Although the bed was a homecoming in its own right, sleep didn’t come immediately, but when it did, it was peaceful and undisrupted.
He awakened surprised by the sunlight that filled the room. Somewhat taken aback by the odd familiarity that surrounded him, he closed his eyes for a moment.
That same familiarity was what had his eyes snapping open a second later and him leaping off the bed.
“Beth! Beth!”
In two steps he was at the dresser but stopped shy of grabbing the mirror. He didn’t need it to see her. At least shouldn’t.
He closed his eyes. His heart swelled at the tingle that was back. As strong, if not stronger, than it had been yesterday.
He knew before opening his eyes what he’d see, and he held onto the excitement it caused as long as possible. Like a kid would opening a wrapped present, even while knowing what was inside. It was part of the fun. The anticipation. The thrill.
His entire body was tingling by the time he lifted his lids.
She was in the doorway, and his heart banged the inside of his chest like a blacksmith hammering steel on an anvil. He watched her sneak into the room, on tip-toes as if not to wake him. Wiping at his grin, he reached for the mirror again but stopped once more. The same reaction she’d caused in him every morning of their married days was the reason. Ghost or not, he didn’t need her seeing that.
He crossed the room, still watching her tiptoe toward the bed. What he wouldn’t give to grab her by the waist and toss her upon the covers still rumpled from his sleep and twisted from his fast exit. The bedding would become more tousled once he was done with her. The mattress might even end up on the floor the way his need throbbed with an ache that was indeed real.
Hell, was he really thinking about doing that with a ghost? Grabbing his pants, he deduced, he was thinking about doing that with his wife. The one who stood at the foot of his bed.
Once dressed, he walked back over to the dresser. She was beside the bed now, staring at it with a certain longing in her eyes.
He muffled a groan.
“Rance?” she whispered.
Now behind her, he reached around her shoulder and held the mirror before her face.
She jumped slightly, and he laughed—for a moment. He’d tried to catch her with his other hand, but once again, it went right through her.
Damn. This was so crazy. So exasperating.
Her smile, though, when he caught both of their reflections in the mirror, almost made up for his disappointment. Almost.
She twisted around, holding onto the mirror. “I didn’t want to wake you. Did I?”
“No, you didn’t.”
A little frown tugged at her brows. “Did you sleep here last night?”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Just curious. The bed’s still made and…” She shook her head slightly. “Rumor has it you slept in the cabin out back after your wife died.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that, but in the end, went with the truth. “That’s not a rumor.”
The tenderness of her gaze encrusted his heart, filling it with a warmth he hadn’t felt since the day he’d learned of the train accident.
“I felt you in the house the moment I entered it,” she said quietly.
“I felt you, too.”
She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “So you didn’t sleep here.”
He smiled. Without being able to touch her, his expressions were all he had to comfort her. “The bed’s not made.”
She glanced at the bed, and her sigh was heavy. “It is in my time.”
He might have hidden his stiffy under his britches, but it was still front and center, and in his mind. Standing beside her, talking about beds, made or unmade, was not helping. He swore he could smell her too. She always smelled so good. Fresh and clean. Like the sheets of their bed she hung in the sunshine each Saturday. God, he loved climbing into bed with her on those nights. Actually, he loved climbing into bed with her every night.
Close to losing whatever control he had, he abruptly said, “Let’s go downstairs. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
She nodded but stopped after talking a single step. “What if I can’t see you down there?”
“We’ll take the mirror.”
“What if it doesn’t work down there?”
Down there? Everything of his ‘down there’ worked just fine. Of course she wasn’t thinking along the same lines as him. Or with the same body parts. She couldn’t possibly know what his thoughts were focused on. “Then we’ll come back up here.”
She nodded again, and this time they made it all the way out of the bedroom before she spoke. “Was it yesterday, in your time, when we met?”
Biting his lip to keep from saying no, it had been last year when he’d delivered horses to her father; he waited until they started down the steps. “Yes. Was it yesterday in your time?”
“Yes.” A hint of smile crossed her lips. “That’s good to know, that time, at least hours and days, is the same for both of us.” She frowned. “Is it July? In your world, is it July?”
He contemplated the days since he’d last checked a calendar. “Yes. Tuesday, the twenty-third.”
“It’s Wednesday the twenty-third for me.”
“At least the dates are the same.”
They crossed through the center room of the house, where the little blue sofa and matching chair sat, the set she’d had her mother ship down from Billings as soon as the house was finished, along with the white tatted doilies hanging over the backs. They’d coupled on that little sofa. More than once. On the floor too, while building the house.
One particular afternoon while she’d been hanging up the flowered wallpaper, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. The flowers she’d plastered all over the walls had all but come to life that day. It had been as if he and Beth had been rolling in a field of daisies loving each other instead of on the floor inside a half-finished house. He wouldn’t admit it to many, but he’d grown to love that flowery wallpaper that day.
He swallowed a groan. He had a one thought mind today, and memories were not helping matters. They entered the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’m going to make some coffee.”
“But—”
He waited for her to say more. Not for long. The tension was too much. “But what?”
