A Date With the Other Side (14 page)

“I’ll call you.” Right now she needed to go be alone in a dark room.

Except Gran’s car wouldn’t start.

Danny ended up having to drive her back to town, promising he’d have the Pontiac towed.

Shelby sat in the passenger seat of his pickup and tried not to feel like the Almighty was laughing at her.

Danny was using her silence to further his campaign.

“If you want to keep the Haunted Cuttersville Tour going, you could just do it on Saturdays, at least until you have a baby.”

Shelby wanted to ask if Danny had names picked out for this fictitious baby, but she didn’t. She had the funny feeling that he would take her seriously and start rolling out Abby and Adam before moving on to the B’s. So instead she asked him what had been in the back of her mind since her miscarriage at eighteen. “What if I can’t have children?”

Danny ran the truck off the edge of the road a foot before recovering. “What? You can’t have kids?”

He looked so appalled, she actually felt a little sick. Did Danny want her or a family? “Well, I did have a miscarriage. What if it happened again?”

His shoulders relaxed. “Oh, is that what you’re worried about? Hell, lots of women miscarry. You don’t know that you would again. I thought you meant the doctor had told you something.”

“No.”

“That’s alright then.”

Danny just had it all figured out as far as she could tell. Shelby leaned her head on the window and sighed. She didn’t know what she wanted.

“Just say you’ll think about it, Shel.”

“I will.” In fact, it would probably remove any possibility of getting a good night’s sleep.

“If you want to fool around with that city slicker, I’m just asking that you don’t flaunt it in public. People are going to talk anyway, but don’t make it worse.”

Shelby almost laughed at the idea of her engaging in a wild affair that the whole town was talking about. She could only hope for that much excitement. “Danny Tucker, you are not helping your case.”

“What?” He was clearly puzzled.

“Oh, never mind,” she said in irritation as they pulled down Main Street, passing the odd sight of a taxi in front of the Busy Bee.

She and Danny both looked, wondering who had paid the big bucks in cab fare for a taxi from the city. The last cab to drive into Cuttersville had probably been twenty years ago when Paxton Smith had come back to town after landing a part in a soap opera. He’d come back to brag he’d made it big, then had returned to New York and promptly gotten poisoned by his onscreen wife and bumped off the show.

A woman was emerging from the cab, all long blond hair, tanned legs, and designer sunglasses tinted pink.

“Who the hell is that?” Danny asked in astonishment as they drove past.

Shelby strained her neck, turning full around to get another look. The blonde tossed back her abundant straight hair and adjusted an enormous hot pink bag on her shoulder. She was wearing a white… something. Shelby guessed you could call it a dress, but it was a clingy fabric and looked something like she’d wrapped herself in a dryer sheet, or had confused her tube top with a dress.

Over the taxi, across the street, and all the way into Danny’s pickup Shelby could smell the cold hard scent of money. Lots of it.

She had no idea who that woman was.

But she was betting Boston Macnamara did.

Boston thought that on a scale of one to ten, his stay in Cuttersville was ranking about a four, which was a serious improvement over the negative twelve he’d expected. He was actually enjoying himself at the plant, and once he had approached Bob and Phil as a peer instead of an evil overseer, communication had opened up between them and they’d been receptive to some of his suggestions.

Heading out for the day after checking the clock to assure himself that he’d missed Shelby’s five o’clock tour at the White House, Boston waved to Bob. “See you, Bob. Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

The nickname was an unhappy result of their newfound familiarity. Everyone in this town seemed compelled to call him Mac, which was slowly driving him to insanity. The only person who called him Boston was Shelby, and he was avoiding her like vending machine food.

“I’m having a picnic at the house tomorrow after the Fourth of July parade. We’d love to have you stop by,” Bob added.

Boston paused in the doorway. “A picnic?” He didn’t think he’d ever been to an actual authentic picnic before. “Sure, I’d like that.”

“Good. The wife’s looking forward to meeting you. We’re at 1532 Turkey Trail. White house with gray shutters. Noon is when everyone’s coming by.”

“Turkey Trail?” Boston asked. “What the hell kind of a street name is that?”

