A Date With the Other Side (9 page)

“Did you see ghosts in Chicago?” Rubbing her elbows, Shelby went over to the window and undid the latch.

It was a long drop down, but maybe if they got it open, they could yell like loons until someone heard them.

“No. And I’m still not seeing ghosts.”

Shelby stopped tugging on the window, which was stuck shut, and thought that through. Boston had a point. They weren’t actually seeing anything and she ought to be grateful for that, especially since Gran had told her about the Old Colonel traipsing around naked.

“You’re right. I’m panicking and I don’t really know why.”

But she was getting an idea. It had to do with the realization that for the first time in her adult life she was so physically attracted to a man it was making her nuts.

Boston came up behind her and put his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down softly. “It’s okay, everything is fine.”

That was not helping.

Shelby stepped away from him and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “It’s not fine. We’re trapped! Again.”

“Don’t tell me you have to go to the bathroom again.”

“No.”

“So what’s the big deal?” Boston sat down on the bed. Then he lay down, sticking his hands behind his head, like he didn’t have a ding-dong care in the world.

Shelby watched his broad chest rise and fall, and tried not to think about the fact that his shorts were loose enough for her to slip a hand inside, right below his washboard stomach. His skin still looked warm and damp from the shower, and the unmistakable feeling of a hot blush stole over her face.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Did you tell anyone you were coming over here?”

“Well, Harriet Danforth knew, which means the whole town knows.”

He nodded. “See? So when you don’t come home tonight, your gran will come looking for you, or send someone over to find you. Especially after what happened last time in the parlor.”

Shelby took a deep breath. “You’re right. That’s a good point. Dang, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Of course someone will come looking for me.”

Jessie Stritmeyer was strolling down Main Street at half past seven, looking to get herself some peach ice cream, when Harriet Danforth flagged her down.

Harriet got on her nerves, with all that teased-up hair and big earrings that matched her too-bright blouse. Jessie paused on the sidewalk, stifling a sigh, and leaned against the old metal parking meter that nobody had bothered to stick a nickel in for about twenty years.

“Now, Jessie, I’m sure you’ve warned her, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea for Shelby to be running around with that city boy, Mac Boston.”

“Boston Macnamara.”

“That’s what I said.” Harriet looked perplexed. “And don’t you think it’s unsafe for Shelby to be alone with him?”

Jessie couldn’t resist a snort. If Shelby was in danger from Boston, Jessie would eat her petunias. “He’s not a serial killer, Harriet, just a Samson executive.”

“But you know how Shelby is.” Harriet pursed her lips, and those wide-set eyes held a vicious gleam. “And if she finds herself pregnant this time, I highly doubt a Chicago businessman will want to marry her.”

That was below the belt, implying that Shelby was a hussy, and Jessie was about to tell Harriet she could shove her fuchsia earrings where the sun don’t shine, when she thought of something. “So, are you saying Shelby’s with Boston right now? They’re off alone somewhere?”

“Boston inquired about a
private
Haunted Cuttersville Tour. Shelby said she’d meet him at the White House at seven tonight.”

Jessie grinned. That boy was finally getting the lead out. Private tour, indeed.

“I still don’t see why Shelby left poor Danny Tucker after he did the right thing and married her when she was in trouble.”

Trouble that Danny had gotten her into, if Jessie remembered correctly. She didn’t even bother to hold back an eye roll. “They were young and stupid, Harriet, and got carried away one night. Sort of like you and Clyde, if my memory serves.”

Harriet blustered and Jessie chortled. That was the fun thing about sanctimonious busybodies. They were so much fun to rankle. “Shelby leaving Danny isn’t any of your damn business, and it’s nearly three years ago now anyway. And if Shelby wants to give Mr. Moneybags a haunted house tour, that’s not any of your or my business either.”

That was stretching it a bit. Jessie did think it was her business, but not in the way Harriet intended.

Harriet waved a fly away from her nose. “How modern of you, Jessie. But you mark my words, Shelby won’t be coming home tonight. If she were my daughter, I’d send Clyde around to haul her home.”

