Beneath a Beating Heart

by Lauri Robinson

  “Rance!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and continued repeating his name while kissing him. His chin, his cheeks, his neck, anywhere her lips touched.

  His were just as busy, kissing anything they came in contact with until they finally found her mouth. Their union was feverish, intense, and completely consuming. He could think of nothing but her. How wonderful she tasted, how fragrant she smelled, how remarkable and right it was to hold her in his arms.

  When they separated, they were both gasping, and laughing.

  “Goodness.” She sighed and rested her head against his chest. “Oh, goodness.”

  “What happened?” He gathered her legs away from the broken glass covering the floor. His heart skipped another beat as he made sure no glass was on caught on her skirt. Her skirt!

  “I was looking for you and tripped over the trunk and the mirror broke.” She stiffened and lifted her head off his shoulder. “I wanted you to carry the trunk downstairs, didn’t I ask you to?”

  This was Beth, in the flesh and wearing the blue dress with the pink flowers he liked so much, yet, a part of him was afraid to accept that. As if she might disappear if he did. At the same time, he knew she’d never leave him. Not on purpose. Swallowing, a bit confused by the answer on the tip of his tongue, he said, “Yes, you did. I was hitching up the buggy. You’re taking the trunk to Billings. Leaving on the noon train.”

  She looked down at her dress, and then gathered a handful of her skirt to splay it out and examine it. A moment later, she dropped the material and scampered off his lap. “Get up! Get up, Rance. Get up!”

  He did so, while holding his breath. She was remembering. So was he. In unison, their gazes roamed around the room until their eyes met and locked onto each other’s.

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” she whispered.

  “No.” His heart pounded. “It hasn’t.”

  As if they were surrounded by ears, ones they didn’t want to know their secret, she whispered, “I haven’t gone to Billings yet.” She shut her eyes. “The train, the bridge hasn’t collapsed yet.”

  Pulling her close, he placed his mouth next to her ear. “And I haven’t been haunted by your spirit yet.”

  She giggled.

  He chuckled.

  When their gazes met again, light literally danced in her eyes. “I’m home, Rance. I’m home.”

  He ran his fingers into her hair, pushing out the pins holding the long tresses atop her head. As her hair tumbled over her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. “Yes, Beth, you’re home.”

  She squealed and leaped, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m home!”

  He’d caught her waist, and while shouting, “You’re home!” he pivoted, twirling her around.

  “I’m not going to Billings,” she said as they spun, her feet and skirts flaying in the air between the dresser and bed.

  The bed. That thought shot a bolt of lightning from his head clear to his toes. One so hot it probably burnt a hole in the floor. “You better believe you’re not, darling,” he said. “Not today.”

  She laughed as he gathered her legs in one arm and threw himself backward, onto the bed. The springs creaked and clanged as his bottom hit the mattress, and she bounced in his arms, but his hold was tight. He’d never let her go. Never. Ever.

  Beth flipped around and pushed Rance until he was lying flat on the bed, his head on a pillow. The need, the desire inside her had long ago grown uncontrollable. She grasped the front of his shirt and ripped it open. “I’ll sew the buttons back on,” she said, as the threads broke and buttons flew across the room.

  “All right.” He grabbed the front of her dress, sending her buttons flying as far as his. “God, I’ve missed you,” he growled as her camisole ripped in-two.

  “You’ve missed me?” she mocked while tugging his shirt out of his pants with one hand and fumbling with his belt with the other. “I’ve waited over a hundred years for this.”

  The way he fondled her breasts, teased her nipples into hard nubs, was exquisite, but she didn’t need any tender caresses to arouse her. She was already on the brink of explosion. What she needed was him filling her, completing her, satisfying her.

  She crawled off him, giving no mind to the damage she was doing to her dress—his favorite—as she ripped it off her shoulders and shoved it over her hips. “Get your clothes off, Rance Livingston,” she demanded. “Your wife needs you, now.”

  One boot, then the other hit the floor. “My wife will always need me.”

  “You better believe that!” She kicked off her drawers.

  Their clothes flew, landing where they may, and once they were both bare, both aroused and impatient, they jumped back onto the bed. Laughing and kissing and laughing some more.

  They didn’t bother climbing beneath the covers, there wasn’t time. Rance came home to her in a swift, all-encompassing thrust that had her shouting his name at the joyous pleasure.

  Beth wept at one point, at the beauty, the splendor, the cataclysmic atonement of loving him so fully, so completely, that nothing could ever keep them apart. She clung to him, abandoning herself unto him for pleasure and a fulfillment so great and freeing it was impossible to comprehend. For some perhaps. Not for her. She’d come home. She was home.

  The inferno that built was so hot, so bright, it challenged the sun, and when it exploded, it sent them reeling, tumbling, and gasping for air between the open-mouthed kisses that had been as demanding as their mutual thrusts.

  Beth kept her eyes closed as the calm after the storm of their lovemaking settled around them, and when she lifted her lids, and her vision cleared, she let loose the joy filling her. As her giggles subsided, she proclaimed, “Now that was worth coming home for.”

  He laughed and pulled her into the shelter of his arms, soothing her heated skin with gentle strokes of his hand and sweet kisses on her brow and temple.

  After one such gentle kiss, precisely placed upon her lips, he settled his hand on her stomach. “I know about the baby.”

  She smiled, instinctively knowing the little life inside her was alive and well. There was no reason to go to Billings. She could write to her mother, ask to have the baby clothes she’d worn as an infant be mailed to her. Turning, meeting his loving, adoring gaze, she whispered, “I know about the new stove you bought.”

