Beneath a Beating Heart Read online

  “What? A cake in the oven?” she asked. “You’ve been staring at the house since you walked out the door.” As straightforward as ever, Nan hitched up her skirt. “Let’s go inside then, so you can see to whatever it is.”

  “No,” he said so abruptly and fast Nan stopped dead in her tracks. He took her elbow. “There’s nothing in the house. I need to get back to my horses. One’s still saddled and standing in the sun.”

  “It moved to the shade of the barn,” she stated dryly.

  He pulled up a grin. “Smart horse.”

  Nan spun around. “Come along, Cindy.”

  “Thanks for stopping out,” he said, prepared to walk Nan to the wagon.

  “We aren’t leaving,” Nan said. “Not yet. We came out to conduct a bit of business and aren’t leaving until we do so.”

  Getting rid of Nan when she didn’t want to leave was like getting rid of small pox. He remembered that from the days she’d ventured out to help Beth put up wall paper and sew curtains. After a brief glance at the still closed window, he huffed out a sigh. “What sort of business?”

  “Cindy will be staying with us for a while, and therefore, we will need another horse.” Nan was now marching beside him toward the barn. “One trained to pull. Cindy will use my old Sunday buggy when needed. As you know, with the boys at hand, I much prefer the wagon.”

  “One trained for riding, too,” the niece said. “I so enjoy a ride in the countryside. Don’t you, Mr. Livingston?”

  He didn’t answer. His gaze had gone over his shoulder to the upstairs window again. He sure wished that curtain was floating on the breeze.

  “Cindy hails from down near Cheyenne,” Nan said. “My sister’s daughter. Cliff suggested and I agree a nice, gentle horse will be best.”

  He didn’t miss the cool edge of Nan’s voice. Or the heavy sigh that came from the niece. He let his gaze slip from the house as they neared the barn.

  “One that can pull my buggy,” Nan said firmly. “One of the boys will accompany Cindy on all of her outings.”

  Nan didn’t pawn her sons off on anyone, and that meant she would be sending them with her niece to keep the girl out of trouble. Which was information he didn’t need. Women were a lot like horses. One look told him which ones would be more trouble than they were worth. He’d already gotten that sense from the younger woman. The two of them looked a bit alike, with blonde hair and blue eyes, but the low-cut neckline of Cindy’s dress said more than words ever could.

  “Most of the horses are spoken for,” he said, pointing to the full corral. “But I can spare one.” Buffalo Bill’s order didn’t need to be filled for a few weeks, but even if that hadn’t been the case, the horse he was thinking of wouldn’t work for Bill’s shows. It was too old and slow.

  “I want that one.”

  They’d neared the corral, and he followed the general direction of Cindy’s pointing finger. The blood around his heart warmed as his gaze landed on a liver and white paint. It was a little mustang mare with more spirit than horses twice her size. Just like Beth. The two of them had made a fitting pair, as he’d known they would when he’d given that horse to his new wife as her welcome-to-your-new-home gift. Beth had named her Esmeralda, and he’d laughed, saying that was a hell of a name for a horse. Esmeralda it was though, and there was a saddle he was making just for her in the barn. The tree was done, and the leather stretched, but he was still working on the tooling. Had been. He hadn’t worked on the saddle in over two months.

  Unable to stop himself, he glanced once more at his bedroom window. Still shut. The curtains still closed. This time he grinned, recalling how she’d called her automobile a mustang. Horseless carriages, as some referred to them, were becoming more and more popular out east, but he wasn’t about to place any bets they’d make it this far west. Too much trouble, that’s what he’d heard about them, and as unreliable as coyotes.

  “Mr. Livingston, did you hear me?”

  He turned to Cindy and ignored the way she batted her eyelashes. She could do headstands for all he cared. Since the moment he’d met Beth, every other woman had dulled in comparison, and they forever would. She’d sent his spirit into a whirlwind back then and had done so again today.