Sticking her nose in the air, Jessie pulled out her own righteous voice. “I have no intention of butting into my grown granddaughter’s life. If she wants to spend the night with Boston, then that is her decision and I completely respect that.”

After all, Shelby sleeping with Boston had been Jessie’s plan from the get-go.

After thirty minutes of watching Shelby pace, Boston figured he had another two hours max before someone came around looking for her. He meant to take advantage of every single remaining second.

Lying on the bed had been a good move. Shelby’s face had turned as red as a traffic light when he’d stretched out across the ridiculous bedspread that had nearly maimed him. He had been so irritated with the sight of the spread the week before, he had balled it up and tossed it over the rocking chair in the corner to prevent any future incidents. But then Mary the housekeeper had come along and put it right back on the bed.

Normally he approved of efficiency, but in this case he would have preferred if she’d left his bed rumpled and unmade.

Not talking to Shelby had been a smart move too. She looked irritated with him, which was a big improvement over scared silly. As he’d lain on the bed, eyes half closed, he’d noticed her glance over at him a half-dozen times, occasionally muttering under her breath.

When she did it again, he asked, “Did you say something, Shelby?”

“No,” came the petulant reply.

Boston patted the bed next to him. “There’s nothing to worry about, you know. Just have a seat over here and keep me company while we wait.” He gave her a smile. “Maybe you can tell me all about the Blond Man this time.”

It occurred to him maybe he should be focusing less energy on coaxing Shelby to relax, and more energy on getting them out of there first, and worrying about the paranormal invasion in his house second.

After all, he wasn’t supposed to even like Shelby Tucker. But he did, which was why he had avoided her for the last five days. He had recognized his feelings for what they were, and they had scared him far more than any door-slamming spirit.

He liked her. Her quick mind, her direct way of speaking, her loyalty to her family, her robust deep-from-the-gut laugh. And her body. Oh, yeah. He liked that.

Shelby blew her hair out of her eyes. “You really aren’t scared, are you?”

“No, and I’m surprised you are. I’m sure there is a completely logical explanation for all of this, like drafts or electrical surges or something. And even if there isn’t, it has no bearing on my life. Inconvenient, maybe, but that can be dealt with.”

“You like everything neat and tidy, don’t you?”

Though she made it sound like a flaw, he nodded. “I control my life, not the other way around.”

Except for this little detour to Cuttersville. But he would get himself back out of here, he was sure of it.

“So it doesn’t bother you that we’re stuck in your ten-by-four-teen bedroom, with the window stuck shut, the door locked, and the sun about to set in an hour?”

“Nope.” Hell, when put like that, it sounded even better.

A sunset, dusky lamplight spilling across the old Victorian bed, Shelby underneath him. Yes, it was sounding better and better.

Because he wanted Shelby Tucker, despite the complications that could ensue. The opportunity was just too convenient to pass up. And if he was upfront with Shelby about the fact that he was leaving as soon as Brett gave the word, they could enjoy a few weeks of dating and whatever naked pleasure that might bring.

Shelby sat down in the rocking chair, all the way across the room from him. Too far away for him to touch. “So what do you do at Samson, Boston? And how’d you end up in Cuttersville? I don’t think you’re here by choice.”

He laughed. “What gave it away?”

Shelby grinned back at him, setting the chair in motion before tucking her feet up under her knees. “Oh, I don’t know. The shoes, the clothes, the look of horror on your face.”

“And here I thought I was hiding my feelings.” He propped himself up with one hand. “It’s just part of my job to check out various Samson holdings.” Though he’d never been banished before. That still infuriated him, the why of Brett’s decision.

He had started to wonder if there was someone else working on Brett, influencing him. A rival of Boston’s for the position as Brett’s right-hand man.

“This town needs Samson, you know. Half the people here work at the factory, and they’ll starve if it were to ever close down.”

Boston saw the concern in Shelby’s eyes, felt her anxiety for her friends and neighbors, and he didn’t have the heart to play the game with her. He didn’t want to hide his cards from her the way he had with Phil and Bob. “I’m not here to close the factory, Shelby, even though it does have slightly lower productivity than some of the other plants.”