  He threw back his head and let out a laugh that echoed off the ceiling. Hers did too, and it continued for some time. They were both so happy, so thankful, so in love.

  After a long time spent simply laying together, holding each other, he asked, “Do we do anything about what we know?”

  She’d been thinking about the same thing. The bits and pieces floating around the recesses of her mind were paradoxical, yet real. As real as he and she were. “You’re thinking about Cindy, aren’t you? The rumors in the future.”

  He shrugged. “Not as much as I’m thinking about Cliff and Nan. They’d tried to help me, they did help me. I’m wondering if I need to reciprocate.”

  God, she loved this man. He had such a good, caring, loving soul. Twisting onto her side, she ran the tip of one finger down the length of his arm and then up and over the ripples on his stomach and chest. “There is this thing called free will. No matter what others tell us, our own decisions, our free will, wins out. We all have it. Even Cindy.”

  She watched as his eyes went from thoughtful to bold, smoldering.

  “And Vivi Anne knows the truth. No one in the future will ever believe you fathered anyone’s children, other than mine.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure they won’t, and there is this other thing.”

  Beth frowned. “What other thing?”

  “It’s called staying in bed all day with your wife.”

  Heat bubbled between her thighs. “Oh?”

  He lifted her hand and kissed each finger. “No matter what others say, it’s a fabulous way to spend the day.”

  Suppressing a grin, but never her love, she brought a knee up b
etween his legs. “I’m willing. Are you?”

  “My will has never been freer.”

  Epilogue

  Vivi Anne drew a deep breath as she took a hold of the door handle. The brick home before her didn’t resemble the one in her visions, and there were several more barns, but this was the place. She’d just driven beneath the large Rocking L sign. Pushing open the driver’s door, she stepped out of her truck. This was new to her. After a job of helping people unite, she rarely kept in touch, rarely needed to know more.

  Of course, this case had been different. It had been her favorite.

  “Can I help you?”

  She twisted about, and despite all she knew, had to blink. And smile. Willowy, with frosted hair and sky-blue eyes, the young woman’s resemblance to Liz was uncanny—even to a psychic. “Hello. I own an antique store up in Montana and believe I have some things that belong to you. To the Rocking L.”

  “Oh?” The young woman walked closer. “What sort of things?” Holding out a hand, she said, “I’m Ellie Livingston. Actually, it’s Elizabeth, but because there has been an Elizabeth every generation, Beth, Liz, and Betty have already been used.” She laughed and then frowned. “I have no idea what compelled me to say all that.”

  “I’m Vivi Anne, and—”

  “I had a great-great aunt named Vivi Anne.”

  Vivi Anne had to blink several times at the special warmth filling her. With a gesture toward the back of her truck, she invited the woman to follow her. “I did a bit of research and think these may have belonged to your ancestor, Rance Livingston.”

  “My great-great grandfather. He started this place.” Ellie grinned. “There’s been a Rance every generation, too. His wife was Elizabeth. She went by Beth.” Shaking her head, she shrugged. “I really am a chatty-Cathy today. Probably because I’m home alone. My parents flew down to Texas. An anonymous person sent a letter to the newspaper about a proposed nuclear dump site over on the Dixon place. My father, R.C., Rance Conrad, Livingston, is a state senator, and he won’t let that happen, whether our families have been friends for years or not. Lou and Nate should know that.”

  “Yes, they should.” Vivi Anne rolled back the tarp covering the box of her truck. Although their grandfather’s parentage had never been an issue, Nate or Lou hadn’t changed. Which was how it was supposed to be. “It’s a saddle, and I think parts of a bridle and—”

  “Halter,” Ellie finished, unlatching the tailgate to get a closer look. “This is amazing. We all thought it was a family lore. The story goes that Rance had been making this saddle for Beth, but then she became pregnant, so he never finished it. They had a total of six kids and added on to the house after each one was born.” She shook her head. “Sorry, the family history is just jumping out of my mouth today. Anyway, Rance swore he never finished the saddle because it was stolen.” Running a hand over the leather, she frowned. “It’s so well preserved. Where did you get it?”

  Not able to share the entire truth, Vivi Anne said, “In the back room of the antique store I recently opened.”

  “Montana, right?” Ellie asked.

  A flash of a snow-covered mountain appeared as Vivi Anne nodded. “Billings.”

  Though she hid it well, Vivi Anne saw sadness welling inside Ellie.

  With a wobbly grin, Ellie said, “I’m sure my father would like to offer you a finder’s fee. Can you wait while I call him?”

  “I don’t want a finder’s fee.” The mountain flashed in her head again. A specific mountain. Mount Denali in Alaska. “Just wanted it returned to the rightful owners. Their family.”

  All the other items had been returned to Rance’s barn when she’d put the trunk in the house, but these few things had been left in Montana. Lifting the saddle, she let Ellie collect the other items and then followed the woman toward the house, where she would enter and have a glass of iced tea. She’d thought her mission complete. Rance and Beth had lived long and loving lives together. Now she knew why these items had been left behind. Why she was here. Ellie Livingston needed to go to Alaska. To Mount Denali, the site of a plane crash.

  Vivi Anne looked up to where a curtain fluttered in a second-floor window. She smiled, and winked. Rest assured, Beth. Ellie’s in good hands.

  A word about the author…

  Lauri Robinson lives in rural Minnesota where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and five grandchildren. She’s a diehard Elvis and NASCAR fan, and loves to target shoot pistols. Her favorite getaway location is the woods of northern Minnesota on the land homesteaded by her great-grandfather. Stop by and say hi to Lauri at:

  http://www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com

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