Beneath a Beating Heart

by Lauri Robinson

  “Good to know.” She reached over to slide the receipt and key out from beneath his hand.

  “We got the internet, too. Right over there, next to the coffee table.”

  She glanced in the direction he gestured. A big boxed-in computer screen and single key board sat on a small desk. Both had to have been put there before the millennium. “Okay.” Once again, she attempted to gather her receipt and key.

  “Got some amenities back here behind the counter. Toothbrushes and combs, that sort of thing, if you’ve forgotten yours, and the lobby’s open from seven to eleven.” He leaned closer. “Just ring the bell if the door is locked. The wife or I will hear it. We live right back there.”

  He’d taken his hand off her key to point over his shoulder, and she took advantage of that. Snatching the key and receipt, she nodded. “Got it, just ring the bell.”

  A tinge of guilt struck when she pushed open the door. He’d just been being friendly and she was escaping as if he was a mass-murderer. “See you for that coffee.” She waved while stepping out of the door.

  “There’ll be cream and sugar, too.”

  “I’ll probably need it,” she whispered while closing the door. She only drank coffee that Vivi Anne delivered to the shop, and that was always heavily sweetened.

  She drove around the side of the building and parked in front of door number ten. Then climbed out of the car and went to examine the room. It smelled clean, and the bed seemed comfortable. The water faucets all worked. “Good enough.” She walked back to the door she’d left open and laughed at the TV the size and shape of the computer monitor back in the lobby. If that was the newest one, she’d bet the ones in the other rooms didn’t even have a remote.

  It truly didn’t matter. Neither did the orange painted walls. She’d never been one to fret over accommodations. Some may attribute that to her foster home upbringing. She didn’t. It was just her. The latest and greatest never interested her much. Not in homes, furnishings, clothes, or just about anything else.

  She walked to her car and after opening the driver’s door unlatched the seat to lean it forward and grab her bag and suitcase off the backseat. Odd that Nate hadn’t scrounged through them.

  Shaking her head at such thoughts, she told herself to stop. Just stop when it came to Nate. He was simply who he was, just like every other person in the world. That had always been her attitude in the past, and it had served her well.

  Emotionless.

  That was her.

  Besides, Nate was not the issue. Rance was. She had to learn all she could about him and his life. Back in her room, she stretched out on the bed and swiped her phone out of sleep mode. Ten minutes later, she was still waiting for the internet. Cell One wasn’t known for its service. Then again, there might not be an internet signal strong enough for the hotspot to pick up.

  What felt like an hour later, and four frozen screens and three error displays, she gave up. Leaving the phone on the bed, she picked the room key off the end table.

  The old man ambled through the door behind the check-in counter as she closed the front door.

  “Just me.” She gestured toward the computer. “Thought I’d use the internet.”

  “Go ahead. Just use your room number to log on. It’s on a timer.” He shrugged. “We can’t have one customer on it for hours. If no one’s waiting, just go ahead and log in again, and it’ll give you another fifteen minutes.”

  “Got it.” Hers was the only car in the parking lot, so a line for the computer probably wasn’t going to happen. Settled in the chair, she followed the instructions taped to the top of the screen. It reminded her of elementary school when the computer lab was a new and fascinating thing rather than an everyday necessity.

  Tapping her fingertips on the desk top, she decided patience certainly was not her friend today.

  Finally, a search engine appeared, and she typed in a few key words related to ghosts. Scanning the links, she quickly disregarded most of them, a few others proved worthless as well. Just as one hinted at being closer to what she wanted, the screen went black.

  Drawing a deep breath, she read the instructions for when a time-out happens and logged in again. When the home page appeared, she clicked history, only to feel cheated that it was empty. A few misguided clicks happened before she found the website she wanted again, and then she was barely a paragraph past where she’d been before when the screen went black again.

  “Seriously?

  “Having trouble?”

  “No.” She leaned back in order to see the check-in desk around the corner. Maybe she should have gone modern instead of nostalgic. “Just didn’t know fifteen minutes go by so quickly.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  She started to say no but stood instead. “Actually.” She walked across the small lobby. “Do you know anything about a haunted farm house around here?”

  He grinned. “The Rocking L? It’s a ranch, not a farm. Rance Livingston’s place.”

  “That’s it.” Encouraging him to go on, she leaned an elbow on the counter.

  “You one of those ghost hunters? The wife watches those shows on TV.” He leaned closer. “I’m a western man myself. Give me John Wayne, and I’m a happy camper.”

  “North to Alaska,” she said.

  “You know the Duke?”

  “I’ve seen a show or two.” Or ten or twenty. Norman Walker, her foster dad, had been a fan of the Duke, and by default all the kids in the Walker’s home knew John Wayne. “And, no, I’m not a ghost hunter. I’m an antique dealer.”

  The man’s friendliness turned colder than a Popsicle. “Did Lou Dixon call you?”

  “No, Buzz did.” Liz crossed her fingers that was the right answer. Too bad she didn’t know Buzz’s last name. Lightyear came to mind, but she knew that wasn’t it.

  To her surprise and relief, the man grinned. “You that friend of his up Montana way?”

