Hippie Heart
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“You know what’s happening in the world,” said Paul, his voice low. “You can’t pretend it isn’t there.”
He’d been silent since leaving the hospital and that silence was making me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts today of all days. Today of all days! It seemed like a good time for conversation, even if we weren’t talking about anything important.
We had plenty of time on our hands to talk as we drove out to the ranch. And besides, maybe he knew something about this new development with the hippies. He would have heard something at the station where he worked part-time as a ticket agent.
I nodded and looked straight ahead. The sky was cloudless and blue, but somehow ominous looking. A cold front was moving into Colorado and bringing snow flurries. Maybe by morning, there wouldn’t be any evidence that there ever were hippies camping around the base of Mount Evans.
We traveled another half hour before arriving at the ranch house. After turning off the highway and driving up a winding road, we pulled into an empty gravel parking area next to the main building.
The ranch itself was nothing spectacular, just one large building with several smaller ones scattered throughout the property. There were no fences or walls, which made it look more like a park than a working cattle operation. In fact, the only things separating us from the surrounding forest were some trees and brush. But after being away from nature for so long, it felt comforting.
Paul parked the truck near the barns. “Do you mind?” asked Paul. “I need to get some work done.”
It was almost noon when we arrived at the ranch and we hadn’t eaten lunch yet. So I told him not to worry about it and climbed out. With the exception of a few stray horses, everything was still and quiet. That was how I wanted it to stay. For now.
Paul left his rifle in the truck bed and walked toward the stable while I headed toward the main building. At least two men were already inside, doing maintenance on the old elevator shaft that led to the mine below ground level.
“Good day, Miss Hawkins!” called one of them. His name tag read Denton.
His friend, who wore a name badge reading Jones, smiled. “Can I help you?”
I stopped in front of the door and shook my head. “No thanks. Just here to pick up some supplies.”
They both turned back to their task, ignoring me completely. They probably assumed I was one of the hired hands and they didn’t feel obligated to acknowledge me. Even though they could tell by my clothes that I wasn’t. I sighed and stepped inside.
Inside the building, the first thing I noticed was the smell of tobacco smoke. Most people smoked cigarettes nowadays, but the lingering odor was strong enough to make me think someone might actually be smoking cigars. As I followed the hall past the offices and down the stairs, the smoke got stronger and stronger until I finally reached the bottom floor.
A group of five men stood in front of a big wooden table piled high with papers. One man was wearing overalls and a cowboy hat, while four others were dressed in suits. All five men were staring at me as I entered the room. My eyes darted around the room. No sign of Mr. Bell. Was he here?
One of the suited men cleared his throat. “Miss Hawkins?”
My heart skipped a beat. How did these guys know my name? Did they know about the newspaper article? Or maybe they recognized me from the photo in the paper.
But then again, they couldn’t possibly know. The picture had been taken years ago and the story never ran because I hadn’t cooperated. Not that I regretted that decision; it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
I gave the group a smile and nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”
The man standing closest to the door took a step forward and held out his hand. “I’m William Bell. Welcome to the ranch.”
Forcing myself not to show fear, I clasped his fingers. “Thank you, sir. Nice to meet you.”
Bell glanced over my shoulder and saw Paul walking toward us. He grinned. “This is my son, Paul. He works for me as a mechanic.”
I was surprised to see a younger version of Bell in front of me. Like father, like son. Except this boy didn’t seem quite so intense. More laidback. I wondered what kind of life these two shared. What did Dad do when he wasn’t running this place? Did he ride a horse like Paul?
As if sensing my curiosity, Paul stepped closer to me. He looked tired and worried. “How are your folks?” I asked. It seemed like such an odd question coming from a stranger. And yet, Paul knew my parents well enough to ask.
He shrugged. “Fine.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you?”
He stared at the floor. “There was a fire. Everyone died except me.”
That explained why Paul had come to California alone. I swallowed hard. “You lost everything.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Mr. Bell must have heard our conversation because he interrupted. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he said, giving us each a nod before returning to his office.
Paul touched my arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”
We climbed the staircase, leaving the other workers behind. When we reached the second-floor landing, he pointed to a closed door. “Dad’s in there.”
