Beneath a Beating Heart

by Lauri Robinson

  —K. Have fun and call me tomorrow. Gotta run. I’m meeting with the man from Helena tonight.—

  A touch of guilt crossed her stomach. So focused on Rance, she’d forgotten Vivi Anne was busy with other things. The antique store was popular and kept them both busy, which meant Vivi Anne was doing it all by herself right now.

  She quickly typed, I will. You have fun, too.

  The clock icon said Lou would be here shortly, so she washed her face, brushed her hair, and then retrieved a light-weight jacket out of her bag in case the restaurant had their air conditioning on high. She was interested to learn what he had to say about his family. Not having one of her own might be a part of her interest, but a much larger part had to do with Rance.

  Maybe Vivi Anne had rubbed off on her more than she realized. Vivi Anne had numerous stories about how she’d helped people find lost loves. Could that be why she was here? To make Rance realize he could love again. Love Cindy.

  Laying the jacket on the bed, she sat down and pulled the box of pictures onto her lap. There weren’t many, less than a dozen, and most of them were of both Rance and Beth, and too grainy to make out their faces as clearly as she’d like.

  The wedding had taken place in Billings. At Beth’s parents’ house. She didn’t remember Rance telling her that, but he must have at some point today, because she knew it. Knew it had been a warm January day. And that they’d been as happy as they looked in the pictures.

  Replacing all the pictures in the box, she closed the lid, wondering what Rance was doing right now. If he’d made himself more eggs for supper. He’d said he wasn’t much of a cook. She’d said she wasn’t either. That’s why she ate granola bars.

  She put the box back in the bag. Ghosts didn’t eat. Not eggs or granola bars. Then again, he wasn’t really a ghost.

  This was all too much to get her head around. Ghosts who weren’t really ghosts. Psychics who weren’t really psychics. Matchmakers who weren’t really matchmakers.

  She really needed to talk with Lou. Learn more about his family, and hopefully Rance. Buzz had said Rance didn’t believe Beth had died because they never found her body. At that thought, she walked into the bathroom and typed another text to Vivi Anne.

  —Please look up a train accident near Billings in June of 1901. Passenger Beth Livingston.—

  A knock sounded as she hit send. Rather than going to the door to answer it, she walked to the window and peeked out, staying concealed behind the curtain. Lou waved, indicating he either saw her or the curtain move. Of course he did. It was probably the exact thing every person did when someone knocked on their motel room door.

  She walked to the door and pulled it open.

  “I’m a touch early. Was afraid you might skip out on me.”

  She shook her head at Lou’s grin. It was almost as charming as Rance’s, which should goad her much more than it did at this moment. “That happen to you often, does it?”

  “No,” he answered, “but there’s always a first.”

  The desire to laugh was as out of the ordinary for her as everything else that had happened since she’d pulled into town. Lou was obviously a charmer. That should have her sending him on his way. She didn’t want to though. She wanted to have dinner with him. She wanted to know all there was to know about his family. “I just have to grab my jacket and purse.”

  “I’ll wait right here.” He waved at the stoop he stood on. “Wouldn’t want to give Les and Edith anything to gossip about.”

  “You’re afraid of gossip?”

  “My reputation was ruined long ago,” he said with a wink. “It’s yours I’m worried about.”

  Her stomach hiccupped, with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. “Mine is stellar,” she said, lifting up her jacket and purse. A fleeting thought of Vivi Anne had her glancing toward the bathroom. Her phone wasn’t charged yet, so there was no sense in taking it.

  “I believe it.” Lou stepped aside so she could exit.

  Chapter Nine

  Sleep was not his friend. Every time Rance dozed off, dreams woke him. Nightmares actually. The kind that left his heart racing with dread.

  After untangling himself from the covers, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, rubbing his head with both hands. He should be dreaming about Beth, damn it. They’d spent the entire day together.