  “That horse isn’t for sale.” Esmeralda had missed Beth as much as he had and would be happy to see her home. Almost as happy as him. With that thought, he waved at the barn door. “The one I’ll sell you is in here.”

  “In the barn? I don’t want some old nag.”

  “Cindy,” Nan snapped.

  If he’d had a mind to care, he may have wondered what was behind the niece staying with Nan and Cliff. It certainly smelled like trouble, but he had his own quandary to contend with right now. That closed window was eating at him like a festered sliver. “Horse isn’t an old nag.” He opened the barn door.

  “Horse? It doesn’t have a real name?” Cindy asked with a bit of arsenic in her tone.

  Because the back door leading into the corral was open, he waited until both women entered and then closed the barn door behind them. “Horse is her name. She’s never needed another one.”

  Just as he’d known she’d be, the big brown mare was standing in a stall. She was smart. It was hot outside. Grabbing a rope hanging amongst many on the wall, he gestured for the women to stand back. Patting Horse on her rump, he walked along her side while loosening the slipknot in the rope and then slid it over her neck. The animal backed out of the stall with little more than a pat on her shoulder and followed him back to where the women stood.

  “I’ll settle up with Cliff next time I see him,” he told Nan while gesturing toward the barn door.” In truth, Horse would be no more than a loan. The niece wouldn’t be staying long. Nan wouldn’t put up with any shenanigans, and the spiteful blonde was full of them. It didn’t take her opening her mouth again for him to know that.

  “She’s brown,” the niece snipped. “A dull brown horse.”

  “Horse is a good animal,” he said, purely in defense of the horse. He couldn’t care less how the girl felt. “She’ll do anything you ask. If you treat her fairly.” He added the last bit with a touch of warning.

  “She’ll be treated fairly,” Nan said. “I personally guarantee that.”

  He shut the barn door once they’d all excited and then led Horse to the wagon. There he tied the lead rope to the tailgate.

  “Good seeing you, Nan,” he said, taking extra time with the knot. The niece was standing next to the wagon, obviously awaiting assistance in climbing aboard. He wasn’t about to play gentleman to the likes of her. Not when Beth was inside his house. He was beyond itching to get back in there himself.

  Nan didn’t miss much, and having already climbed aboard the wagon, ordered, “Climb up, Cindy. Rance is busy, and we’ve taken up enough of his time.”

  He tipped his hat in farewell. “Tell Cliff I said hello.”

  “I will, and don’t worry about Horse,” she said, gathering up the reins. “She’ll be well-cared for.”

  “I don’t have a worry one about that.” He slapped the animal on the rump when the matching pair pulling the wagon stepped forward.

  He waited, though it practically killed him, until the wagon had turned about and rolled beneath the long board nailed to the tall posts marking the entrance to the yard before he made a mad dash for the house.

  His feet slid to a stop, so did his heart, even before the screen door had slammed shut behind him. He didn’t need to go upstairs. The overwhelming emptiness inside him said Beth wasn’t there.

  Not even her ghost.

  Not upstairs.

  Not downstairs.

  Not anywhere.

  Chapter Five

  Mere seconds after Rance faded into thin air right before her eyes, Liz heard gravel crunching. She moved to peer out the window and half expected to see a wagon. That, of course, was crazy. The double-cab Dodge pick-up was much more feasible, and more disappointing. She couldn’t be certain but had a good idea the
man climbing out the driver’s door must be Lou’s cousin, Nate.

  Of course, I’ll help. Had she really said that? She’d helped people in the past—she’d worked in customer service for seven years—but when Rance had asked, or his ghost had asked, she’d felt something. Inside. Had answered without a thought. And had meant it. She would help him.

  She pulled the window down and closed the curtains. Nate probably wasn’t any more likable than Lou—who had been about as appealing as day old pizza stuck to the bottom of the box. Some men had a lot to learn about sex appeal. Especially those who thought they owned it but didn’t. She’d spent seven years fending off a boss who had acted as if he’d been made for women to love. He’d been wrong. Not only did she not believe in love, men who tried to play off other’s emotions disgusted her to the core. She had no doubt she could put both Lou Dixon and his cousin Nate firmly in their place if they tried barking up that tree.

