A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(44)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“I like it more than I anticipated.”

And it occurred to him, for the first time in startling clarity since Amanda had revealed the reasons behind his banishment, that Brett’s purpose in sending him to Cuttersville was not being served. Amanda had followed him, and while she appeared to have no interest in pursuing him, Brett didn’t know that. He might just turn around and whisk Boston, and Amanda, right back to Chicago, where he could at least keep an eye on them and protect Boston from her alleged poverty-creating clutches.

Boston didn’t know how he felt about that.

Two weeks before, he would have willingly shredded his season tickets to the Cubs for a chance to shake the Cuttersville dust off him and go home. But now he wasn’t so sure he’d be in the same frenzy to pack his bags.

Not yet anyway. There were a few things he still wanted to achieve before he left.

Like ensuring the Samson plant was on solid footing.

Not to mention getting Shelby Tucker down on that eyelet spread in his bedroom and following things to their natural conclusion after a quick stop at the drugstore for essentials.

No, he definitely wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

“Mom, I don’t want another cupcake, thanks.” Shelby waved off the proffered treat her mother had shoved under her nose, the blue-sprayed frosting turning her stomach.

She’d already eaten too much.

Displaced physical longing was what it was.

She’d spent all day pondering Boston’s toothbrush comment and wondering if the barn had been a fluke occurrence owing to the alignment of the planets or the supernatural powers of a dead cow, or if she’d actually have another orgasm under Boston’s tutelage.

Or under his mouth, or his hands, or his tongue . . .

Her mother’s hand slapped on her forehead. “Are you coming down with something? You’re turning down sweets and you look all hot and sweaty.”

“It’s almost ninety degrees out. Everyone’s sweating.” Except her mother, who looked fresh and patriotic, an Uncle Sam top hat perched on her blond head.

Dave, her mother’s boyfriend, wandered over and rested his hand on her behind, like it was just magnetically drawn there. “Susan, honey, is there more beer? The boys are going thirsty.”

Her mother got flustered. “Of course there is. I bought just absolute tons, so we wouldn’t run out. Where on earth did it all go?”

She rushed off, in a hostess panic, Dave following at a more leisurely pace, surrendering his hold on her mother’s cherry red backside. The vibrant capri pants were topped with a white tank top sporting a giant blue star in the middle.

Shelby took a swallow of her diet soft drink and wondered if she could muscle her way into the shade, where the seniors were all holding court under three giant elms. There were no lawn chairs left, but she could sit on the ground, none too worried about her shorts. Between Amanda Delmar and her own mother, she felt like a troll anyway.

There were Chihuahuas with better wardrobes than hers.

And there she was, thinking about it again. Dang it, she did not care what she looked like.

Making her way across the lawn, she took in the back of her mother’s little white ranch house. She’d grown up in that house, had broken her arm on the hard-packed dirt under the metal swing set, and had struggled through her homework at the scarred oak table in the peach kitchen.

This was home, where her roots were.

She’d made out with Danny Tucker, feeling grown up and daring, behind that dilapidated shed, right where Brady had Joelle pinned right now.

Shelby veered past him, giving him a little shove. “They can see, you idiot, and Mom’s wondering where all the beer went.”

Joelle jumped back with a guilty flush, but Brady held on to her. He rolled his eyes at Shelby. “I didn’t sneak off with any beer. How lame is that to steal my aunt’s beer at one in the afternoon?”

“Lame,” she agreed.

“Hey, where’s Mac? I thought he’d be here.”

Shelby couldn’t think of Boston by that nickname Cuttersville seemed determined to saddle him with. “He’s with the Samson people. And since when are you all chummy with Boston?”

“We hang out sometimes.”

“What?” Shelby tried to envision Boston and Brady watching MTV together and couldn’t manage it.

“He’s hot,” Joelle ventured, raising shiny brown eyes toward Shelby, her hair slipping from its thin ponytail.

Now it was Brady’s turn to be astonished. “What do you know about him being hot? He’s old enough to be your father. Man, that’s just sick.”

“Brad Pitt is hot too, and he’s like forty,” Joelle said with a giggle. “And Russell Crowe and Sean Connery.”

“Sean Connery?” Brady made gagging sounds.

Shelby left them to battle it out, Brady’s outraged voice floating behind her.

Brady’s older sister, Heather, was standing in a circle of women, absorbing the admiration of all for her newborn baby girl.

“Two weeks old and sleeping through the night,” she proclaimed proudly.

All the women oohed and aahed and told Heather how fabulous she looked. Which she did, despite the slight dark circles under her eyes. She had that almost palpable glow of a new mother, and Shelby couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Want to hold Rose, Shelby?” Heather held out the infant in offering.

“Sure.” It would insult Heather if she said no, and she did have an itch to get her hands on that downy blond hair.

After a tricky pass-off, where multiple hands shifted closer to them if needed for a fast catch, Shelby settled Rose into the cradle of her arms, her compact baby body resting with a firm warm weight. Wearing a little pink short-sleeve onesie, Rose was sleeping blissfully, her long pale eyelashes twitching over her red eyelids. Her mouth mimicked sucking in her sleep, and her little fingers shuddered occasionally.

She was just a baby. Just like any other of a thousand born every day.

But staring at her tiny beauty, smelling her soft formula-and-powder scent, Shelby felt everything inside her shift and rise up in a suffocating cloud of longing.

She wanted one of these. One of her own.

For the first time since that long-ago miscarriage, she could admit to herself that she wanted to be a mother now. Not later, not never. But now, in the next couple of years, and that which had seemed impossible a month before suddenly seemed possible.

Passion was fine and dandy, but at the end of the day, a girl had to have something to come home to.