  But that wasn’t Beth, was it? Not the women he’d married. The wife he’d planned on growing old with.

  He rubbed his head again. Why was this happening to him? What was happening to him?

  He stood and walked to the window. The breeze that blew across his chest carried the scent of rain and the darkness of the night sky hung heavy, broken only by a fast flash of lightning far on the horizon.

  He had dreamed of her. His Beth. The one he’d married and would love until the day he died. It had been her lips he’d been kissing, her body he’d been loving, but when, in his dreams, he’d opened his eyes, it was Nan’s niece in his arms. He’d tried to get away, to escape, but she’d clung to him, insisting she was pregnant with his child.

  That’s when the dreams turned from horrific to horrendous.

  His child.

  The one he and Beth had hoped of having, and would have if not for that train accident. He should never have let her go.

  It was impossible to think of Beth, the one he’d known, loved, and married, and not see the one who now filled his mind. The one who’d left today, promising to be back tomorrow.

  Her hair was shorter, her words different, but they were one and the same. Just separated by a century. It made no sense, yet, in his heart, where rational thinking lost out to a devotion that held no understanding of time, his validation was as true and real as the heavens above and the earth below.

  The jagged shards of lightning increased in number and in velocity, growing closer as he stood in front of the open window. The wind and lightning came at him like the demons of his dreams had, yet the flashes and the glow left behind to briefly mark the sky as the bolts disappeared reminded him of things that don’t change.

  A hundred years from now, lightning would still be the same. The earth would still be the earth, the sky the sky, trees, trees, rain, rain.

  Hands braced on the windowsill as the storm arrived, he made no attempt to move, to close the window. Instead he welcomed the wind and soon the rain, cold droplets pelting his arms and chest.

  Time may change some things, but not all things. It wouldn’t change him. He might age, as all men did, as all living things did, grow old and feeble, but inside, he’d always be exactly who he was this minute. Who he’d been last year.

  As determined as he was, he knew he was wrong, too.

  He wasn’t the same man he’d been last year. Beth had changed him. His ambitions, his goals, his life, had all changed because of her, and those things affected a man.

  A jarring bolt of lightning hit so close the house rattled, drawing his full attention. Lightning is what had taken Beth from him. It had been storming the morning of the train accident. A bolt had hit the bridge causing it to collapse beneath the train.

  That would not happen again.

  Beth would not be taken from him again. Not in any time.

  The storm raged on. A bright streak of lightning hit the ground, rattling the house.

  Sticking his head out the window, he scanned for flames. Grateful there were none, he pulled the window closed and walked to the dresser. There he picked up the mirror. It was too dark to see his reflection, except for when flashes of lightning filled the room. Then, his image was there, staring back at him until the light faded.

  Had she returned to change him again? Trying to convince him to forget the love he still harbored for her and start a future with another woman?

  That would not be Beth.

  Not even a hundred years could do that to her.

  He set the mirror down, not willing to give the other thought screaming in his mind credence. The one about ghosts and timel
ines and dimensions.

  A hundred years might not change her. But love would. The love they’d shared.

  He raked his fingers through his hair and squeezed his temples. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, what everyone had been telling him was true.

  She wouldn’t want him going on like he had been.

  The storm raging outside held the same velocity as the one overtaking him from the inside. When the windows rattled and the house shook, he couldn’t say if it was because of another lightning strike or the anger burning his throat as he let it out.

  He didn’t want to know, either.

  “She is not dead,” he growled. Spinning about, he paced the floor. How could he prove that? To himself and her. He already knew it, felt it, but how could he convince her?

  How could he—

  Another flash of lightning lit the sky as he walked past the window and what it exposed had him grabbing his pants. After pulling them on and his boots, he snatched up his shirt and headed for the hallway. Not stopping until he stood on the back porch, he shrugged on his shirt before running for the open barn door.

  The old man was rain soaked and leading his horse into an empty stall.