Bob rolled his eyes. “The development is called Hunting Valley, so all the streets have wildlife themes. It’s better than Phil’s neighborhood, though. They have a Dutch theme, so he lives on Wooden Shoe Drive.”

Boston laughed.

“They’re the only two developments in Cuttersville, so if you want a house less than forty years old, you don’t have a lot of choices.”

Boston thought he’d prefer the eccentric White House to living on Turkey Trail, but he kept his mouth shut. “Thanks for the invite, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bob waved and Boston headed for the parking lot to retrieve his BMW It was hot outside, a sweltering ninety degrees, and he undid his tie immediately and threw it on the passenger seat. He cranked on the air-conditioning for the ten-minute drive home.

After two and a half weeks, Cuttersville was definitely tolerable, with the goal of trying to run the Samson Plastics plant at top efficiency challenging and interesting. He liked his job, even under these hazy circumstances, and in the past had always been happier problem solving at work than doing just about anything else.

He felt the same in Cuttersville, except for one glaring exception. He enjoyed spending time with Shelby, and staying away from her all week had been difficult but necessary. There was a whole list of reasons he shouldn’t get involved with Shelby, enough to fill a spreadsheet, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

There was just something about her golden skin, her soft brown eyes, and that unruly hair that did things to him. Things that resulted in an erection. He wanted her, to touch and taste and hold her, and he wanted to force her attention solely on him, so she’d be so turned on that the house could burn down and she wouldn’t even notice.

He wanted her, and he couldn’t have her, and she was standing on his porch.

Looking hot in a pair of denim shorts that hovered just above her hips and a little tiny white top that tied behind her neck and showed off her smooth stomach. There was no way she could be wearing a bra with that thing, and as she leaned against the porch post, her breasts thrust out seductively, beckoning him.

He wanted to answer the call, to walk up to that porch and escort her straight to his bedroom, but Boston contained himself. Barely. Adjusting his too full pants, he got out of the car and waved to her.

“Hi, Shelby. How are you?”

She smiled, and Boston almost stopped walking and got back in his car. Her smile was
inviting
, and it turned him on so bad he was scared.

“I’m fine. Hot.” She pulled her shirt out and fanned air up her cleavage. “How ‘bout yourself?”

“I’m good.” Never bigger. Better, never better.

“Am I interrupting anything? Are you expecting someone— maybe a friend from Chicago?” She searched his face, leaning forward and studying him like the answer was really important.

Boston wasn’t sure what she was digging for, so he shrugged. “No.” None of his friends in Chicago would come to Cuttersville unless they were threatened with bodily harm and financial ruin. And even if one of his friends were to show up right at that moment, he’d tell them to turn around and go home because he wanted to be with Shelby.

She was gorgeous, absolutely delicious. Her skin was dewy from the heat, and her hands were digging into the back pockets of her tight shorts, making her look like a pinup for a farmers’ daughters calendar. She wasn’t wearing his Daisy Duke fantasy high heels, but almost as good, she was barefoot.

He was so hard he decided he couldn’t walk.

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, he gave her a smile, grateful he’d just undergone a bleaching treatment a month ago. Maybe his blinding white smile would draw her attention away from the pointed gun in his pants aimed at her.

“Then you don’t mind my stopping by?” Shelby rolled her shoulder on the post so she was now turned to him. Her head still lolled back, and she looked relaxed and sexy, her breasts dangerously close to his mouth.

She definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. The outline of her nipple nudged through the cotton top and his mouth watered. “Oh, no, I don’t mind you stopping by. Want to come in?”
And let me suck your nipples
?

“I really just wanted to ask you something.” Her tongue came out and wet her bottom lip, eye level to him since he was three steps down from her.

He wanted to follow her tongue with his and nudge past those plump lips into her moist mouth. To grind her tight little denim shorts against him while his fingers floated up under that deceptively innocent top. “Sure, ask away.”

“It’s kind of a favor.” She sucked in her breath nervously, her chest rising temptingly in front of him.

“Ask me.” He was liable to agree to just about anything while mesmerized by her breasts.

“I was hoping you could agree to be here for the five o’clock tour every day.”