  She kept her fingers crossed. “No, but I work for her.”

  He held a hand over the counter. “Les Burrows.”

  She shook his hand firmly. “Liz Baxter. It’s nice to meet you Mr. Burrows.”

  “Call me Les. Buzz and I are good friends. Play cards together every chance we get. There’s more time for that come winter than the summer.”

  “I’m sure there is.” Not wanting to stray too far off subject, she asked, “Have you ever been out to the Rocky L?”

  “No, not too many have. Riley was as protective of the old place as Rance had been in his days. Waiting for his wife to return. That’s how the story goes. He never believed she’d died and spent every day of his life waiting for her to return.”

  Liz squeezed her hands together, trying to contain how they’d started to shake.

  Glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening, Les lowered his voice. “Half the town wishes old Rance was haunting the place, just to scare the bejeebers out of Lou and Nate. Would do those boys good.”

  Liz giggled, for neither Nate nor Lou were boys, but remained on task. “Nate says he might have a buyer for the Rocking L.”

  “Does he now? Guess that don’t surprise me none. Those boys sold off their daddy’s places fast enough, and Riley’s.” Les shook his head as if disgusted. “Nate built himself a big house on the edge of town in one of those developments. Even got himself a swimming pool. They’re expensive, you know. If not, we’d have one here, might draw a few more customers from across the street. And Lou, well, he’s living in those fancy apartments over on the north part of town. Had to with the divorce and all. Bet he’s wishing he hadn’t sold Riley’s place now. Then he’d have a house to live in.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. Things would be different right now if old Rance had remarried, had some legitimate kids.” Les sighed. “He’d have left a legacy rather than gossip and ghost stories. Ask me, the Rocking L might still be up and running if that had happened. Rance trained horses for Buffalo Bill’s Wild West shows and everywhere
Bill performed, people wanted to buy horses just like the ones in his shows. Rance sold horses worldwide at one point.”

  Two words kept repeating over and over in her head. Legitimate kids.

  “So, you’re here to buy antiques.” Les frowned. “From the Rocking L.”

  Not exactly sure how her answer would be taken, but needing to keep him talking until she could get back to Rance having kids of any kind, she took the long route. “Buzz called my boss to come look at things. She and Buzz have been friends for years. She has an antique store up in Billings. Here for Now. It specializes in local antiques, the tri-state area.” Okay now she was babbling. Though her mind wanted to know why he’d said that line about kids, another part of her wouldn’t let a question form.

  “Buzz knows folks from all over. He’d want to see Rance’s stuff goes to a good home if’n it has to be sold. Town folks don’t want to see that happen. To see it sold.”

  “Why?”

  The caution that filled his eyes seemed to have locked his lips. That also amped up her curiosity considerably. A suspicion told her whatever was at the bottom of selling Rance’s property involved others. “Les.” She used his name to make a closer connection. “I really need to know all there is to know about the Rocking L and Rance. Maybe I could then convince Lou and Nate to reconsider…” She wasn’t sure she could convince either of them of anything, but she did want to know.

  “Not to burn the place down?” Les shook his head. “That’s the talk around town right now. Some folks claim the house should be moved to Buzz’s old village, given its history and all. That’s what makes Cody survive. Our history. People believe this is an old west town, and that’s what they come to see. Not some fancy-dancy resort with golf courses and water fountains.”

  Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, as if it had just shifted from first gear to second, and thoughts were striking her faster than she could process them. Of course Les wouldn’t want another hotel. “Maybe if we sold enough antiques that could be part of the deal. Having the house moved to Buzz’s place.”

  Les let out a low whistle. “Now that would be a tourist attraction. A haunted house from the turn of the century. That could boost old Buzz’s visitor numbers, and mine.” He winked. “Folks visiting his place need a somewhere to sleep. He refers them here all the time.”

  Although she felt like jumping up and down, she contained the urge and gave him a single nod.

  “Come on around.” Les waved a hand toward the opening on the end of the check-in counter. “My wife grew up with Riley. They were sweethearts at one time, and Edith loves telling people about that.” He winked again. “But I’m the one she married.”

  Chapter Six

  Rance sat on the bed, staring out the open window, watching daylight fade and the hill cast shadows that gave way to the settling dusk. Darkness would soon consume the horizon, and him. A heavy sigh left his chest. He should go to the cabin, but tonight, the first in over two months, he didn’t want to leave the house. The connection was back. The one he’d longed to feel again.

  He’d gone through all the scenarios. Everything from thinking he’d lost his mind, to half-ass believing he was asleep down in his cabin, locked in a dream and unable to wake.

  He reached over and picked up the book he’d set down on the bed beside him. At one point this afternoon he’d retrieved it from the small bookcase in the spare room down the hall. He’d heard the tale before then, but last Christmas, while courting Beth, the two of them had read the novel together. Then, he’d joked and teased her about Ebenezer Scrooge and the three ghosts who’d visited. Today, he’d hurriedly scanned the pages to get to the ghost from Christmas yet to come. That ghost was just a year into the future. His was more than a century.

  It all seemed as impossible as it did real. He turned the book over and ran a hand over the top. The story was impossible, yet the book itself was real. He could touch it, feel it, hold it.

