Beneath a Beating Heart Page 17

  There was a small metal table with a red Formica top with two matching chairs in the center of the room, and beyond that, a rocking chair, old freestanding radio, and a small wood stove. A curtain was pulled to the side and hooked behind a large nail, showing the only other room was a bedroom. In there was a single size bed and dresser.

  Her heart filled with sadness at the idea of Rance living here for decades, right up until he died. One picture hung on the walls, it was above the dresser, and she moved close enough to see it was of a magazine. Horse World. Though he was old, his dark hair gray, Rance was on the cover. June 1946.

  She felt a hint of happiness at the idea his ranch had been successful despite all else, but that wasn’t enough. He deserved far more than a picture on a magazine cover. Far more than this little cabin.

  Because it was her job, she made mental notes of items that might be worth collecting, and then left the cabin. She should have brought her notebook. There were so many things swirling around inside her head, what to write down may be forgotten before she got to the house. Rance was on her mind. Who he’d met in his time, but so was Lou. He was clearly still in love with Sandra. Oddly, she felt a considerable amount of dislike for Lou’s wife, or soon to be ex-wife. Not as much dislike as she held toward Cindy for soon becoming Rance’s wife.

  Was it even possible to be jealous of a woman who lived more than a century ago? Of course it is. To a time traveler.

  “Oh good, grief.” Looking skyward for no reason other than it seemed to make sense, she said, “Vivi Anne, I need you. This has become too much for me to handle.”

  Of course Vivi Anne couldn’t just appear out of thin air, but was only a phone call away. She hurried to the house, however, the moment she entered the kitchen, all thoughts of Vivi Anne disappeared.

  The hum made her heart dance, as did the floating mirror. Testing her abilities or hoping to confirm what she thought had happened before, she stared at the area around the mirror, searching for a faint image or outline of him.

  Disappointed at not seeing anything and anxious to see him, she grasped the mirror handle.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Stung by his tone and the anger on his face, she snapped, “Well, hello to you, too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Seriously? She’s doing all she can to help him, and he’s the grumpy one? “What are you so mad about?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I told you to wait here.”

  Spurred by his attitude, she copped one herself. “I am here.” But won’t be for long if he keeps this attitude up.

  “You weren’t a minute ago.” He waved a hand. “I searched the house over.”

  “I was right outside.” She could understand his frustration, but it wasn’t her fault. “When you never returned to the house, I went outside.”

  “What for?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to tell him what she’d found. “To explore.”

  “Explore what?”

  Now flustered, she threw her hands in the air, or at least tried. Only one arm rose. His tight hold on the mirror prevented the other one from moving an inch. His hold and the fact she wasn’t about to let go of the mirror. “What does that matter? It doesn’t. But if you must know, I went to look at your cabin. I’m supposed to be inventorying antiques, you know.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.” Caught somewhere between delusions and reality—or what appeared to be delusions and reality—she truly didn’t know which, commonsense prevailed. Sighing, she shook her head. “I’m not Beth. I’m not—” For some stupid reason her eyes stung. Swallowing and forcing her eyes not to water, she said, “I’m not your wife. I’m not her. I’m Liz Baxter. An antique dealer who lives in twenty-eighteen. Up until a few weeks ago, when I got laid-off from a cell phone company, I wasn’t even an antiques dealer. Just someone who liked antiques.” She had no idea why she’d felt the need to explain all that, other than she was trying to assure him she was not Beth. Couldn’t possibly be Beth. “I want to help you if I can, but I’m not your wife. I’m not your Beth.”

  Try as she might, a tear or two escaped. She blinked, but more wanted to follow. “I’m trying to do all I can, but you’re making it difficult. More difficult than it needs to be.” She couldn’t see through the blur of tears, which was probably best because he was getting angrier. She didn’t need to see to know that, and the pain welling inside her was all for him. “I know you loved her. Loved her with all your heart. But Beth died in that train accident. She died. And once people are dead, there’s no coming back. They’re gone forever.”

