A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(27)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Shelby stepped onto the lawn and tried to put some enthusiasm into her actions. “Thanks for helping out, Gran.”

“Oh, I’m enjoying it, hon. Having all these people swarm around is more excitement than I usually get.”

Glancing at Gran, wearing a tennis visor, Shelby tried to smile but wasn’t quite successful. The twenty tour-goers were heading down the road, impatient to get to the next stop, the spot on Miller Road where a long-dead jilted groom was known to pop out at couples getting amorous and rock their cars.

“They’re starting to get mad, Gran. Since Boston and I got locked in his room, no one’s seen a darn thing. They all wanted to see something, and nothing’s happened, and they’re liable to turn on me any day now. I could be out of business by next week.”

Maybe she was exaggerating, but she was starting to get nervous. Normally, people thought they saw or felt or heard something, and the tour really only promised the possibility of ghosts. But since word had flown around town about the incidents with Boston, people took the tour expecting to see something obvious. Lights flashing, objects moving, doors slamming, cold winds, the whole kit and kaboodle.

Gran huffed a little as she walked faster to keep up with the mob. The road was pitted and gravel strewn, so Shelby put her hand on Gran’s elbow to keep her steady.

“Shelby, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s Boston who’s causing all the activity in the house.”

“Like he’s a psychic or something?” God, that was a horrible thought. If he could conjure up dead people, she was really going to have a hard time relaxing around him. Imagining a spectral vision hanging over her shoulder while they were getting intimate was definitely going to cause performance anxiety.

Not that it appeared he wanted to get intimate with her anymore, given the fact that he was as absent as the ghosts.

“I just think maybe he’s agitating the house somehow, without meaning to. I think maybe you should ask Boston to help you out with the tour.”

Shelby actually laughed out loud. “Gran, he hates the tour. He’s not going to join me as cohost.”

“Well, just ask him to be in the house for the later tour. He’s a nice man, honey, he’ll help you out if he thinks you might lose business. If it’s one thing that man understands, it’s the bottom line.” Gran gave her a sharp look. “Besides, if a man’s going to stick his hands down your pants, the least he can do is help you out now and again.”

Stumbling on a rock, Shelby felt her face heat. “Uh . . .” She’d suspected Gran had seen her with Boston on the porch, but she had never wanted to talk about it.

Gran smirked. “Now don’t be embarrassed. I know all about the birds and the bees, Shelby Louise. And I was thinking you might want to run to that new CVS and buy yourself some condoms.”

Even better. Her grandmother was recommending birth control. Shelby just nodded, not sure what the right thing to say was when discussing your sex life with a geriatric relative.

“Now, are you going to be home for dinner tonight? I was thinking of having you pick up some chicken.”

“Actually, I’m having dinner out at the farm with Danny. He called me yesterday.”

Thoughts racing ahead to the fact that she should probably pick up some dessert to take, she was only half listening to Gran.

“Smart idea. Play one off against the other.”

When the words finally filtered through, she stared at her grandmother. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She smiled with a smugness that wasn’t all proper for an old lady, in Shelby’s opinion.

Gran’s old Pontiac took all the bumps in the dirt road with a loud rattle, a heaving bounce, and the threat of just dying altogether. Shelby figured if the car quit, it wouldn’t matter at this point. She could walk the rest of the way up the road to Danny’s house.

The farm lay silent, baking in the summer sun, the soybeans pushing toward the sky, looking hearty and hale. She drove past the big farmhouse where Danny’s parents lived and waved to Mr. Tucker on his tractor. She’d always loved her in-laws, the warm stable way they ran their lives, unlike her flighty mother and never-to-be-seen-again father.

In fact, she’d loved a lot of things about her years as Danny’s wife. She had been young, and more than a little frightened, but she’d wound up enjoying her role as housekeeper, cook, and occasional beer-fetcher. She’d figured that if she was happy, what did it matter that she didn’t have a thriving career?

Sure, she worked hard around the house, but Danny also worked hard in the fields, and at the end of the day it had all been equal.

It wasn’t monotony, or drudgery, or hatred of the farm that had driven her to a divorce. And if she hadn’t miscarried, she was certain she never would have left him. But she didn’t have a child, and had put off Danny every time he’d suggested later in their marriage that they give parenthood another go. Because she had known if she had a child, she couldn’t leave.

And while she loved Danny and the farm, she had just known something was missing. He didn’t make her toes curl, never did, and didn’t a girl deserve a shot at some toe-curling before she died?

It had seemed fair enough, but as Shelby let the car wheeze to a halt in front of the smaller ranch-style house Danny lived in, she wondered if she was just a fool. It had been three years and her toes hadn’t even so much as wiggled until Boston had come to town. And while he could curl her toes clear back to her heels, he couldn’t give her much more than that.

With a sigh, she hauled her melancholy self out of the car, cherry pie in hand, and went to the door.

Danny let her in with a grin and a hug, and she forced a smile back. It wasn’t his fault she was a wreck.

Sniffing the pie, Danny took it from her. “Cherry? Man, that smells good. Did you bake it yourself, sugar? You always had a way with pies.”

“No, no time. I bought it.” Though his offhand compliment made her suddenly want to cry. As did the familiar furnishings and knickknacks around the little house.

They’d picked out those plaid sofas together at a going-out-of-business sale in Wilmington. Moving into the L-shaped kitchen, she saw he’d never taken down the green gingham curtains she’d hung, and the little rooster painting she’d found at a garage sale still perched over the two-person table. It had been well over a year since she’d been in the house, and at the time she hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t changed a thing, but for some reason now it landed on her like a tipped cow.