His head snapped up.

She rushed on. “My numbers have been really good, and I’m making money hand over fist this week, but people want to see something and nothing’s happening. Gran and I think the house reacts to you, and if you’re there, the tour-goers might see something to get their money’s worth.”

The argument wasn’t winning him over. He had no interest in being a sideshow freak, having bitter dead chicks heaving lamps at him for people’s entertainment. If ghosts really even existed in the first place and it wasn’t all some explainable coincidence.

He opened his mouth.

“Please,” Shelby said, eyes darting to the ground. “If people don’t see anything, they’ll talk the tour down. I’ll be out of business, and… and, I’m broke. I need the job.”

His mouth closed again. He was screwed, plain and simple. How could he be a total prick and deny her the opportunity to save her livelihood? He couldn’t. It would be annoying, but he’d live, and if it didn’t work, at least he would have a clean conscience.

The worst part probably wouldn’t be the gawking tourists, but his personal struggle to keep his hands off Shelby.

“Alright. One week, Shelby. Then if it doesn’t work, if nothing happens, I’m off the hook.”

Her brown eyes widened, and she finally pulled her head off the porch post. “You’ll do it? Really?”

He nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Then she made him regret it immediately by throwing her arms around him and giving him a squeezy hug, pressing those perky breasts up against his chest and smothering his nose with her sun-kissed hair. Maybe
regret
wasn’t the right word. He was definitely enjoying himself, but he knew he shouldn’t be. Too much enjoyment would get him in trouble.

Shelby pulled back a little, but didn’t let go, and since she was a little higher than him, his arms wrapped around her to hold her steady. “Thanks, Boston. I appreciate it.”

And she leaned down and kissed him, a soft nothing little kiss that made his blood pound and his cock throb and a buzzing roll past his ears, and any good intentions he’d had all week disappear.

When Shelby smiled at him and tried to back up out of his reach, he held her still. “Just one thing, though. I still want my private tour. Tonight.” The tour wasn’t all he wanted, and he planned to investigate every inch of Shelby Tucker before the night was over. He shouldn’t demand the tour, shouldn’t give in to his hormone-driven need to take Shelby, but he couldn’t resist. Even to his own ears his voice sounded rude and demanding.

Shelby didn’t try and shove her way out of his arms. She raised a brow. “You know, Boston, sometimes you’re just this side of bossy.”

He figured that wasn’t news. Early on he’d learned that if he wanted to survive, to get ahead, he needed to stand up and take what he wanted. At ten, that had meant pulling rank over the babysitter so he could sleep over at a friend’s house. Now it meant that he was tired of avoiding Shelby and pretending he didn’t want her so bad he hurt.

“So?” he asked her, kissing her neck. “I want to spend time with you. Alone. I’m not going to get it if I don’t ask, am I?”

“Except you’re not really asking,” Shelby said, breathless, back arching and fingers digging into his upper arms.

“You’re free to say no at any time.” He lifted his head and pinned her with a stare so she’d understand his meaning. “To anything.”

“I know.”

Her eyes dropped to his lips and Boston’s gut twisted. “Are you saying no?”

“No.”

The first sharp kick of lust subsided into panic. What if she meant no-no? Boston sought clarification. “No, you’re not saying no, or no, you don’t want to give me a private tour?”

Shelby smiled and swept her thumbs over his shoulders. He took it as a good sign. “No, I’m not saying no. I’m saying yes, I will give you a private tour.” Her nails scraped across the buttons of his shirt. “But you might want to change first. It’s a walking tour. Dusty.”

He was reluctant to let her go, but eager to be with her, so he released her and started to move past to the door.

“Hey, Boston? You’re not seeing anyone back in Chicago, are you?”

It was a valid question and he paused, sorry they hadn’t cleared that up earlier. Maybe it had contributed to Shelby’s reluctance. Cupping her cheek, he said, “No. Absolutely not. I haven’t even been on a date in six months.”

Shelby nodded, and her eyes showed clearly that she knew just as well as he did where this evening was heading. And was looking forward to it.

Boston turned and jogged into the house to change, already undoing his buttons to save time.