She leaned against the back of the rocker. “Well, you can fix that, then. Get everyone here to speed up so the factory stays.”

He supposed he could, though until that moment his concern had been strictly with getting himself out, not ensuring the plant’s viability.

“Part of my job is to assess the plant’s weaknesses, that’s true.”

“Did you grow up in Chicago?”

“Yes. In a sleek modern condo downtown.” It had been cold and empty most of the time except for the revolving door of nannies and housekeepers. The one constant from his childhood had been Al, the doorman.

“You must hate this creaky fussy old house.” Shelby waved her hand at the robin’s egg blue bedroom wall.

“Actually, I like it, believe it or not. It’s solid, a home. My parents’ condo was sterile.”

Shelby smiled at him, a genuine flashing of teeth that settled all over him like a caress. He went half hard, which was ridiculously inappropriate for the conversation they were having.

“Do they still live there? Your parents?”

The thought was almost laughable. “No. My mom sold the condo a few years after my dad strolled off with my babysitter. Now she lives in Boca Raton. I have no idea where my dad is, and don’t care to find out.”

Boston wasn’t sure why he had just told Shelby about his father running off, or why he suddenly felt those old painful feelings of jealousy about his friends who had a stabler home life. Shelby was one of those, with this quiet town of pretty little houses, and family that would do just about anything for her, including her oversized ex-husband. He’d stopped feeling sorry for himself years ago and had accepted his life for what it was. He had his career, his success, and that was what was important.

Which didn’t explain why he felt almost, well, lonely.

“I don’t know where my dad is either. Mine ran off with one of my mother’s closest friends, and everything in my parents’ joint bank account.”

Boston almost laughed. What a sad coincidence. “My dad didn’t settle for joint assets. He took an extra ten million from his employer that didn’t belong to him and fled the country with Carrie, my babysitter, who at the time was all of eighteen years old.”

He had never told that to a living soul. But for some reason, it wasn’t painful to tell Shelby. It was almost a relief to air his dirty laundry to someone who wouldn’t use it against him.

Shelby’s mouth dropped. “That’s awful! It’s hard to find a good babysitter, you know.”

Now he did laugh. “Actually, I never really liked Carrie. When she would wash my hair, she’d rub really hard with these claw-like nails. And she couldn’t push me on the swings because her jeans were too tight.”

Occasionally he’d wondered how long Carrie and his father had stayed together. He was betting not much more than a year or two.

“Why was your babysitter washing your hair? That’s a mother’s job.”

Shelby looked downright indignant. On his behalf. He felt flattered. “Not when your mother was a busy attorney who spent what little free time she had on the tennis courts.”

A definite snort came from the rocker. “Playing with fuzzy balls is more important than taking care of her child?”

Boston grinned and waited for Shelby to catch the humorous double meaning of what she’d just said. “My mom really liked playing with a wide variety of balls, especially from different manufacturers.”

It took her a good long second, but when she realized what he meant, her brown eyes went wide, her feet dropped to the floor, stopping the rocker, and her tongue slipped out to nervously wet her lips. “Oh.
Oh
. Well, shoot, we both come from a couple of oversexed parents, don’t we? My mom’s a pretty decent mother, but she’s a serial dater. I think it’s a self-esteem thing since my dad left her.”

Boston had often thought the same thing about his mother. She had a compulsive need to prove she was desirable to men.

“And last I heard, my dad had taken up with Sissy Blancher, who as a senior was head majorette of the Cuttersville Cougar Marching Band the same year I was a sophomore.” She shook her head, lips curved up. “That’s why I’ve never bothered to change back to my maiden name. I’d rather keep Danny’s name than my father’s.”

And while they were on the subject of Farmer Danny, Boston had a question or two about him. “So why did you and Danny split up? You certainly seem to have retained a friendship.”

If Danny’s sucking her fingers could be classified as friendship.

Shelby shot out of the rocker and started pacing back and forth again, her white gym shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. She paused in the middle of the plum-colored rug and put her hands on her hips. A shrug followed. “No big mystery. We just figured out we were better off as friends than being married.”