Creighton's Hideaway (24 page)

“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.

She read aloud:

 

Dearest Shana,

We were both going on emotions last night. It would not have been right for me to stay here. I rested until I knew you were sleeping. Didn't want to wake you when I left.

Guess I need to give you some breathing room. I'll be at Rita's, and then head home. I'll be in touch.

I do love you. I was searching and didn't know what, who, I was missing until you came into my life.

Love, Creighton.

 

Shana slumped into the kitchen chair and buried her face in her folded arms. She had pretty much laid out that she didn't need him. But she hadn't meant for him to leave! Her distress turned to prayer. She sought the Lord for guidance to get over these knocks.

No money. No job. No car.

No future with Creighton?

But she would get this Sammi Ambrose out of her life. Fortified after pouring her heart out to the Lord, Shana grabbed for the index of the yearbook to test her memory. She flipped to the correct page and frowned over the effort to focus on a picture of the teen in question.

Her kitchen door burst open.

“You mangy, spoiled brat.” Saliva flew from the banshee's lips with the verbal attack. “Why couldn't you have stayed on that ranch?”

Shana jumped out of her chair, too stunned to consider the proper reaction to this crazed woman. She recognized Sammi Ambrose immediately, yet she looked so different.

Sickened to her core, Shana understood more in an instant than she could take in. Instead of long dark hair and black clothing, Sammi now mirrored Shana in appearance. Identical curly hair, Shana's missing beige jacket over her fuchsia camisole, and khakis.

“You've ruined it all by coming back.” Madness glinted in Sammi's eyes.

A rancid perfume mixed with sweat permeated the air. Alarm for her own safety dropped like lead in Shana's chest.

Calm. You have to remain calm.

“For the first time in my life I've had enough money to walk in a store and buy whatever I wanted.”

Sammi, so close now that Shana could feel her fetid breath, spewed more emotion than a roomful of recovering addicts.

Shana felt too paralyzed to move more than her nostrils to draw in some air.

“You've ruined my life.” A crazed look entered Sammi's eyes. “In school you had it all together. Top grades. Parents who always gave you what you needed. You've never had to go without.”

Shana twitched inside, empathizing with the hurt, lost teen instead of the woman before her. She felt as though Sammi expected her to defend herself, but Shana had no clue what to say.

“The difference has always been clear,” Sammi raged. “You grew up one of the haves. I grew up a have-not.”

The assurance she was not alone flowed throughout Shana's body. She knew what she had to do.
Lord, give me strength
.

“I might have some real fun by wiping you out. Forever.” Sammi Arnold retreated towards the counter, and warned, “Don't move. Don't even breathe.”

Shana had had enough of being told what she could and could not do.

Sammi grabbed for a knife.

Shana was quicker. Restraint training took over. She slammed Sammi to the floor.

Sammi fought against the restraint, spouting expletives.

Steadfast and unfaltering, Shana held on with a mighty, unknown calm, far beyond her comprehension.

 

****

 

The next day, Shana gathered garage sale items and piled them around the sofa, more thankful than she could say for the routine activity. After all, that's what she had decided to do for a little money earlier, while she was at the ranch.

It had truly been a long day.

She eventually slid her feet into canvas slides. She was surprised to discover that it was late afternoon. She walked four blocks to a corner convenience store for the daily paper. With her hands no longer occupied, her mind opened up to recent events.

Instinct and training enabled Shana to restrain Sammi Ambrose after she had stormed in. But Shana realized a large amount of heavenly strength must have assisted. Once they had scooted down to the floor, all the fight went out of Sammi, who turned catatonic by the time Shana's 9-1-1 call was answered.

Shana couldn't recoup her monetary loss, or the loss of her car, or job, but she smiled at the memory of her talk with Investigator Shelbourne.

He had shaken his head in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that after all that's taken place, you refuse to file charges against Sammi Ambrose?”

“Isn't that what Jesus would do? Seek help for the lost instead of retribution?”

Sammi would pay the legal charges that had nothing to do with Shana.

But Shana could have had Sammi put away for a long time. Impersonation, fraud, home invasion, grand theft auto, attempted assault, pain, and suffering—she imagined the list could grow on.

But what would Shana gain from such an action?

The bottom line was Sammi needed help unavailable behind bars.

Her parents waited in the driveway when Shana returned from the convenience store.

Shana's mother jumped out of the passenger side. “I called you at work and they said you were no longer there!” She enveloped Shana in a safe hug.

“Then I asked for Rita.” Carol swiped a hand across Shana's cheek. “Oh, honey, why didn't you call?”

By this time, Shana was engulfed in the broad chest and comforting, studious smell of her father.

“Let's go in, shall we?” Shana suggested after another hug.

Seated at the kitchen table, her mom fingered Creighton's note and her dad ran a finger over the rusty barbed wire on one of the candleholders. Shana didn't want her parents to dampen her closeness with Creighton. But she imagined they were nervous, as well.

“It'll turn out for the best.” She tried to reassure them with a smile. “Really.”

Shana looked from one to the other. A tear balanced on her mother's lower lashes.

Her father frowned.

“I admit. Yesterday was more than a little tough.” She nodded at the pale blue note paper. “Creighton was here.”

“Shana,” Her mother hesitated and glanced at her father.

Shana interrupted. “He helped me a lot.”

“I'm glad. I know we only met briefly, but somehow I sense a darkness about him. Do you know his past?”

“I do. And we're fine. If there's something dark about Creighton, it goes back to anger at himself more than anything. There's the normal family stuff, but I know if he ever gets angry with me, we'll work it out. I'll go through the job ads on the internet.”

Her parents sat without speaking, looking at her with a mixture of emotions spread across their faces— confusion on her dad's, and compassion on her mother's. They wanted to spoil their only child.

But she was a woman now, not a girl. “The Pines is giving me one month's severance pay. No more auto deposit for me, I'll pick it up personally. That'll take care of rent. But, Mom, I'll probably need the use of your car until I can lease something once I'm working again. Dad, I'll repay you for the rent you covered as soon as I can.”