  The increased weight of the mirror said he’d let go. A mixture of blame, remorse, and shame, flooded her system. “Rance don’t—”

  It could have been her imagination, or pure instincts. Either way, the slamming of the door told her he was gone.

  She set the mirror on the table, sank into the nearest chair, and for the first time in her life, cried because of someone else’s pain. Really, sincerely, cried for him. She wanted to help him. Truly did. But her hands were tied. There was only so much she could do. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t lie to him, either.

  Tears began falling for herself then too. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve all this? She was just a common everyday person. She’d never loved anyone deeply, profoundly, but she’d never hated or intentionally hurt anyone either. If this was karma making its rounds, it had no ground to stand on, no past to work from.

  She let her pity party continue for a short time, but then, because it wasn’t like her to be so emotional, she dug into her bag and pulled out her notebook. After forcing herself to jot down the few things she remembered from the cabin, she stood, and with pen and paper in hand, began cataloguing every item she came across, and tagging the ones worth having packed up.

  The work was good medicine, as was cursing Rance, which eventually turned into praise for how well things had been preserved. By the time she made her way back downstairs, she felt more like herself. The Liz Baxter she’d always known. Her thinking was clear. Well, somewhat clear.

  Sitting down at the table, she hoisted her bag off the adjacent chair to pull out her purse and then her cell phone. The red x over the icon bar wasn’t what she wanted to see but couldn’t do anything about it, so she clicked on the text symbol to re-read Vivi Anne’s messages. Whether Rance was mad at her or not, she wasn’t going to let this place become a nuclear dump site. Nor would she quit caring about him. That would be impossible. Meeting him had changed that about her. He’d brought out the ability to care inside her.

  She had no idea how Vivi Anne had discovered the nuclear dump site information but was one-hundred percent sure about the accuracy of it. She read through the text again and learned nothing new, other than Vivi Anne didn’t mentioned either of Lou or Nate’s names.

  They were behind it, at least one of them. Probably both.

  She swiped the screen, scrolling through Vivi Anne’s other messages. Stopping the rolling screen, she re-read another message.

  —Beth Livingston died on May 25, 1901 in a train wreck shortly after it left Billings, where she’d been visiting her family. Her body was never recovered.—

  While reading the message again, Liz pulled the cigar box out of the bag. She set her phone aside and laid the pictures on the table, examining each one. Her remarkable resemblance to Beth was no longer startling. In fact, she sensed a kinship with the woman. Could almost imagine how much Beth had loved Rance. How much she’d missed him while visiting her family in Billings.

  Vivi Anne’s message made no mention of a bridge, or water, but those were the images that entered Liz’s mind. They came about so quickly, her breath stalled and panic gripped her chest as water seemed to engulf her.

  She pushed away from the table, gasping as her legs began to tremble, and put her head between her knees, hoping to escape the overwhelming dizziness. It was far wors
e than it ever had been. And there was no reason. The trunk was nowhere near here.

  Even with her eyes open images flashed. Swirling water seemed to be everywhere, towing her down into a dark abyss. Fear engulfed her as she pushed further away from the table. The panic was so great, so real, she couldn’t think of anything except escaping. She had to get out of here. She tried to stand, but her legs were so heavy, paralyzed, that she dropped onto the floor and used her arms to drag herself toward the door. The powerful force pulling her backward was familiar, she’d experienced it before and her panic grew. Frantically, she clawed harder and faster.

  Her heart pounded, and air wouldn’t catch in her lungs by the time she reached the door. A great sickening of nausea welled inside her, and Rance filled her mind. She wanted to shout for him but couldn’t. It took tremendous effort, her last bits of strength, of willpower, to push the screen door open.

  As soon as her head crossed the threshold, the heaviness lifted and the darkness surrounding her disappeared as if she’d just crawled out of a rabbit hole. Relief welled as air entered her burning lungs. She gasped and panted, but with each breath her terror dissolved, and she crawled onto the porch, letting the screen door slam behind her.

