Creighton's Hideaway Read Online Free PDF

table and in one scoop, piled her laptop and notes against the back of the couch.
    Shana picked up a sandwich half.
    Creighton’s hand reached over and encircled her wrist. “I’d like to say grace, if you don’t mind.”
    Her pulse increased at his touch. She gave a slight nod and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
    “Dear Father God, I thank You for this day, for the gift of life, and for this food. Please ease the turmoil that Shana is going through and give her clarity of thought, enabling her to accomplish what she sets out to do. And help her enjoy her time here. Amen.”
    Her eyes had remained fixed on the cinnamon highlights in Creighton’s coffee-dark hair during his quick prayer.
    He released her, and she turned attention to her sandwich.
    “So, tell me about your job. Do you like bossing my sister around?”
    An unexpected laugh burbled up. “Rita is the best assistant any manager could have. I like to think that we bounce ideas off one another, that she doesn’t view me as ‘the program manager.’ We’re a team. It takes all of us to get through the barriers those kids erect.”
    “What’s been your most challenging situation?”
    She sipped tart lemonade while formulating her answer. “I don’t think I can pick one over another. About the hardest thing we have to do are the restraints. Now with Rita pregnant, there’s a little added tension because the men think they need to keep her from physical harm as much as attend to the youth who is acting out. But, so far so good.”
    “I realize you can’t be specific, but isn’t it hard sometimes, dealing with all their problems? Do their troubles ever drag you down?”
    Shana bit into her bread and caught a dangle of kraut with her fingers. After swallowing, she lifted her gaze. She watched the motion of Creighton’s full lips as he chewed. “Not really. I spend most of my time organizing programs and meetings and such. I try to leave the clients at the door of The Pines at the end of the day. In the long scheme of life, I know I’m not responsible for them.”
    Hesitating, she considered Creighton’s mouth as distracting as the direct look in his eyes. She lowered her gaze and rolled a caraway seed across her plate. “Once in a while I have to go in for a crisis situation in the middle of the night. I guess it’s just the way of the world. But those young people also have physical or psychological disorders.”
    “Like?” Creighton encouraged.
    Shana tore off another bite, kept it between her fingers. “It can be a daunting list. Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s appalling how many have no fathers, often victims of homicide. Chemical imbalances. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Schizophrenia. On and on. And they don’t learn from their parents’ mistakes. They fall into the same addictive patterns.”
    “The sins of the fathers.” Creighton’s face tightened and a curtain drew over his tanned features.
    Shana had seen many such expressions of closed-off emotions when she’d conducted the interviews at Hope Circle. What was Creighton running from?
    They finished the rest of the meal, lost in their own thoughts.
    Creighton claimed he had things to do, and made a quick exit.
    He left Shana with the memory of his scarred, working man’s hand on her much smaller wrist, and his shuttered eyes that covered as much as her toughest teenaged client. Had he felt her pulse beating against his fingers during their gentle connection?
    “Twenty-four hours I’ve been here,” she later said to the clean countertop. “It’s time I pull those notes together.” Shana grabbed her textbook on grief, along with her notes, and took them outside. She did need to pull it all together, or she faced an uncertain future.
    The sun warmed the south and west sides of the cabin. She took a deep breath of the nature-fresh air, a little dry, but unsullied by exhaust fumes and cooking odors. She thought she caught a glimpse of Creighton’s red cap rounding the