Before I could ask any questions, he opened the door and disappeared into the room. I paused briefly to look through the window. A large desk filled most of the space. On top lay stacks of folders. The rest of the room was empty and cold. Then I caught sight of a woman sitting at a small round table across the room. She was dressed in black from head to toe and she looked like a shadow.
Her eyes met mine and her lips parted slightly. But no sound came out. Only the soft ticking of the clock echoed off the walls. After a moment, the woman returned to her paperwork and I stepped away from the window.
Paul had left the door open just a crack. I slipped inside and found him sitting in a chair facing his father. At least now I could see Mr. Bell clearly. His face looked pale and drawn. His hair was gray and thinning and he kept his head bowed.
After a few moments of silence, Paul spoke softly. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
Mr. Bell lifted his head slowly. “Of course.”
Paul pulled the chair next to him. “It’s nice to see you too.”
His father smiled sadly. “Same goes.”
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
Both of them shook their heads. “Everyone is downstairs.”
“So where are you headed today?”
Mr. Bell rubbed his forehead. “I don’t really know.”
“Why not?”
His voice was gruff and strained. “Because I can’t remember anything. Can’t even tell you how many days I’ve spent locked up in this house. Sometimes I think I’m still dreaming.”
“No,” I whispered, unable to accept it.
Paul squeezed his hands together. “Don’t give up hope.”
“I’m trying,” he muttered, lowering his head.
I tried to think of something encouraging to say but nothing would come out. We sat silently until Paul got up to leave. I watched him walk down the stairs, wondering who he thought he was talking to. There was no one else in the room except Mr. Bell. No mother or sister. No wife. No child.
A lump formed in my throat and suddenly I felt faint.
I pushed past Paul and stumbled down the steps. My legs were unsteady and my heart thumped wildly in my chest. I wanted to run outside and scream. To get far away from here. How could anyone survive losing family members? Losing everything?
My knees buckled and I leaned against the wall, barely able to catch my breath. I’d always been strong. Never cried easily. But I couldn’t stop the tears. They fell steadily onto my cheeks, wetting the sleeves of my blouse.
The pounding of footsteps grew louder. Paul stopped by my side. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
He took my hand gently. “Let’s go outside.”
I followed him through the front doors and around the corner. I gasped aloud when I saw that Bell Ranch was surrounded by flames. Flames licked at the barns, sending smoke billowing skyward. The horses ran wild, neighing and whinnying as they stampeded toward the main gate.
One horse broke free and charged straight for the ranch house. Paul jumped aside as the animal smashed into the wall. In seconds, the building was engulfed in fire. Horses galloped through the yard and out through the gates.
One of the wranglers shouted as he drove a team of horses back to the stables. Other men rushed about the property, setting up buckets of water while others stood ready with hoses.
When we walked closer, I spotted three figures standing near the burning buildings. Two cowboys rode alongside the third man on foot. All three wore expressions of horror.
“Who are those guys?” I whispered.
Paul glanced at them and then quickly lowered his voice. “They’re bounty hunters.”
***
The two men on horseback drew nearer and stared at me. Both wore dark clothes and cowboy hats. Their guns hung openly over their shoulders.
“What do you want?” Paul asked.
“Just looking for someone,” said the man on foot.
“Well, find him somewhere else.”
The bounty hunter spat. “You have some nerve showing your face around here again after what happened last time.” He jerked his chin in our direction. “That man there is the reason why your brother died.”
Paul clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “Get out of here before I—”
“Hey!” the bounty hunter yelled. “Stop! That’s enough! You hear me?”
Two other riders approached us from behind. Each held pistols pointed in our direction. “We’ll take care of the situation,” said the first man. “Leave it be.”
“But…” Paul began to protest.
“These people aren’t worth it. Let it go.”
The bounty hunter glared at Paul. “And if I find you anywhere near this place again… I swear, I will kill you myself.”
With that, he turned and rode away. The other men did likewise, disappearing around the bend.
