Creighton's Hideaway Read Free Page B

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