  She replaced the mirror on the dresser, glass side down after a final check showed nothing but her image, and then put the century old copy of the Ladies Home Journal magazine she’d been reading back on the table beside the bed. With a sigh, she picked up the now empty crate and crossed the room.

  Sex appeal was so overrated. Respect was where attraction began. Self-respect. A man who honored himself and treated others in the same manner. That was far more important than sex appeal any day. How the hell did she know all that? She turned and scanned the room one last time. Guess how didn’t matter. She did know and must have never realized it before.

  Rance had self-respect. Even as a ghost that came through.

  A shiver had Liz pausing on the stair steps and glancing around. “Rance?”

  There was no hum in the air, no feeling that someone was watching her. Actually, the house had that long-lost empty feeling. She had felt it when she’d first walked through the door.

  Had she really seen a ghost? Talked to one? Or had her passion for antiques finally gotten the best of her?

  No. She’d seen Rance. Some form of him. And seeing it had opened something inside her. An intuition of sorts, one that somehow had broadened her perception. Was that even possible? Could seeing a ghost bring out a person’s thoughts about love and men? A person who had never even cared enough about such things to question them?

  Liz shook her head slightly, just to clear her thoughts and hopefully get her mind back on track as she continued to the ground floor.

  The crate was once again beside the old stove in the kitchen—an exact duplicate of the stove that had caught her attention the first time she’d walked into the antique store and met Vivi Anne—when the screen door was pulled open as wide as it could go. She stopped herself from saying that would ruin the spring as she turned about to meet Cousin Nate. It wasn’t her door, so why should she care about the spring?

  He strolled through the doorway, and Liz held her breath against the ire tightening her neck muscles as the door bounced against the frame to bang, not once, but twice. Everything old, even screen doors and their springs, should be appreciated and treasured. That was simply respect. Everything old had a story to tell. Such reasoning might make her an odd duck in today’s disposable world, but she didn’t mind. It was who she was and had long ago come to grips with that.

  As Nate stopped just inside the door, she glanced around, half hoping to be able to detect a hum. There wasn’t one, but that didn’t stop her from silently telling Rance this would be a good time to start haunting the twenty-first century. The way Nate eyed the room told her he didn’t appreciate a thing about this house or the stories it could tell.

  He had on a black T-shirt and black jeans, which had to have come from the same store where Lou shopped. Expensive and a size too small if you asked her. A black cowboy hat covered a good portion of his face, and his boots had silver toe tips that were as shiny as the chrome wheels on the big truck he’d parked outside the door.

  Letting out a sigh, for Rance was certainly no-where around, she took a step forward. She wasn’t afraid of Nate but did get an immediate dislike. Much like she had with Lou. Much like she had with most every man she’d ever met.

  “So what did you find, sweetheart?” he asked, without any sort of introduction. “Enough jing to make me sing?”

  His laugh included a wink that increased her disgust. Both he and his cousin could be considered handsome by some, but that was all she’d give either of them.

  “I’m Liz Baxter,” she said, letting her expression tell him she wasn’t impressed. “I assume you are Nate.” She almost said Dixon but wasn’t sure if that was his last name or not. It was Lou’s, and Buzz had said they were cousins, but that didn’t mean Nate had the same last name.

  “Sure am. Nate Dixon.”

  His grin flashed bleached teeth. The kind that came from a dentist office, not a blue box from the drug store.

  “And I know who you are. Lou called me, said you were out here. Thought I’d stop by, see what you found and what it’s worth.”

  She drew in a breath to calm her irritation. “There are a lot of quality antiques here,” she said honestly. “But I haven’t had time to place a value on any of them.”

  He pulled a cell phone out of the back pocket of his jeans—which was amazing considering how tight they were—and glanced at the display.