“You’ll have to let go of the mirror.”
The touch of panic that flashed in her eyes was understandable. If it was the other way around, if he could only see her when she was holding the mirror, he’d glue the damn thing to her hand. And his.
“You can’t see me at all without it?”
She shook her head sadly. “Not at all.”
“I’ll be right here. I promise.”
“I have some things to tell you.” She pinched her lips together briefly. “Things you need to know, and, and it’ll be harder if I can’t see you.”
A knot as cold as a rock pulled from the bottom of a well formed in his stomach. She was not a ghost from his future, coming to tell him things he didn’t want to hear. He couldn’t believe that. Did not believe that.
“What do you need to tell me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“This is all complicated, Beth.”
She grabbed the table with her free hand as if a great wave of dizziness had overtaken her. He tried to touch her, but his hands were useless. If she fell, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He cursed under his breath when he pulled out a chair, and it only moved in his world. Right through her.
“Sit down,” he said softly.
She nodded and grasped the back of a chair that appeared as soon as she touched it, then as she pulled it away from the table as he had, the two chairs, the one he’d pulled out and the one she did, merged into one. Slowly, she lowered onto the seat.
Even as odd as that was, his concern remained on her. He knelt beside her, never releasing his hold on the mirror. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, just dizzy,” she whispered. “It’s not bad, though.” She took several deep breaths before lifting her head and sighing heavily. Her eyes grew as sad as a lost soul. “My name is Liz. Elizabeth. I got dizzy yesterday, too, when you called me Beth.”
“You did?”
“Yes, when we were both looking out the window.”
He remembered that. She’d gone as white as a sheet. He hadn’t known why, but he had called her Beth then, and now. Not calling her Beth would be difficult, strange, but a mere name was the least of their worries. His anyway. Yet, Liz didn’t want to form on his lips. “How about Elizabeth? Do you get dizzy when I say that?”
“Say it again.”
“Elizabeth.”
Like an early morning sunrise, her smile rose and brightened her entire face. “No.”
If the result was a smile like that, he’d call her whatever she wanted. Testing the name one more time, he repeated, “Elizabeth.”
A spark flashed in her blue eyes. “That seems to work.”
“Works for me.” When Beth had first introduced herself to him, she said her name was Elizabeth, but that he could call her Beth. He’d never forget that day, how she’d perched herself on the top board of her father’s corral while he’d demonstrated how well-trained the set of horses he’d driven north to Billings were. Buffalo Bill had arranged the sale, after Conrad, Beth’s father, had seen one of Bill’s shows and wanted a pair of the matching white mustangs for his wife, Millie.
Call her Beth, or Elizabeth, the woman sitting before him with her sparkling blue eyes and pink cheeks had his heart beating as hard as it had that day and memories of how much they’d loved each other in the months following had need flaring in his britches.
Attempting to squelch that need, he went back to their earlier conversation. “Now, what do you have to tell me?”
Her face scrunched. “It’s complicated.”
She had the most adorable expressions, and he loved every one of them, and remaining this close to her while remembering some particular expressions wasn’t squelching his desires in any way. “You said that.” He rose from his crouched stance beside her chair and leaned against the table. “I’m listening.”
After licking her lips, slowly, enticingly enough to make him quell a groan, she smiled consolingly.
He frowned.
“It’s not bad. Just complicated. I believe I mentioned my friend Vivi Anne. She owns an antique shop, Here for Now, the one I work for, and…”
This was Beth, the need to explain everything, even the tiniest detail, especially when she was arguing a case. “And…” he coaxed.
“She also, well, she knows things, or understands things that others don’t, or can’t.”
“All right.” He wasn’t overly concerned about her friend but would listen. Always had.
“I talked to her last night, and she said that neither of us is a ghost.”
His spine tingled. “You or her?”
Her grin was adorable. “Me or you,” she clarified.
That wasn’t necessarily news to him. He’d known he wasn’t a ghost. The jury was still out on her.
Growing serious again, she sighed. “She says time isn’t like one long rope, it’s more like several pieces laid side by side. While you’re living on one string, I’m living on another, a hundred years later, and somehow, we’ve found a way for those two timelines to bump into each other, intercept.”
He scratched his forehead. That didn’t sound like Beth. She was too sensible, too down to earth to make up impossible theories. Then again, she’d said her friend had said all this, and that was like Beth. If a person was lucky enough to be her friend, she’d believe in them, no matter what, and stand by them through thick and thin.
That’s how it had been for the two of them, right from the beginning. Her straightforwardness had been as original as her, and endearing, and by the time he’d left Billings two days after meeting her, she’d told him if he wasn’t already in love with her, he soon would be. He’d laughed at her, but her words had stuck. Especially after he’d returned home and hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.
For the next two months, he’d spent more time traveling to Billings to see her than training horses—and that had never happened before. However, he knew a thoroughbred when he saw one. Beth was a thoroughbred. Absolute perfection in every way. She was the one who’d asked him to marry her. Said if he didn’t, he was going to go broke coming to see her. She’d been right, but he’d insisted he had to build a house first, that he couldn’t expect her to live in his little cabin.