Paul looked shaken. His eyes searched mine. “How badly were you hurt?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how bad my injuries had been. Or maybe I just wasn’t sure I should mention it. It seemed like such a private thing. An embarrassing thing. A shameful thing.
He stepped forward, gripping my arms. “Tell me.”
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. I’d never told anyone about my accident. Not even Dr. Samuels. Not even my mother. What if I told Paul and he told the sheriff? Maybe the law wouldn’t believe me because it was too unbelievable. And yet I couldn’t lie. I knew exactly what had happened and what I’d suffered. I remembered every moment. Every excruciating detail.
I lifted my arm and touched my left shoulder. My fingers came away covered with dried blood. I shuddered and pulled away, feeling embarrassed by my own weakness. I’d once been so proud of my strength and ability. Now I felt weak and helpless. So much worse than I ever imagined.
“Why don’t you let me tend to your wounds?” Paul suggested. “I can stitch them and give you something to numb the pain.”
“No,” I answered without thinking.
His expression softened. “Do you need help?”
I shook my head. No. I didn’t think I needed help anymore. At least not from him or anyone. I turned away from him. “Thanks anyway.”
For an instant, his eyes darkened. Then he reached out and touched my cheek. “Please, Kate.”
“I’m fine.”
“Come inside with me.”
I looked at him, wondering where this sudden concern was coming from. Had he only come to make sure I hadn’t been injured during my escape? Was that why he brought me to town?
Maybe I should tell him everything. Tell him about my past, about my life and family. I could see it now: me sitting across the table from him at one of the elegant restaurants downtown. We’d eat dinner together and laugh.
When he took my hand in his, I would feel safe and protected. I would forget all my worries—about my brother, about the bounty hunter, about the ranch. For a few hours, I could pretend things were normal.
I thought about the night before when Paul had taken me to the opera. How nice it would be to go dancing tonight instead of hiding out in the stables.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”
A smile broke through his grim expression. “Okay, but you’re paying.”
My lips curved into a reluctant grin. “Deal.”
It took almost ten minutes for us to reach the hotel. On the way, we passed several saloons along with a few gambling dens and brothels. Many of the houses stood abandoned. Most were boarded up. Others showed signs of damage. Some were burned to the ground. One building was still smoldering. Smoke rose from its roof. Another house stood empty. Only a charred skeleton remained.
As we rode closer to the hotel, Paul slowed our horses. I glanced at him, then followed his gaze. Two women sat on the steps leading to the front porch. They both wore long dresses with high-necked bodices. They also wore long skirts that flapped against the pavement.
Both women had brown hair and large eyes. But they weren’t sisters. I recognized them instantly as prostitutes. I wondered who the woman in the blue dress was. She appeared to have some kind of medical equipment strapped to her waist. Could she be a doctor?
I looked down at Paul, who stared at the two women. He watched them intently as if trying to figure something out. I waited patiently, hoping he’d say something. But after a minute or so, he continued riding toward the hotel entrance.
I started after him.
“Wait,” he called back to me. “Stay here. Wait until I check on her.”
He dismounted and walked around to the rear side of the hotel. As I watched, he opened a door and peeked inside. He moved aside a piece of wood to peer into another room. After a few seconds, he went farther into the house and disappeared behind a set of curtains.
When he reappeared, I noticed he was wearing a pair of white gloves. Why would he need those? Did he expect someone to be lying there? If so, I couldn’t imagine any reason to hide her body. Unless it was evidence of foul play.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Is someone hurt?”
Paul frowned at me, obviously annoyed by my question. “She’s just resting,” he said, jerking his chin toward the other woman.
The prostitute on the stairs gave me a look that seemed more curious than hostile. I returned her stare and held her gaze. It wasn’t like either of us would ever meet again. Neither of us cared enough about each other to bother exchanging names or information. In fact, I doubt I’d even remember her name tomorrow morning. That is unless someone else died.
We might have talked longer if Paul hadn’t suddenly rushed back outside. I looked at him. He nodded toward the other woman. “She’ll take good care of you,” he whispered. “But first, you must pay.”
Before I could ask what he meant, Paul pushed me off the horse and onto the sidewalk. The moment my feet hit the ground, he pulled the reins.