  “You’ve been here an hour and a half,” he said, replacing the phone. “What have you been doing all that time if not putting a value on things?”

  “I was doing a walk through.” That had been her plan, until she’d espied the old magazine and encountered a ghost. Of course the stove had been the first thing to gander her attention, and then the items on the dresser. That’s when she’d returned to the kitchen for the crate, to gather a few things to research back at her motel room this evening.

  That wouldn’t be happening now. A sense of gut-wrenching betrayal soured her insides at the thought of removing anything from the house.

  Waving a hand at the area in general, she said, “I’ll need a lot more time, several days at least.”

  “Days?” He lifted a brow. “We don’t have that kind of time.” Leaning one hand on the door frame, he tapped a toe. “I have a pretty full agenda right now, darling. This place is just one of my projects.”

  She was no man’s sweetheart or darling and would appreciate telling him so, yet she would have to step gingerly. He could easily call in someone else to appraise things. Someone who might not take to Rance as easily as she had. Or vise-versa.

  Speaking of ghosts, she thought. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

  Still no hum. No goose bumps prickling her arms. No thudding of her heart.

  Liz sighed. “Well, this project as you call it, is going to take me days. Whether you have the time or not.”

  His lifted brow was saying she could convince him, with certain offerings, something she had no intention of ever doing. He sincerely thought he had the upper hand. Delusional fool. She’d fended off far better men over the years. Those in cowboy hats as well as those in suits and ties. And she’d spent the last seven years managing the customer service department of a cell phone company that didn’t give a rat’s ass about its customers, yet she’d had to pretend that Cell One had.

  Wrapping her brain around how she could use that, she said, “I believe you have several very valuable items here. Unique, one of a kind items, but I need time to examine them, research them, and find a buyer for them.”

  “I thought you were the buyer.” He walked toward the old wooden kitchen table and chair set.

  They were elaborately carved and the buffet along the far wall matched the table and chairs, adding value to the set. Everything in the house looked so untouched, practically unused. She flinched inwardly when he pulled a chair out and set one foot in the center of the seat.

  “I, or Vivi Anne, the dealer I work for, may buy some items, but in all honesty, you have more here than we can afford.” Liz was not only looking for a way to buy time, stroking his
already overly inflated ego was necessary. She was being honest, too. Every item in this house would be considered an antique. Added up, she and Vivi Anne didn’t have that kind of money to spend on inventory.

  Nate drummed four fingers on his knee. “I don’t need the money that bad, you know. Neither does Lou. We just thought we’d help Buzz out by letting him broker a deal for a few things. He doesn’t get paid much working at that tourist trap he loves so much, and his health isn’t the best.”

  Plying on her sense of benevolence would get him nowhere, but she wasn’t in the mood to tell him that. Never would be in a mood to tell him anything about herself.

  “It’s my understanding that you’ve wanted to tear the place down for some time, while Lou wanted it preserved,” she said.

  He chuckled. “If he says so.”

  Although she had no desire to defend either cousin, she said, “Lou didn’t, Buzz did.”

  His bellow of laughter echoed off the walls. “That’s because Lou’s afraid of this old place. Swears he saw Rance watching him out the window one time. We used to have to mow the place when we were younger. I told him I saw old Rance once. Just to keep him scared.” He laughed again as he glanced around. “Had some fun times out here as a teenager.” He snapped his fingers. “But never could get a girl to venture inside with me.”

  His actions disgusted her as much as his words. A girl would have to have the scruples of a self-imposed socialite with their own TV reality show to go anywhere with him.

  “Lou wanted to sell the entire place to Buzz. The house that is, have it moved into town as part of the tourist trap, but Buzz said it was too valuable. That the non-profit that runs his place couldn’t afford it. I suspect it’s because of old Rance’s connection to Buffalo Bill. The town still thrives on that connection. Old Bill made the entire world believe America was full of cowboys.” He laughed. “People still believe that’s all Wyoming is made of.”