legs.”
“Sounds good to me.” Creighton placed a muscular arm over Shana’s shoulders and steered her around the cabin towards the creek.
The breeze of the perfect day complemented the warmth of the sun. The sky was clear cerulean. Due to recent rains, some grasses were green except for those that had gone to seed. The cottonwoods were glazed with patches of yellow leaves, as though telling the world cooler days would soon approach.
Shana concentrated on breathing, taking in the sights, scents, and sounds.
They walked in companionable silence until they came to Valerie’s cabin.
“Wait.” She placed her hand on Creighton’s arm. “I just want to look at this.”
A bleached bovine skull, a rock collection, and dried grasses in an earthenware pot were accented by a sunflower and goldenrod frond on a stair step. A piece of petrified wood graced each side of the bottom step.
“She has an impressive variety of small artifacts inside,” Creighton answered her unvoiced question. “When Valerie comes here in July she walks in the water, rather than beside the creek, and picks up pieces of camel bone, dinosaur teeth, flints that seem to have been worked by American Indians.”
“Really?” Shana’s eyes squinted against the sun. She used her free hand as a visor to look up at Creighton. “Amazing. That stuff is in your creek?”
Creighton’s eyes crinkled back at her. “I call it God’s creek. His gifts for our pleasure.”
She looked away from the glaring sun.
Creighton and his God. Again.
He moved to create a shadow for Shana, then shook her hand off his arm, only to catch it and wrap her fingers in his rough warmth. “We need to find you a hat.”
She met his gaze and was captivated by how green his eyes appeared. She saw flecks of rust and golden brown in their hazel depths. A lump formed in her throat. Her whole being reacted to his touch, sparked by the meeting of their hands.
She looked back at the oddments adorning Valerie’s deck. Her mouth went dry. She gave her head a small shake, a vain attempt to focus on something other than Creighton’s effect on her.
Creighton paused to grin. He deepened his voice to mimic that of a narrator. “Whole herds of prehistoric animals were buried under the ash in this part of the state. And the rest, they say, is history.”
Shana jostled him with her shoulder. “I’m glad Valerie has touched history here.”
Creighton turned back towards the creek.
Shana lost her footing.
He reached out a steadying hand. “You OK?”
“I’m kind of lightheaded.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet,” he reprimanded, as though speaking to a younger sister.
She shrugged, feeling sheepish. “Too much caffeine, and not enough food.”
He led her to a shady spot. “Sit.” From a small pack that hung from his belt, Creighton thrust a silver wrapped rectangle at her. “Eat.”
Shana bit into the berries and nuts of the whole grain energy bar, thankful for his care, yet upset with herself for her negligence. She ate and watched the gentle flow of the water in the creek. The bar was gone in seconds. She folded the wrapper and stretched to slip it into her pants pocket.
Her breath caught, her line of vision concentrated on Creighton. He guzzled a long drink from a water bottle, making muscles define across his shoulders and along his arms. His legs looked just as strong. She glanced away when he lowered the bottle.
Was her heart in trouble here? Her head was no longer dizzy, but a clenching remained in her stomach that had not one iota to do with hunger.
“Water should help.” Creighton held the bottle out to her.
She stood on shaky legs and thanked him. Her lips fixed where his had been. After four gulps, she handed it back, avoiding his eyes. She should have her own provisions. Next time, she vowed, as she looked forward to more time spent with the handsome rancher poet. “Thanks again, Creighton. I’ll bet you think I’ve been acting like a
“Sounds good to me.” Creighton placed a muscular arm over Shana’s shoulders and steered her around the cabin towards the creek.
The breeze of the perfect day complemented the warmth of the sun. The sky was clear cerulean. Due to recent rains, some grasses were green except for those that had gone to seed. The cottonwoods were glazed with patches of yellow leaves, as though telling the world cooler days would soon approach.
Shana concentrated on breathing, taking in the sights, scents, and sounds.
They walked in companionable silence until they came to Valerie’s cabin.
“Wait.” She placed her hand on Creighton’s arm. “I just want to look at this.”
A bleached bovine skull, a rock collection, and dried grasses in an earthenware pot were accented by a sunflower and goldenrod frond on a stair step. A piece of petrified wood graced each side of the bottom step.
“She has an impressive variety of small artifacts inside,” Creighton answered her unvoiced question. “When Valerie comes here in July she walks in the water, rather than beside the creek, and picks up pieces of camel bone, dinosaur teeth, flints that seem to have been worked by American Indians.”
“Really?” Shana’s eyes squinted against the sun. She used her free hand as a visor to look up at Creighton. “Amazing. That stuff is in your creek?”
Creighton’s eyes crinkled back at her. “I call it God’s creek. His gifts for our pleasure.”
She looked away from the glaring sun.
Creighton and his God. Again.
He moved to create a shadow for Shana, then shook her hand off his arm, only to catch it and wrap her fingers in his rough warmth. “We need to find you a hat.”
She met his gaze and was captivated by how green his eyes appeared. She saw flecks of rust and golden brown in their hazel depths. A lump formed in her throat. Her whole being reacted to his touch, sparked by the meeting of their hands.
She looked back at the oddments adorning Valerie’s deck. Her mouth went dry. She gave her head a small shake, a vain attempt to focus on something other than Creighton’s effect on her.
Creighton paused to grin. He deepened his voice to mimic that of a narrator. “Whole herds of prehistoric animals were buried under the ash in this part of the state. And the rest, they say, is history.”
Shana jostled him with her shoulder. “I’m glad Valerie has touched history here.”
Creighton turned back towards the creek.
Shana lost her footing.
He reached out a steadying hand. “You OK?”
“I’m kind of lightheaded.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet,” he reprimanded, as though speaking to a younger sister.
She shrugged, feeling sheepish. “Too much caffeine, and not enough food.”
He led her to a shady spot. “Sit.” From a small pack that hung from his belt, Creighton thrust a silver wrapped rectangle at her. “Eat.”
Shana bit into the berries and nuts of the whole grain energy bar, thankful for his care, yet upset with herself for her negligence. She ate and watched the gentle flow of the water in the creek. The bar was gone in seconds. She folded the wrapper and stretched to slip it into her pants pocket.
Her breath caught, her line of vision concentrated on Creighton. He guzzled a long drink from a water bottle, making muscles define across his shoulders and along his arms. His legs looked just as strong. She glanced away when he lowered the bottle.
Was her heart in trouble here? Her head was no longer dizzy, but a clenching remained in her stomach that had not one iota to do with hunger.
“Water should help.” Creighton held the bottle out to her.
She stood on shaky legs and thanked him. Her lips fixed where his had been. After four gulps, she handed it back, avoiding his eyes. She should have her own provisions. Next time, she vowed, as she looked forward to more time spent with the handsome rancher poet. “Thanks again, Creighton. I’ll bet you think I’ve been acting like a