  With her back braced against the side of the house, she leaned her head back and breathed, just breathed.

  It was several moments before she had the wherewithal to wonder what had happened. She’d never experienced anything like that before and hoped to hell she never did again. That was too real. Too vivid. Too familiar.

  Eeriness washed over her, and she closed her eyes as memories she hadn’t known existed came forward. What had happened in the house had happened before. She had been engulfed by water and had fought to find a way out of it.

  Memories of the accident that had taken her parents had never surfaced before. At five years old, her little mind had known the terror had been too much for a child to bear and had wiped it away. Other than a few faint images of people she assumed had been her parents, and the odd ball horse ones, she had no memories of her life before going to live with Gladys and Norman.

  May 25th.

  May 25th.

  Vivi Anne’s message said Beth died on May 25th. Didn’t it? Could it be the same date? Not year, but month and day? Much like the accident, dates hadn’t been imbedded in her mind. She’d been to her parent’s grave site several times. There was no headstone, no granite marker, but the little metal stakes held her mother and father’s names, birthdates, and death dates. May 25, 1994. Their accident, her accident, had happened on the same date as Beth’s. Many, many years apart, but the same date.

  No longer gasping for air, she kept her eyes closed and contemplated what else she could pull forward from her early life. There was something there. Something she wanted to remember but couldn’t. Telling herself to relax, she tried harder.

  Frustration is what came. She sensed the interruption before actually hearing the vehicle coming up the driveway. “What is this? Visitation day?” she mumbled upon opening her eyes.

  Huffing out a breath at not being found sitting on the back stoop, she rose to her feet before the truck rolled under the faded Rocking L sign. For a flash of a moment, she saw what that sign had looked like when Rance had first hung it. The wood had been golden brown and the letters black from how he’d burned them into the wood. The image of what it had looked like fresh and new brought a smile to her face and a warmth around her heart.

  “Happy to see me?”

  She turned toward the truck that had parked beside the house and the man climbing out. “Not so you’d notice,” she told Nate. “Did Lou call you?”

  “No, why? What did you find?”

  Dollar signs flashed in his eyes as boldly as a cartoon. He jumped up the couple of steps and crossed the porch to pull open the screen door. Disgusted, she followed, but paused before crossing the threshold.

  “Where is it?” Nate asked. “What did you find?”

  What had happened was still too fresh in her mind. Holding the screen door open, she remained on the porch. “Nowhere. I didn’t find anything.”

  Frowning, he glanced around. “Then why’d you ask if Lou called me?”

  She shrugged. “Because I told him the same thing I told you. I need more time.”

  He ran a hand over the back of the chair as he walked around it to the table, the heels of his boots clicked loudly against the floor. “Well, darling, I hate to burst your bubble, but you don’t have it. I got the confirmation from the fire chief today. This place will be burned down on Saturday. The good news is they’ll use it as training for the volunteer firemen, so it won’t cost me a dime and most everything can stay.” He turned around to look at her. “Other than the stuff you say is worth something. I’ve hired some men to come out and haul that stuff to town on Saturday morning.”

  Dread filled her. It wasn’t as frightening as the panic earlier, but it was just as real. “That’s not enough time.” A heavy sigh escaped. Forever might not be enough time to convince Rance of what he needed to do. Must do. He was too focused on Beth to even consider what the future could hold. Consider how to stop all this from happening.

  “It’s gonna have to be,” Nate said.

  His distracted tone had her stepping forward. The room didn’t spin, no images flashed behind her eyes, and she took another step toward the table.

  “Who are these pictures of?” Nate asked.

  “That’s Rance and his wife, Beth, on their wedding day,” she answered. “Haven’t you seen a picture of him?”

  “Old Rance died long before I was born,” Nate answered, picking up the picture of Beth. He glanced between it and her several times. “Wow. You could almost be her twin.”

