“I’m sorry, but I can’t be her,” she said, hurrying to the door. “I’ve never cared about anyone, about anything. And she did.” Her breastbone stung from how hard her heart pounded. She shoved open the door. “I’m sorry, Rance. I’m truly sorry.”
She ran to her car, climbed in, hit the ignition, and stomped on the gas pedal. She had to get away. Couldn’t have another panic attack. Wouldn’t have another panic attack.
If she didn’t hurry, she’d change her mind. The hum still echoed in her ears, and she could imagine Rance yelling at her from the yard, chasing her car.
She bounced about as the car sped over the ruts in the road but didn’t slow until she was through the gate. The idea of not stopping crossed her mind, but her better judgment, if she had any left, forced her to hit the brake pedal.
Hurrying, as if the devil was chasing her, she jumped out and ran back to the gate. It was heavy and awkward, but she swung it closed, threaded the attached chain around the pole, and latched the paddle lock. The thud of hooves had her glancing up. It wasn’t the little mustang she’d seen earlier. This horse was big, and as gray as storm clouds, and racing toward her.
She ran back to her car and stomped on the gas as the door slammed shut. The car shot onto the pavement so fast her tires squealed. Her heart was racing just as fast, and she drew in several breaths, trying to slow it down.
Gradually, everything slowed. Her heart. Her breathing. She eased her foot of the gas, letting the car slow to a safer speed. Glancing in the review mirror, at the empty road behind her, she sighed. These panic attacks were getting out of hand. She’d never had two in one day.
By the time she arrived in town, she was more in control. More reasonable. Her phone dinged several times, signaling both text messages and voice mails awaited her attention now that she had coverage.
Needing some time to gather her thoughts and nerves, she pulled into a café parking lot. She hadn’t eaten all day, and it was after six. No wonder her head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her heart hurt.
Eating may not have anything to do with her heart, but she was probably dehydrated and that would. Wouldn’t it?
Either way, she parked and climbed out of her car.
She sat in a booth of cracked red Naugahyde and placed an order with a young girl wearing shorts and cowboy boots. The décor was the usual for the area, western and rustic, and she wondered if the lack of other customers was a warning. After downing the glass of water the waitress had carried over, she headed for the powder room and splashed cold water on her face. Looking at her reflection as she finger-combed her hair, she wondered about heatstroke. That did odd things to a person. Maybe that’s what was happening. It was hot outside and inside Rance’s house. As if her image was a different person, a sneer formed, telling her she wasn’t having a heatstroke.
“Fine,” she whispered at the mirror. “Then I’m crazy. Flipping crazy. Happy now?”
She grabbed her purse off the counter and headed for the door while muttering, “So flipping crazy I’m talking to myself and expecting answers.”
Back at her booth, she watched people filing in, families and couples, and by the time her burger and fries arrived, she figured she’d simply beat the rush—which was a very sane and rational thought. Reality. This was reality. She wasn’t having a heatstroke and she wasn’t crazy. She was just hungry.
A family sat at the table next to her booth. A young couple with a girl and boy. The boy was little more than a baby and kept twisting around in his tray-less high chair, pointing at her. The father kept trying to gain his attention, but the boy found her more interesting.
“Sorry,” the father said. “He’s hungry and loves French fries.”
“Well, here, then.” She pulled a napkin from the metal holder and used her knife to sweep a few fries onto the napkin. “I have far more than I can eat and don’t mind sharing if you don’t mind.”
“That is so sweet of you,” the mother said, reaching for the napkin. “And we’re sorry to have interrupted your meal.”
“Don’t be sorry. I truly have more than I can eat.” She’d eaten most of the burger that had been just shy of huge. “There’s more if he wants them.”
“These should tide him over,” the mother said. “Thank you.”
“Tell the nice lady thank you, Rance,” the father said to the boy.
Her ears were ringing, but she waited as the child, sucking on a French fry, chatted something that resembled thank you before she asked, “What’s his name?”
“Rance,” the mother answered.
Her stomach somersaulted and she had to swallow to keep the hamburger where it belonged. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?” She wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate way to fish for more information, but truly didn’t care.
“Yes, but it’s well known around here,” the mother answered, smiling at her husband.
“Oh? Why’s that?” Calm and in-control—somewhat, she pushed her plate toward the edge of her table in case the child needed more fries, hoping to entice more answers.
“Rance Livingston was horse breeder in this area during the early nineteen hundreds,” the father answered.
Nodding toward her husband, the wife continued, “Dale’s family’s cattle ranch butts up against the Livingston property. Since the first time I heard the name Rance, I’ve loved it.”
“It’s a nice name.” The once tasty burger swelled to three times its quarter-pound weight inside her stomach.
“My great-grandfather knew Rance and bought several hundred acres from him before he died. Clair and I have tried to buy more, Rance’s home place, but the people who own it now are asking too much for it.”
“There’s an old house and other buildings on the property that the fire department is going to burn down this weekend,” the wife, obviously named Clair, said. “It’s sad, but I guess they’ve had someone out there inventorying the antiques so hopefully a few things will be salvaged.”