  “Hello, my nephew.”

  Other than his once broad shoulders were now stooped slightly from age, his uncle’s appearance hadn’t changed from what was depicted on the posters for the Wild West Shows.

  “Here, let me,” Rance said, crossing the barn to enter the stall. As he loosened the chinch strap of the traditional hammock-styled Shoshone saddle Hiah used both in the exhibitions he did for Buffalo Bill’s show and for regular travel, he asked, “What are you doing out in the rain?”

  “It was time,” Hiah said.

  He lifted the bone-framed saddle from the horse and carried it out of the stall. He wasn’t surprised to see his uncle, except for the fact he didn’t expect the old man to travel nearly twenty miles in a rain storm. He’d known Hiah would eventually arrive to show his respect for Beth’s passing, and hadn’t looked forward to the visit.

  “We die and are born many times,” Hiah said.

  Those were the exact words he had not been looking forward to. Firmly embedded in the Shoshone ways of long ago, his uncle looked at death completely different than he did. Always had.

  “Your Beth is no different.”

  Fully prepared to argue that point, he turned around, but something internal stopped his protest. Instead, he asked, “How? How does that happen? I don’t understand how a person can be born or die more than once.”

  They exited the stall at the same time, standing face to face. Almost three-quarters of a century old, Hiah’s face was wrinkled, his long hair varied shades of gray, but his eyes held a youthfulness of one much younger, as well as an intelligence of those far more educated.

  The crevices near his eyes deepened as Hiah smiled and lifted a hand. “You must take what you see here,” he said, while touching Rance’s forehead. “And put it back here, beneath your heart.” His hand went to Rance’s chest. “This will help you find endurance and patience, once you have that, you will see the answer.”

  He didn’t want patience or endurance. He wanted Beth. In the flesh. Not some ghostly form that was impossible to hold.

  “Your love for your wife, and hers for you, was great,” Hiah said. “She will come back to you, but you must see with your heart, not your eyes.”

  As a child, he’d never been allowed to learn the ways of the Shoshone, and years later, when he’d become reunited with the few family members left, he’d been too busy earning a living to devote much time or attention to such things. “See with my heart because she will look different to me?”

  Hiah shrugged and then turned toward the open barn door. “I would drink some of your coffee.”

  The old man was wet, and probably chilled. Rance led the way to the house. Now no more than a mist, the storm had moved on as quickly as it had approached, leaving an aftermath of miniature rivers and lakes for them to cross. In the kitchen, he lit several lamps and after building a fire and putting a fresh pot of coffee on the stove, retrieved a couple of towels. His uncle had removed the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders. After hanging it over the back of a chair, he pushed it closer to the stove to dry. His mind was a jumbled mess of what to ask. Of what answers his uncle may or may not have.

  “Will Beth know?” He sat down at the table. “Will she know when she is reborn?”

  “She must find her spirit home.” Hiah glanced around the room. “Then she will know.”

  His uncle’s gaze settled on the screen door for so long, a tiny shiver rippled along Rance’s spine.

  “She has already been here,” Hiah said.

  His hands had never trembled, or his body, the way it did at that moment. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he nodded. “Yes, she has.”

  “Then all is good.”

  “No,” he disputed. “All is not good.”

  Hiah’s smile was serene. “She will be back.”

  “But here isn’t here.” He wasn’t sure how to explain it. “She’s not here in my time.”

  “Tell me, my nephew. Do you have time in your heart or love?”

  ****

  The plethora of emotions—some completely foreign and unnamable—battling for ground inside her had Liz calling Lou every degrading and unbecoming name she could think of. She even made up a few. He’d spent more time flirting last night—with her and their waitress—than telling her anything.