  If only he could do those things to Beth again.

  His throat started to swell again, stealing his very breath as it did more often than not. God, he missed her. Missed her with as much intensity as he’d loved her, and it wasn’t right. There was no outlet for his pain, not like there’d been for his love.

  Seeing her, that ghostly, perfect vision, bottled up his pain worse than ever. Even with shorter, bleached-striped hair and using words he knew she’d never used before, he’d known the moment he’d seen her, inside where it counted, that it was Beth. His Beth.

  He’d seen her doing that before. Sitting there on the bed, reading. The house was full of all sorts of things to read. Books. Magazines.

  Drawing in a deep breath that rattled inside him, he glanced around the room. The entire house was full of things she’d brought with her.

  She’d arrived at their new home with wagons full of furniture, cookware, linens, and all sorts of other household goods. Just a few things she’d been collecting over the years, she’d said. He’d laughed and insisted she must have robbed a mercantile at some point in her life.

  She’d laughed, too, and said he’d appreciate everything she’d brought.

  He closed his eyes while acknowledging she’d been right. She’d been right about so many things.

  A chill rippled his spine. Was she right again?

  Opening the book, he flipped through the pages and questioned if she’d appeared to tell him he had to change. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t like the outcome. Maybe it was her way of saying that others had been right, that she wouldn’t want him to keep mourning her so deeply.

  He set the book down and walked to the window. He didn’t buy that. Beth wasn’t that kind. If she’d come with a message, she’d have blurted it out. She’d have been kind about it, and caring, but she’d have made her point before disappearing.

  The house knew it, too. Her presence was as much a part of it as the wood and the nails holding it together. During those few minutes today, it had come back to life as completely as he had. Without her, it was an empty shell. Just like him.

  Sighing, he turned away from the window and crossed the room, stopping next to the dresser. Rather than picking up the picture, he grasped the mirror. His reflection appeared, but that wasn’t what he wanted to see. He didn’t know much about ghosts, but one that needed a mirror had to be the stranger than all the others.

  Or, more special. Beth had always been more special than all others.

  He set down the mirror in order to rub his nose and blinked his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the sting, or the tears from forming. “Why?” His voice shook and echoed against the hollowness of the house. “Why Beth? Damn it, why?”

  He picked up the picture. “You were so beautiful, so full of life, and so sassy, and so special.” His whisper was hoarse. “So uniquely special.” He shook his head, recalling a very poignant moment. “I hadn’t even held your hand, hadn’t even touched you, when you told me I loved you.” Regardless of the tears in his eyes, a smile formed. “Do you remember that? You told me that I loved you,” he repeated with emphasis. “And I did. I loved you more than I could ever have imagined. I still do.”

  He shook his head, in as much wonderment now as he’d been several months ago when the event had taken place. “I asked how that could be, how I could love you when I hadn’t even gotten up the nerve to hold your hand.”

  An odd sense of peace entered him as he ran a fingertip over her image.

  “You told me that I had touched you. That I’d touched your heart.” He swallowed at the memories warming his insides. “Then you curled your fingers around mine, and said, ‘Once you touch a person’s heart, touching their hands is easy.’ Remember that?”

  There was no answer. No softly whispered words.

  He set the picture back on the dresser and once again glanced at the mirror. “Are you still here and I can’t see you? Are you listening to me ramble on like some love-struck fool? Enjoying all this?”

  He picked the mirror up. “Well, I am some lov
e-struck fool.” Looking directly into the mirror, he announced, “I think I’ll go to the cabin now.”

  To say he felt like a babbling idiot would be true, still, he was willing to try whatever it took. Threatening to leave might make her reappear. It was a long shot, but he didn’t have much else.

  “I think I’ll go to the cabin and get some sleep.” He jiggled the mirror.

  The house was so quiet he could have heard a mouse, if he’d had one. Which he didn’t. He was alone. Completely alone.

  “This clearly is not working.” Why had it earlier? Where had she gone?

  He set the mirror on the dresser and returned to the bed, picked up the book again. Maybe he was dreaming. That’s how the book ended. Everything had been a dream.

  Frustrated, he headed for the door. Down the hall, he replaced the book to the shelf, guided only by the murky light of dusk that could make a man believe there were things hiding in the dimness.

  Ghostly things.

  He left the room, but rather than heading for the stairway, he gave into the nagging inside him and walked back to his bedroom. Their bedroom. Staring at the bed, he let several thoughts float around in his head, snagging amongst themselves now and again. Then he nodded. There was still a tingle in the air. Faint, but it was still there. Had Beth, or her ghost, been here all this time—since the day of the accident—but he’d never noticed because he’d been too busy wallowing in grief?

  He’d dismissed it at the time, but that dreadful morning, before Cliff had arrived to tell him about the accident, he’d thought he’d heard Beth call for him. Yell, actually, like she’d needed him.

  “I’m here. Hear that, Beth? I’m here. And will remain. I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Whatever it is you need, I’m here.”

  With that, he hung his hat on the hook near the door and made his way to the chair in the corner, where he removed his boots and shirt. The rest of his clothes followed.