“Are you new to the area?” the husband, Dale, asked.
She shook her head. “Just passing through.” Although little Rance had been sucking on French fries the entire time, he’d never taken his eyes off her. They were as big and brown as his namesake’s and as memorizing.
“The blue Mustang from Montana?” Dale asked.
“We parked next to you,” Clair explained a moment later.
“Yes,” she answered before flipping the conversation back to Rance’s property. “Why are they burning the buildings?”
Dale shrugged while Clair said, “There are plenty of rumors circulating.”
She wanted to ask what those rumors were, but the waitress appeared at their table. As soon as plates were set before the children, both parents had their hands full. In spite of wanting to know more, interrupting their meal would be too rude. She gathered her purse and stood. “Thank you for the visit.” Unable not to, she ruffled the boy’s dark hair. He was still looking at her even while his mother tried to make him turn around. “Bye, Rance.”
The boy waved while the parents thanked her for the fries and wished her safe travels. At the counter, she paid for her meal. The same waitress who’d waited on her took her money, and she noticed the girl’s T-shirt said, Save a horse, ride a cowboy. She added a couple dollars to her tip, for the girl to buy a new shirt, but as the waitress dropped the tip into a jar full of money, Liz figured maybe the girl didn’t need a new shirt. That one seemed to be serving her well.
She climbed in her car and took note of the pickup truck parked next to her. Rolling Hills Cattle Company was painted on the door. She couldn’t help but think of little Rance, and how living next door to a nuclear dump site might affect him. His family. The community as a whole.
Those thoughts lingered as she drove to her hotel and continued after she entered her room. She considered calling Vivi Anne, but her mind was in too much turmoil for that. Thoughts of Rance, and what he’d eaten for supper, if he had, and if he was still mad at her, mingled among
st all the others.
Flopping onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t cut out to save the world. To save anything. She couldn’t even save herself.
****
“What the hell am I doing?” Rance asked himself as he brought the big gray horse to a stop where his driveway met the road that led into Cody. He could ride all the way to town, search every street, but he’d never find her. Beth had disappeared as soon as she’d walked out the kitchen door. He shouldn’t have mentioned Hiah, of being reborn, but Beth had understood and accepted such things, even encouraged him to explore his heritage more.
The Beth he’d known and married had.
Maybe this one was right. She’s not Beth.
He turned the horse and started back up the driveway, but midway, angled their route across the pasture. It was a fair distance, but he needed more than the vague answers his great uncle had provided last night. There had to be a way for him to convince Beth she’d been reborn.
His thoughts took a tumble. Even if that happened, if she believed, she’d still be in her century, and he’d be in his. What good would that do either of them?
Despite all his doubts, all the ifs and buts, he still needed more answers, and continued forward.
The sun had long ago set, leaving the moon to guide his way the last few miles. In that golden glow, as his uncle’s squat cabin came into sight, Hiah could be seen standing in front of the cabin, waiting for him.
Rance rode into the yard and dismounted. “You knew I’d come.”
“You have many questions.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I cannot answer them,” Hiah said.
He pulled the bridle off his horse before moving to relieve the horse of his saddle. “But you can help me understand them.”
“Only you can help you understand them,” Hiah said.
That was not what he wanted to hear. “I don’t know how.” The frustration inside him was so strong it angered him and broke loose the pain beneath it all. “I can’t live the rest of my life without her.” His throat burned. “Don’t want to live the rest of my life without her.”
“Come.” Hiah waved an arm. “We sit.”
He piled his riding gear on the ground and let the horse roam where it may. His uncle didn’t lead him into the cabin. They walked around it, to the back side where a small fire glowed in the darkness. The ground around it was worn smooth and hard. Hiah collected a few small logs from a pile nearby and tossed them into the smoldering coals before gesturing to sit.
Hiah sat across the fire, with his legs folded, his hands resting on his knees, and his chin forward. “You loved your woman very much.”
“Yes, you know that.”
“You must be thankful. Not many know this kind of love.”
He shook his head. “How can I be thankful when she was taken from me?”
“She has come back to you.”
Holding back the anger, the pain, pushing inside him, Rance shook his head again. “No, she hasn’t. She’s a ghost. She lives in a different time. I can’t hold her. Can’t love her.”
“You do not love her?”
“Yes, I still love her.” Frustration bawled his hands into fists. “What good is that when I can’t touch her?”
“Do you not love the sun? The light it gives you. The warmth and nourishment it gives the earth.”
“I appreciate the sun,” Rance answered, instead of pointing out the glow in Beth’s eyes had filled him with more light and warmth than sunlight ever had. “The earth couldn’t survive without it.”
Hiah nodded.
Rance waited for his uncle to say more. After a weighted length of silence, he asked, “What does the sun have to do with Beth?”
“You cannot touch the sun.”
He ran both hands through his hair and squeezed at his temples. This was doing him less good than searching through Cody would have. “I know I can’t touch the sun. I don’t want to touch the sun. I want to touch Beth. Love her like a man loves a woman again.” He slapped both knees. “Can you tell me how I can do that?”