  “No,” she denied. “I couldn’t.”

  “Her relative for sure.” He flipped the picture over as if looking for a name or date, and then back again. “Maybe you are. Some claim Beth wasn’t supposed to be on that train that crashed. Her original plan had been to leave the next day, but she’d changed her mind.”

  “In order to come home early.”

  He shook his head. “To not come back at all. When she and Rance got married, they lived in the log cabin out back. Beth wasn’t used to that and grew homesick. That’s why she went to Billings, and story goes she hooked up with a previous boyfriend and headed east.”

  Not even beginning to believe such a thing, she said, “Whose story? Yours?”

  “I don’t know who started it, but it was around long before me.” He set the picture down, stuck both hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels. “That would be some crazy coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

  His T-shirt and jeans, once again, were black and tight. His stance did nothing for her. “What would be a coincidence?”

  “You. You’re from Billings, right? That’s what Buzz said.” Without waiting for her to confirm or deny, he continued, “That you came down here looking for antiques and discovered a long-lost family member. Maybe she’d returned to that area at some point, or her children did and you’re Beth’s great-great-granddaughter or something.” He pulled one hand out of his pockets and tapped the picture with a finger. “You sure do look like her.”

  Liz refused to rub at the chill rippling her arms, but couldn’t stop the fingers of one hand twisting the ring on her other. Why were there so many coincidences? She did resemble Beth, and the band on her finger was an exact duplicate to the one Rance wore. It all seemed impossible. Yet, everything that was happening was impossible on so many levels. But they were happening, she couldn’t deny that. Not needing another avenue to travel down, she moved to the table and put the pictures back in the box. “Everyone has a twin, or so it’s said.”

  “Or maybe they have the same genes and just don’t know it.”

  She closed the lid on the box and changed the subject. “If Lou didn’t call you, why are you here?”

  “I saw your car down by the gate.”

  The day had been so busy, she�
��d forgotten about leaving her car at the gate. As well as how she’d been in such a hurry to see Rance this morning she couldn’t wait for someone to open it. A lot of good that had done her. He’d been gone for several hours. Ever since she’d insisted she wasn’t Beth. “And, I suppose, you were just driving by?”

  Nate shrugged. “Why is it parked down there?”

  “No one was here to open the gate when I arrived.”

  Twisting about to lean a hip against the table, he tipped the brim up on his hat. She’d noticed he was handsome, it was hard not to, but she hadn’t noticed how dark his eyes were. As dark as Rance’s. Maybe because he’d said she could be Beth’s ancestor, she wondered if he was Rance’s. There were similarities. Just like Lou, Nate’s build was similar to Rance’s. Her stomach did a little dip. Was that where Rance was right now? With Cindy?

  “I never got a call.”

  While half of her mind was twirling sadistic ideas of Cindy, the other half was able to focus on Nate. “I called Lou. Not you.”

  Nate shook a finger at her. “That was a mistake. Lou’s not an early riser.”

  Of the two, she’d pegged Nate as more of the play boy, and that held true, even after seeing Lou in action last night. Nate’s grin said so. “And you are?”

  He chuckled and his eyes twinkled as he winked one eye. “When I need to be.”

  She didn’t want to like Nate, and therefore brought up what Lou had told her. “In order to not get caught with someone’s wife?”

  Nate shook his head. “Touché. Lou was spilling his guts, was he? Looking for a shoulder to cry on? Let me tell you something, darling. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Aunt Janice was Uncle Leonard’s third wife for a reason. He just couldn’t keep it in his pants.” Leaning closer he lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I think the only reason that stopped was because he was afraid Janice would cut it off if it came out when it shouldn’t.”

  She bit her lips together and tightened her throat against the absurdity of that, but throw in the way Nate had one brow lifted and despite her efforts, she couldn’t keep in a laugh. Disguising her laughter, she asked, “So, the men in your family are afraid of women, are they?”