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 precede 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.”
He squeezed her hand.
Her stomach gurgled again in response.
He needed to feed this woman. How else could he care for her?
****
There must be a conspiracy between Creighton and my stomach.
Shana took a big bite of buttered oat bread and looked up to catch his gaze. But his focus, now on her mouth, made her pause. She swirled her tongue around before attempting to swallow the riot his intent stare created in her dry
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 precede 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.”
He squeezed her hand.
Her stomach gurgled again in response.
He needed to feed this woman. How else could he care for her?
****
There must be a conspiracy between Creighton and my stomach.
Shana took a big bite of buttered oat bread and looked up to catch his gaze. But his focus, now on her mouth, made her pause. She swirled her tongue around before attempting to swallow the riot his intent stare created in her dry
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