  Robert had only been married once, but his wife had died long before Lou was born, he’d told her that much. He’d had no idea when his grandfather’s birthday was, or anything of importance. All he knew about Cindy—his grandmother—was that she’d been Cliff and Nan’s niece. He had talked a lot about Cliff and how he’d invested money in Buffalo Bill Cody’s oil drilling company—which had gone broke. Lou said Buffalo Bill and Cliff had tried to get Rance to buy in and explore his land, but he had refused. That hadn’t surprised her, neither had the fact that Lou had tested the ranch property for oil shortly after inheriting it and had come up empty.

  “That was certainly four hours of my life I’ll never get back.” The motel door shut with a solid thud behind her. She’d wanted answers, and a part of her had wanted to like Lou. To form a connection where they could see things jointly. Things that would be in Rance’s best interest.

  That certainly hadn’t happened.

  Her call this morning went directly to the jerk’s voicemail. That wasn’t surprising either. She was ninety-nine percent sure he’d gone back to the restaurant in order to hook up with their waitress after he’d returned her to her motel. That flat out pissed her off. He seemed to have no interest in his family, in his history.

  She had half a mind to call Nate but wouldn’t get any further with him than she had Lou. They were both nothing but playboys.

  Dialing Lou’s number again, she waited for the end of the message. “I will be at the gate in fifteen minutes. If you aren’t there, I’ll climb over.”

  Determined to do just that, she threw her phone in her purse, tossed it and her other bag on the passenger seat, and started her car. It was barely after seven in the morning, but the information in Vivi Anne’s text made getting out to see Rance urgent. She had to talk to him before he—before Cindy becomes pregnant.

  That’s what happens when you seek the truth, you discover it’s more complicated than anticipated.

  Lou was nowhere in sight when she turned off the paved road and onto the gravel driveway. She hadn’t expected him to be, and waiting wasn’t an option. The idea of climbing over the gate didn’t thrill her. It was large and made of metal pipes, and on both sides, was the cattle guard—more large metal pipes built into the ground. Tall grass surrounded the posts near both ends, making an ideal place for snakes to hide.

  She shook off a shiver, parked as near to the gate and off to the side of the gravel as possible, and drew in a breath of fortification. After
stuffing her purse into her larger bag, she climbed out and locked her car doors. Looping the straps over her shoulder, she approached the gate. It might have been a good idea to contemplate her outfit before deciding to climb the gate.

  The yellow tank top wasn’t an issue, but the white capris and sandals weren’t exactly attire for climbing through rusty pipes. Last night’s rain left the metal wet and slippery, which caused a couple of smear marks that probably wouldn’t wash out of the white material, but she made it over the gate. The rubber soles of her sandals slid on the wet metal of the cattle guard, and she had to use both arms—held out at her sides—to keep her balance as she cautiously and carefully stepped from pipe to pipe.

  The cattle guard was longer on this side of the gate and the idea of kissing the gravel driveway when she finally stepped on solid ground crossed her mind. Briefly. There wasn’t time for that. The narrow, more weeds than gravel driveway, lined by tall grass, was over a mile long, and uphill.

  It wasn’t long before she concluded sunscreen would have been a good idea. The blazing sun was drying out her shoulders faster than it was the puddles in the road. More bothersome than the heat and sun was how thoughts of Lou were what kept her marching forward. He had to be the lowest type of human-being that ever walked this earth. There couldn’t be a caring, humane bone in his body. Not for his family. Not for his community. Not for any living, breathing creature. He was a fake. He hadn’t been attempting to preserve Rance’s property. That had been an excuse. She didn’t doubt Nate was in on it too.

  Gorgeous in its own right, nestled on the edge of the Big Horn Basin, the land surrounding her covered miles and miles of property that had been untouched for years and years. Heart Mountain looked especially spectacular this morning, and that fueled her indignation. Rance had settled on some of the best property in the area, even way back when. While the rest of those claiming land back then had to worry about water rights, many waiting until Buffalo Bill Cody had erected the damn named after him on the Shoshone River, Rance had acquired land where water was plentiful. A still highly sought after commodity.