A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(60)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Yes. We have a problem.” Shelby stuck her hands in her pockets, walked a few paces, took a rigid pass by the porch swing, then circled back around. She stopped in front of him, took a deep breath, met his eyes.

“Danny, I’ve thought about this a lot. It’s been a really difficult decision for me, because I truly do love you as a person, but . . . I can’t marry you. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

While she held her breath, he just blinked, then gave a big sigh, crushing her with the simple sadness behind it. “That’s okay, Shel. I kind of thought you’d say no.”

“Why?” she asked, curious.

“Because your heart is on your sleeve, honey. You’ve fallen for Boston, big-time.”

Fresh pain shot through her, and she fought the tears that instantly threatened. She wasn’t dealing well with the idea that she’d fallen in love with the wrong man. It just seemed to confirm her idiocy, and that wasn’t a pleasant thing. “Boston and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

He studied her. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe you’ll work it out. You’re both nuts about each other.”

“Some things you can’t fix, and this is one of them. But my feelings for him don’t have anything to do with my saying no to you.” Shelby took his hand, stroked it. “You’re my first love, Danny Tucker, and that’s a special thing. I don’t regret one minute we spent together. But we can’t get married for the wrong reasons . . . because we both want kids and we’re comfortable together.”

“I think a lot of marriages have started on less.”

“That’s true. And we could have a good marriage. But I think we both deserve great. I think we should take a chance, risk it, that there’s someone out there for us both that we can fall madly in love with.” Of course, she already had, but that was beside the point. Maybe there was another man . . . who was she kidding? It was over for her. Time to start her cat collection and slowly grow into eccentric Miss Shelby. But this way, if she didn’t marry Danny, there was still hope that he could find true love and live happily ever after.

“Madly in love? I don’t picture me falling madly into anything. I’m not exactly a dramatic guy, Shel.” Danny gave a grin. “But no, I really do understand what you’re saying. And a month ago, I wouldn’t have agreed with you. But I don’t know, I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time for me to date around a bit, enjoy myself. I’ve got plenty of years to have kids and I want to get married for keeps this time around.”

“It will be a lucky woman who gets you.” Shelby meant it. Danny was a good man, and she almost wished she could have loved him. Almost, because if she had, she’d have never fallen in love with Boston, and despite the pain in her chest and the ache in her abdomen, she couldn’t regret meeting him.

Danny gave her one of those bear hugs that lifted her off her feet and compromised her breathing. “Let’s hope she thinks so,” he said, bouncing her a little for good measure.

Shelby fell to the porch and checked her ribs for fractures. Gasping, she said, “Let’s hope she’s too big for you to pick up.”

He laughed. “So you going to keep on with the Haunted Cuttersville Tour then?”

“Actually, all the news exposure of the little incident last week already doubled my business this past weekend. What I really want to do is talk Gran into letting me use the White House as a bed-and-breakfast. I’d really enjoy running that, and I could have Brady do the actual legwork for the tours.”

“But Boston’s living in the White House still. I saw him just yesterday, having a beer with some of the Samson guys at Walt’s.”

While it didn’t exactly thrill her to hear that Boston was out socializing at the local bar and grill, she wasn’t surprised. Boston wasn’t a brooder. He was an action-oriented person.

But that didn’t mean she thought for one minute he liked the local scene enough to stick around longer than was absolutely necessary. He’d made that clear as crystal.

“Trust me, Danny, Boston Macnamara is leaving, sooner than later. I wouldn’t be surprised if he leaves next week.”

Boston supposed he ought to be startled, but he couldn’t work up the energy. When he opened his front door and saw Brett Delmar watching him with raised eyebrows, he merely nodded.

“Brett. How good to see you. What brings you to Cuttersville?”

As if he couldn’t guess. He held open the door and gestured for Brett to step inside, which he did, his hand resting casually in his pants pocket, his blue button-up shirt neatly ironed.

“I wanted to check on the Cuttersville plant for myself,” Brett said with enough credible nonchalance to make Boston appreciate how he’d catapulted himself to the top of the plastics industry.

“I also wanted to see how you’re doing here. What with you living in a haunted house and all.”

Boston winced. Here it came.

“And I wanted to see my daughter.”

He’d been waiting for that. Boston went into the parlor and offered Brett a seat. He sank himself onto the sofa and surreptitiously rubbed his eyes. He was getting a headache. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.”

“Charming interview she gave on television about her experiences with the undead.”

“Uhh . . . you saw that?” That was one thought that had never entered his head when he’d been trying to secure Shelby’s business by agreeing to tape in the house and allow interviews.

“It’s been a slow news week apparently. The entire Midwest has picked up the specialty piece on two Chicagoans in rural Ohio subjected to the harassment of restless ghosts.”

“Amanda never even saw any ghosts. What did she say in her interview?”

“Oh, she was appropriately skeptical, yet played it so that in the end you believed in everything from levitation to reincarnation. My daughter is quite convincing when she wants to be.”

Brett didn’t look amused by that, or proud.

Boston said, “I haven’t seen the show. I understand it was made to look a little sensational.” Including the reporter focusing in on the segment where Boston had walked into the room, the tape went blank while three and a half minutes elapsed according to the footage, then he was shown eating his sliced bread that had appeared out of nowhere. Boston hadn’t seen Mary since that night, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. It seemed a little risky to eat chicken cooked by a dead housekeeper, even a friendly one.