“No, I cannot.”
He withheld the desire to jump to his feet. “What can you tell me?”
Silence once again weighted each minute that ticked by. He wanted to leave but had nowhere to go, no one else to help him figure out what he needed to do. Accepting that, he bowed his head. “Is there anything I can do? Is there anything you can tell me?”
“I can tell you your woman has found her spirit home. It is you. You must welcome her home.”
“I did welcome her home.” He shook his head. “But I want more than her spirit.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her.”
Hiah took a deep breath before saying, “A love so great it lasts many generations is a gift many never receive. You do not know of this because you do not think Shoshone.”
“Then tell me how to think Shoshone,” he pleaded. “Tell me how to understand this great love.”
“I cannot tell you how to think Shoshone.” Hiah stood. “Come, I have prepared a place for you.”
Confused, he asked, “Prepared a place? For what? Where?”
His uncle did not answer but led him a distance away from the cabin to a dome-shaped hut. There Hiah removed his clothing and instructed Rance to do the same before entering. Willing to try whatever he could to understand more, he obeyed. The heat of the interior of the hut was intense, and beads of sweat popped out of his skin before he sat down.
“We will call to the four winds, the earth, and the sky,” Hiah said.
Rance didn’t know how to call to anyone. His grandparents had forbidden him to embrace any of the Shoshone ways. Hiah knew that and had never suggested otherwise. Even after moving away from his grandparents, when Rance had a choice to explore his heritage, he’d chosen not to. His father had been half Shoshone, he was only a fourth, and considering the way people looked down upon anyone with Indian blood, he’d shied away from acknowledging any flowed through his veins.
Instead, he’d focused on his horses, until he’d found Beth. Besides Hiah, and possibly Buffalo Bill, who never commented on it either way, she was the only one who knew Hiah was his great uncle.
“Do not think, nephew,” Hiah said. “Do not question. Close your eyes and repeat after me.”
He copied the chanting noises Hiah made. He felt unconscious humming sounds that meant nothing but continued. He tried in earnest to follow each direction Hiah gave him, even while doubting any of this would help him. Help Beth.
Chapter Fourteen
Liz awoke with a start and glanced around to see why. Other than a thin strip of light above the curtain, the room was dark, and quiet. Her heart was pounding, but not overly hard, and she closed her eyes. Knowing she’d been dreaming, she tried to focus on what the dream had been about.
A knock on the door had her opening her eyes again. She glanced at the clock beside the bed. Twelve-thirty. The knock sounded again, and she flipped her legs off the edge of the bed. She was still completely dressed. Including her sandals. The very ones she’d cursed while scaling the gate this morning. Or yesterday morning.
She was running her hands through her hair when the voice that said her name on the other side of the door had her jumping to her feet.
“Vivi Anne?” Sure enough, the gray-haired woman, dressed as colorfully as ever, was on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been calling you all day, finally just had to drive down here to make sure you were still among us,” Vivi Anne answered, walking into the room.
The overhead light came on and over a hundred watts temporarily blinded her. Liz rubbed her eyes, and then while closing the door, noted the porch light wasn’t on. Vivi Anne’s truck was parked beside her car, and although they were off now, it had to have been the headlights of the truck shining above the curtain a minute ago. “How long have you been here?”
“Just pulled in. Knocked twice
before saying your name. I didn’t want to wake anyone else.”
Figuring it had been the dream that had awakened her, Liz closed her eyes again. Something about that dream still lingered, just below the surface where her mind couldn’t reach. It was no use. She couldn’t remember anything. “Why are you here?”
“I just told you.” Vivi Anne patted the bed. “Sit down. I must have awakened you out of deep sleep.”
Liz sat on the bed. “I fell asleep after I ate. I must have been really tired because that was five hours ago.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“All day?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have service out at Rance’s place.”
“How are things coming along there?”
The dream tried to come forward again, but it was still too faint. “Fine, I guess.”
“You guess?”
She reached for the bag she’d dropped on the bed earlier and then remembered her notebook was still in Rance’s front room. Her hands started to tremble, and she released the bag. “I don’t think I can go back out there.”
“Why?”
“It’s so complicated I don’t even know where to start.” She stood and paced the small area between the foot of the bed and the dresser holding the dark-ages television set. “Rance doesn’t care about any of the things in the future. He loves his wife too much to care about what happens to his property decades after he dies.”
“But you do.”
“No. Yes.” She growled at her own confusion. “I don’t want little Rance to grow up next to a nuclear—”
“Little Rance?”
She shook her head. “A family I met at the café. But who am I to stop it? How do we even know that’s true? Neither Lou or Nate have mentioned it.”
“Have you asked either of them?”
“No, it didn’t come up in conversation. They both have enough of their own issues. One’s sleeping with the other one’s wife, and—”
“You know who they are sleeping with?”
She let out a gust of air. “Yes. They told me. This entire thing is a convoluted cluster—”
Beneath a Beating Heart Page 20