There too, Beth had been unrelenting, saying she’d help him build a house, that way it would be exactly what she wanted. Six weeks later they’d been married. A warm January day six short months ago—Beth wouldn’t even wait for spring. And in the weeks that followed, she’d pounded nails right beside him, building their house to the perfection she’d envisioned.
A vision she’d made him believe in too.
“Imagine two worlds, each existing in their own time, at the same time.” She held up two fingers on one hand. “I’m living in twenty-eighteen, you in nineteen-o-one, and somehow, we’ve managed to interconnect.” She then crossed the two fingers she held up.
New inventions, different ideas, strange happenings—none of those things ever disturbed him, but her seriousness, and an elusive belief tingling inside his head, had him questioning this one. In a way he’d never questioned things before. As if he might need to take her theory under consideration. Then again, if it meant she’d eventually remember being his wife, he’d believe in ghosts, goblins, trolls, unicorns, and…
“Two worlds existing at the same time,” he said aloud.
She nodded. “Vivi Anne says there are numerous case studies of such things. It’s what’s made scientists believe in time travel.”
“Time travel?”
She nodded again. “Time has no boundaries, no beginnings or endings. It doesn’t measure itself in minutes or hours, or days or years. People do that.”
“Can I make that coffee now?” Her not seeing his reaction to all this might be a good thing. He’d never not believed her, but time travel?
“You won’t leave?”
“I won’t leave.”
“All right. Make your coffee.”
He let go of the mirror and gave his body a good shake, like a dog does after jumping out of a pond. A good case of the willies had set in. He also rubbed his head with both hands and then scratched his tingling scalp.
“Are you still there?”
He touched the mirror briefly. “Yes. I’m going to the stove now.”
“I have more to say.”
I’m sure you do. He grinned. When attempting to prove a point, Beth could corner a fly and keep it there until it saw things her way. “Talk while I make coffee.” Taking his hand off the mirror, he walked around the table. Coffee would help.
Coffee.
Would.
Help.
If he could find it.
He’d opened three cupboards. It had been a couple of months since he’d eaten in the house, but he’d never taken any supplies out of here. In the fourth cupboard he hit the mother lode. The bag of ground coffee beans and the coffee pot he’d washed and put away the morning before Cliff had arrived. Oddly enough, for the first time, that memory didn’t fill him with pain.
Carrying both the coffee and the pot, he went to the sink and started pumping. The well needed to prime itself, and the pipes needed a minute to rinse out before he used the crystal-clear water that started flowing to fill the pot. After adding coffee, he went to build a small fire in the stove.
“I’m assuming you’re listening, so I’m going to start. This is a long story, so touch the mirror when you have a question.”
He heard her but didn’t turn around. Not because she couldn’t see him. Rather, because, he’d never used her stove.
“I met this woman at my motel in Cody last night.”<
br />
He spun around. A hotel in Cody? Ghosts didn’t need hotel rooms.
“She was friends with Riley Dixon. Cliff’s grandson. It gets complicated, and I hope I got things straight. Cliff was married to Nan, and they had two sons. Ralph and Randy.”
He went ahead and built a fire. The stove wasn’t doing anyone any good sitting unused.
“They also had a third son.”
He let out a humph at that. Cliff wasn’t getting any younger. He’d be a ripe old age by the time another baby grew to adulthood.
“He wasn’t really their son, but he was raised as their son. His name was Robert. Ralph never had any children, but Randy had a son, and his name was Riley. I guess they all had a thing for the letter R. Anyway, Robert had two sons, Clayton and Leonard. Yes, finally names that don’t being with R’s. That got confusing.” She looked toward the stove. “Are you following this?”
Hurrying across the room, he touched the mirror. “Yes.” He knew Ralph and Randy, and the rest, well, he wasn’t sure it mattered.
She smiled up at him.
His heart took a serious tumble.
“Well, everything was fine, until Leonard’s wife, his third or fourth one, Edith, that’s the woman I met last night, wasn’t sure considering Leonard was married several times. Anyway, Leonard’s wife and Rosie, who was Clayton’s wife, got into a fight. Leonard’s wife claimed Rosie got pregnant only because she was also pregnant. She and Leonard were Lou’s parents and Rosie and Clayton were Nate’s.”
He nodded as if he agreed, whereas in truth, he had no idea who she was talking about. He was racking his brain to remember if he knew an Edith who worked at one of the hotels. It sure didn’t ring a bell. Buffalo Bill was building a new hotel, named after his daughter Irma, but that hadn’t opened yet, so no Edith could be working there. Then again, if he had an open mind, a very open mind, he didn’t know an Edith working at any hotel because she didn’t work there until twenty-eighteen. Which meant said Edith wasn’t born yet.
A shiver raced over him. If Edith wasn’t born yet, neither was Beth. This Beth. Another shiver had him squeezing his temples. He needed to get his head around this. Somehow. Maybe his first thoughts yesterday had been right, that she’d hit her head during the accident and when she awoke, unable to remember much, she created this story to confuse him as to why she hadn’t returned to him right away.
Beneath a Beating Heart Page 8
