A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(49)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Neither one of them had thought to suggest Shelby grab her toothbrush and stay over. Boston thought maybe they’d both known they’d had all they could handle for one night.

Having Amanda accompanying him this evening wasn’t helping either. She wasn’t doing anything that could be classified as annoying, although her lip gloss was a little blinding, but having her around was a reminder of Chicago, where he belonged, his real life.

And when he was in Cuttersville, and holding Shelby in his arms under a pollution-free sky, he didn’t want to be reminded of reality. He wanted to play small-town house for a while.

Only his house was full of T-shirt-wearing gawkers and Shelby looking like she’d eaten week-old fish. Even from the driveway, her skin looked an alarming shade of green, somewhat like mint chocolate chip ice cream, without the chips.

“Shelby looks upset,” Amanda said, her voice lazy and knowing.

She did. Boston wanted to shove everyone aside, walk up those stairs, take Shelby in his arms, and claim her as his with a kiss in front of all those people.

He wasn’t so totally far gone as to actually do that, though.

Instead, he just nodded to the people standing around and offered a forced smile. Shelby was sidling behind a middle-aged man who looked to be hiding a beach ball under his shirt. While Boston wasn’t sure what to say to her, he didn’t want her avoiding him.

So he called to her. “Shelby, can I speak to you, please?”

Her green cheeks pinkened, so she looked a bit like peppermint. She’d worn an incredibly oversized orange T-shirt that said DICK’S HARDWARE, which struck Boston as redundant, but that she’d probably worn solely for the coverage. Nothing above the elbows was showing, and he couldn’t even get a good shot of her cute little backside with that thing hanging down over her dingy gray shorts. Dirty gym shoes were on her feet, no socks, and Boston read her meaning loud and clear.

She didn’t want any attention from him.

Well, she could be wearing head-to-toe multilayered fleece and he’d still be turned on.

Especially since he’d seen her hair down over her naked shoulders and br**sts.

“Yes?” she asked, her little chin jutting out toward him, her eyes wary but determined.

“What do you want me to do? Just go into the house and stand there? Sing maybe, or play the piano?” He tried to tease a smile out of her.

No smile, but she loosened up, shoulders relaxing, hands letting go of the hem of her shirt. “You can just do whatever you normally do. Work or read or eat, whatever. Thank you for doing this, I know it’s uncomfortable for you.”

“No problem.” He couldn’t resist squeezing her hand a little, but she pulled it right back. “Listen, Shelby, we need to talk.”

Her eyes snapped shut for a split second, and she shook her head just slightly before blowing a big breath of air out, scattering the loose hair over her forehead. “I know we do.”

“Can you come back after the tour?”

“Sure.” She nodded resolutely. “We need to clear the air about some things.”

It had an ominous sound that he didn’t understand or like. Confusion mixed with fear, which warred with the euphoria that he had found a woman he could really fall in love with, until he thought programming his cell phone made more sense than the thoughts running around his head.

Boston opened the door, walked in, and just managed to duck in time when a plate came flying at his head.

Shelby only saw a flash of white go past Boston’s shoulder before it collided with the door, in an explosion of shattering shards. Jumping back with a shriek, she bumped into the soft stomach of the woman standing behind her.

“Show’s on,” Boston said wryly, moving into the foyer with total confidence, like he wasn’t the least bit scared.

Which she had to admit was appealing. If he had knocked the tour-goers down in an attempt to escape the house, she didn’t think she’d be in love with him.

Which she was. In love with him, darn it.

Miserable and irrationally annoyed that exciting things seemed to happen only when he was around, Shelby took a tentative step in behind him.

Boston’s hand shoved her head down right as another plate came spinning past. Shelby caught a glimpse of Scarlett’s drapery dress go flying by from her bent-over position.

“Hey, those are Gran’s limited-edition Gone With the Wind plates! She’s not going to be real happy.”

But Boston laughed. “Frankly, Shelby, I don’t think they give a damn.”

“Who’s they?” She was afraid to stand up, and grabbed on to the belt loops of Boston’s black pants for leverage.

A quick glance back showed half a dozen people crammed into the doorway watching, more in the windows of the parlor.

“I’m guessing it’s Rachel.”

All the lights came blasting on, pouring from the chandelier, scattered lamps, and from the fixture at the top of the stairs.

Shelby inched closer to Boston’s butt.

Bless his heart, he took pity on her, and put an arm around her, his suit jacket obscuring some of her view. Which could be a bad thing if Rachel winged a plate at her, but a good thing if an entity decided to show itself. She could do without seeing any dead people until she was good and dead herself.

“Nice to see you again, Rachel.” Boston spoke like he was at a corporate lunch. “You remember Shelby? She’s stopped by to visit.”

Shelby smacked Boston’s leg. She didn’t want to be dragged into this. She’d never had a problem with Rachel until he’d shown up.

“Stand up, love,” he said, urging her with his hand.

Shocked from the endearment, which tripped off his lips so casually and sweetly, Shelby stood up and gaped at him. He just smiled and touched the tip of her nose.

“I want to kiss that expression right off your face,” he said.

This time, when Rhett Embraces Scarlett came down off the plate rack above the curio cabinet, Shelby saw it. Sticking her hand up, she shielded the side of Boston’s face and let out a yelp when the china crashed into her.

Her hand stung, and tears popped into her eyes. Boston’s eyes went wide, then furious. He grabbed her hand, and cursed at the blood that flowed from a two-inch-long gash.

“Alright, Rachel, that’s not funny!” He glared around the foyer. “If you have something to say, get your dead self out here and say it, but you cannot hurt Shelby ever again, understand me?”

Shelby didn’t think it was such a hot idea to be issuing commands to psychotic ghosts, and she started inching toward the front door, clutching her bleeding hand in her T-shirt. Boston stilled her, pulling her against his hard side, his muscles bunched as if bracing for a fight.