I staggered forward. My ankles felt weak; it was hard to stand upright.
Then the girl caught hold of my arm and helped me up the steps. A small crowd gathered behind me. All of them turned to watch as I entered the lobby. I didn’t know which direction to turn. I tried to ignore everyone. I needed time to think. What had happened between Paul and the other woman? And how did the prostitute know me?
A bell tinkled overhead. An older man dressed in black greeted us. “Good afternoon, Miss McBane. Please follow me.”
As I followed the man into a back hallway, I spotted Paul standing near the bar. His hat lay on top of the counter. He stared straight ahead, watching me. For the second time today, he had an odd look on his face. Was he angry with me? Or maybe he was upset because he wanted to stay with the other prostitute. I doubted it. We’d barely exchanged a word since leaving the stables.
And why did I feel guilty? Because I didn’t want him to leave me alone? No, it was because I knew exactly what he planned to do next. This time he wouldn’t stop. There would be no more warnings. No more attempts at escape. I’d never see him again.
***
For the past hour, I paced the floor, unable to sit still. At times, I leaned against one wall, then shifted to the other. I kept glancing over at the bed where the prostitute lay sleeping peacefully. How much money did she cost? Had Paul paid her in advance? Probably not, but I imagined he expected me to pay for her services later tonight.
If that were true, I hoped to God I could talk him out of this.
I heard footsteps approaching the room. I stepped away from the wall. The door swung open. Paul stood in the doorway, staring at the prostitute. Then he glanced at me, as if surprised to find me awake.
“You can come out now,” he ordered. “Don’t make me force you.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going anywhere until I found out what was happening.
Paul closed the door and locked it. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with your ankle?” he said, walking closer. “Did you fall when you got off the horse? Is that why you’re limping?”
His voice was soothing, but I refused to answer. Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and picked at my fingernails. They were long and thick. I wondered if I should cut them short before we left town. But what difference would it really make? Either way, they were bound to get dirty soon.
After a while, Paul stopped pacing. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside me. “Tell me about your father,” he said softly. “Does he beat you? Do you hate him?”
My eyes widened. He wasn’t asking me about our family life anymore. Now he was trying to get personal.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “It isn’t that kind of relationship.”
He hesitated as if waiting for me to explain further. I remained silent.
Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
He smiled. “Maybe not yet. Maybe not ever. But someday—you will.”
When I started to protest, he held up his hand. “Just listen. Your father has killed men. Men who were innocent. Men who had families. Did he kill anyone important?”
“Not yet,” I murmured.
“What about yourself? Are there any people you love in this world besides your father? Any friends?”
The question seemed so strange coming from someone like Paul. I couldn’t imagine having a friend. That was impossible.
“Yes, I have friends,” I lied.
“Who are they?”
“People like you, I suppose. People who live far away. It doesn’t matter. None of them would miss me if something happened to me.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s probably true. So why not tell me their names? Tell me what they look like. Give me some idea of what you might be missing.”
I hesitated. Why would I give him the names of these strangers? Even if I told him, he’d forget all about them after a few days. I hadn’t seen them in years; they were just faces I used to recognize in passing. Still, it was possible that one or two of them might remember me.
If Paul learned the name of my best friend, he might send a telegram to her parents. And then how many people would die? Not only my mother but also my brother. My father. Everyone. I shivered.
Then, realizing that I could easily lose everyone I cared about by telling Paul their names, I decided to tell him. “Their names are Lillian, Etta, and Willa. And I met them at school.”
Paul frowned. “At school? What kind of school?”
I didn’t know if it mattered whether I described it accurately or not. In fact, maybe it made more sense for me to lie. But then I thought back to those days in Kansas City and remembered the old building where I’d gone to school. A stone building surrounded by trees. A tall fence around it. A gravel road leads to it.
“A private school,” I muttered. “They taught us reading, writing, arithmetic, music … and religion.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Religion?”
“Of course! We prayed every day.”
For the first time, Paul laughed. His laugh echoed through the room. For a moment, I stared at him, wondering why he sounded so happy. Finally, I realized why he was laughing. He knew I was lying.
The End