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 I haven’t withdrawn anything.”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
“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