, you need to follow up on this.”
“There has to be some mistake.” Her thoughts began to race. “I suppose they won’t do a thing over the phone.”
“You can try. I already asked if you could call. Ask for Nancy.”
“If there’s nothing else, I’d better check in with Rita. Give Mom my love.”
Shana pushed numbers for The Pines with trembling fingers, but Rita was with a client.
Creighton could tell Rita whatever he wanted to, regarding how she was doing.
Rita would have to call Shana later.
What in the world could be the problem with her account? She called the bank. “Twenty-four hundred dollars?” Her voice squeaked when Nancy, the bank manager, told her what happened. “But…I’m not even in town. I haven’t withdrawn anything.”
“We are investigating the matter and will get back to you. In the meantime, we will freeze your account so no more money can be taken.” Nancy’s voice sounded distant as she said good-bye.
Anger festered as Shana tromped back towards her cabin, wondering how in the world she ever let herself be in such a situation. Her choice to be here without a car, four hours away from home seemed less than prudent. And now something was messed up in accounting at the bank.
The sudden flight of a mourning dove swung her attention to her surroundings. Meandering through the rows of pines in the windbreak, she stopped to let her pounding heart calm. When her pulse quieted, she closed her eyes to listen. The soft whisper of the wind eased her spirits somewhat, but her mind began to race again. Shana released a resigned sigh. “Need to change my attitude. Prioritize. Get home. Deal with the bank. Return to work.”
But work at The Pines was a world that didn’t exist here, except in her mind. She wanted to stay on the ranch with Creighton. Did that make her a coward?
Had the bank simply made a mistake or was the mix-up serious?
At the cabin, she checked again for a cell phone signal. No bars. Why hadn’t she called again from the house?
Apprehension grew like a dust storm in her throat.
6
Creighton set aside a darkly oiled saddle and paused to swipe his brow. The small tack room in a shadowed corner of the barn lacked oxygen. Pungent aromas of leather, oil, and horse lingered. He needed to ask Rog if he knew of an upcoming auction or sale where this room full of stuff could be added. Another part of his life to be chalked up to memory.
Memories.
He missed a rousing gallop over the hills.
He sure didn’t miss the mornings he woke up and had no recollection of how he got where he was. The times his mouth had tasted like horse droppings. Drunken blackouts. Just like your old man. Creighton shook his head to clear away the aching past.
While he methodically rubbed saddle soap into the leather of two more saddles, his musings bounced between memories and the circumstances that brought him home to live on the ranch. Suddenly, his shoulders ached and his scarred fingers cramped. He called it a day.
The aroma of fragrant stew wafted his way through the closed kitchen door. Creighton considered foregoing his shower, but knew he’d enjoy his solitary supper more if he cleaned up first.
Under the hot spray, he attempted to scrub away dark memories. Interspersed with the sluicing water and the sweat of his labors, echoes of his father’s drunken taunts over the inadequacies of his oldest son joined him in the small enclosure.
In minutes he was back in the kitchen, a bowl in hand from the cupboard. The phone caught his eye and he remembered the messages for Shana.
Shana. Would she like some stew? He had treated her pretty rough when he’d passed on the phone messages. He set the bowl on the counter and added a second. The pair looked better than a single.
Then he was out the door.
Shana must have heard him pull up because she waited on the deck.
“Have you eaten yet?” He asked over the low rumble.
He noted amusement flit across her features when she gave her negative response.
“Figured not. How about some stew for supper?”
“Mmm, hmm. It smelled wonderful when I borrowed your phone.” She shot him a sassy look. “Wait, I’ll grab a sweater.”
On the ride back, Shana sat upright.
Creighton remembered how she had slumped against him during their first ride. He sighed, and wished that she’d lean against him now and keep his back warm. As shadows darkened during their quiet ride, she grabbed his shoulders for balance only a couple of times while going up the slight incline, but released him as soon as the ground smoothed out.
Creighton stopped near the kitchen door to drop off Shana. He extended his arm to give her leverage on the dismount.
She waited for him to park, and they entered the ranch house together.
“Need to wash up? I sure do. That old thing always leaves a smell of gas and oil on my skin.” Creighton indicated for Shana to pr
ecede him to the sink.
He studied her graceful back. When she stepped away for the towel, he took his turn at the sink. Creighton made quick use of the water and grabbed the end of the towel Shana used.
When her hands turned motionless, he read a question in her blue eyes. “What?”
“It just seems odd, somehow. I’ve never shared a towel at the same time with anyone.”
“Serious? Me and Tom fought for the water from the faucet, and the towel. Discovered it was faster to use ‘em at the same time.”
“Tom. Your brother, right? Rita’s mentioned him a couple of times.”
“Yeah. He’s my brother, all right.” What he didn’t say was how Tom had always had a problem not being born first. And how when he left home, he had forgotten about his family back here in Nebraska.
“Where does he live? Does he have a family of his own?”
Before Creighton could form an answer, Shana’s stomach grumbled loud enough for both of them to hear. They burst into laughter. How long had it been since he enjoyed a woman’s company like this? He grew serious, dropped the towel, and kneaded the back of his neck. Thanks, Lord, for the reprieve from talking any further about Thomas.
Shana brought the bowls, plates, and flatware to the white oak table. He unplugged the crock pot, positioned it in the center of the table, and then went back for glasses and napkins.
“Is water OK?” he asked Shana, “or are you a milk drinker?”
“Water, please.”
“I aim to please.” He nodded his head towards a bread keeper. “There’s oat bran and some dark rye there if you want to grab the butter from the fridge.”
They sat down at the same time. Shana placed her hands in her lap, but Creighton reached his arm on the table towards her, palm up. Their gazes met and held as she lifted her hand and placed it in his.
He liked the way her small hand fit in his larger one and ran his thumb over her knuckles while he bowed his head. “Dear Father. We have so much to be thankful for. Thank You for all the things we take for granted. Please bless Shana, Rita, Ray, their baby, and this food.”
