A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(50)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Don’t let Rachel appear, just don’t . . .

Squeezing her eyes shut, Shelby tried to pretend she didn’t hear the footsteps in the kitchen, coming toward them, loud and ominous. Click, click, click, they grew closer and closer, and Shelby’s heart beat so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. With more courage than she’d known she possessed, she forced her eyes open.

And saw Amanda standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing high heels and a tangerine orange strapless sundress.

“Amanda, what are you doing?” Boston asked, his fist relaxing.

“I couldn’t see a damn thing.” She shot a glare at the women stuffed into the front door frame. “So I came around the back.”

While Shelby remembered to breathe again, Amanda assessed the situation. “I don’t see anything going on.”

The God As My Witness plate hurled at Amanda. She shifted and watched it crash into the rose-colored wall. “Well, someone’s not getting any,” she remarked.

“How many plates are there?” Boston asked, glancing to the rack. “Jesus, there’s a ton of them.”

“It was a long movie.” Shelby strove for some of Amanda and Boston’s nonchalance, but found she didn’t have a whole lot. “And I’m not waiting around for the whole thing.”

Boston tried to pull her T-shirt off her injured hand, but Shelby held it tight. She wasn’t crazy about the sight of blood, even a little.

“I’ll drive you to the ER for stitches, Shelby.”

The very thought made her woozy. “I don’t need stitches. We need to save the plates.”

One-handed, she started to drag a dining room chair over to the plate rack.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Amanda, you get the plates while I take Shelby to the hospital.”

“Do what?” Obviously the thought of any task other than primping herself baffled Amanda. She was staring at the chair blankly.

Shelby just rolled her eyes and climbed onto the chair, keeping her head tucked behind her uninjured arm. In a minute she had all the plates down, stacked in Boston’s hands. The practical action made her feel less hysterical.

“Put them in the cabinet.” Shelby pointed to the mahogany hutch in the dining room.

While Boston secured the plates, Shelby peeled her T-shirt back, hoping to convince herself it was just a scratch and she didn’t need to go to the ER. The sight of red blood smeared all over her hand greeted her, and she became aware of how wet and sticky it was.

The room tilted, her mouth went hot, her breathing desperate. “Oh, God.”

Boston caught her just in time before she hit the floor. She didn’t faint, but came awful close, her vision blurring, everything going black for a split second. Things were just starting to clear when Boston lifted her off the ground into his arms, which made her dizzy all over again.

But there was something comforting in being carried, even as she sucked in gobs of air to try and still her nauseous stomach. Shelby wasn’t a woman people cosseted, not even as a kid. To have Boston holding her tenderly like she was Amanda-skinny, whispering soft little words of encouragement and distress, was a good feeling.

She settled against the crisp white dress shirt covering his chest and was pleasantly distracted by his arm under her backside. Shelby sighed and let her eyes roll closed.

Boston barked for the gawkers to get out of the way, and then he was settling her in his car.

“I’m fine,” she protested, trying not to slide down off the leather passenger seat. “I just don’t like blood.”

“You need stitches,” he said in a voice that brooked no arguments, his jaw locked.

“But the tour . . . those people . . .”

“Can all go to hell.”

Easy for him to say. He didn’t need those people to eat.

As he backed out the driveway, he softened his tone. “Those people will probably still be there when we get back. They got exactly what they wanted—a ghost—and it will be all over town in half an hour.”

He was right, and she should be thrilled. But all she wanted to do was lean her head against the window and try not to gag.

Boston sat in the chair in the ER cubicle and watched Shelby resting on the bed, eyes closed, cheeks pale. The doctor had given her six stitches, assuring them it was a minor cut, but that the fleshy part of the hand bleeds a lot.

Boston had yet to find a part of the body that didn’t bleed a lot when sliced, but Shelby had seemed reassured. They were waiting for the discharge papers from the nurse, and Boston was content just to watch Shelby lying there. He’d ditched his suit jacket and tie in the car before coming in, and he’d rolled his sleeves up, but he still felt overdressed next to Shelby and her grubby dig-in-the-dirt outfit.

Yet he thought she was beautiful. And he was in love with her.

It was all there, clearly before him. Nothing else could explain the feeling in his chest when he’d seen Shelby clawing to stay conscious, blood running down her wrist in red rivulets. He’d experienced blind panic. The primitive urge to protect. He would have taken on a whole houseful of spirits, if need be.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The last thing in the world he’d expected when he’d been forced figuratively kicking and screaming to Cuttersville was to fall in love. But there it was, and he had indigestion.

Having never expected to ever even fall in love, he was unprepared to deal with the fact that he not only had fallen in love, but had done it with the wrong woman. Or more accurately, he was the wrong man for her. He had nothing to offer Shelby Tucker that she valued.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a weak smile. “I’m a total wimp, aren’t I?”

“Nah. And you saved the Gone With the Wind limited-edition plates. Not many people can say that.”

Shelby laughed, propped on her side. “It’s only eight o’clock and I feel like going to bed.”

“So do I.” He didn’t even try and hide the innuendo in his voice. He just let his lust hang out there for her to see and do whatever she wanted with it.

She sighed. “We can’t.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, teasing a little, his heart growing heavy. She was only saying what he already knew. That they needed to stop before it got worse, before one of them got seriously hurt. Before he did something stupid like try and drag Shelby off to Chicago or promise that he’d stay in Cuttersville.

Neither one of them could make that sacrifice, and it was better to cut things off now.