“Hey, ghost guru—penny for them,” Clyde whispered playfully in her ear when he kneeled beside her grandmother’s newly upholstered chair upon his return from work. The reupholstery he’d paid for.
Delaney’s lips instantly pursed for a kiss, her heart speeding up when his handsome face peered into hers. “I cost way more than that, Mr. Reincarnated, and don’t call me ghost guru anymore, okay? It’s still a raw nerve.”
Clyde kissed her lips, tracing them with his finger, shooting her a smile of sympathy.
She couldn’t see ghosts anymore. Nothing. Not a single flicker. The only time her chimes rang these days was when she had an actual customer.
So many things had changed since that night in the hospital room in North Dakota. Clyde’s recuperation had indeed been deemed miraculous, and it was swift, but not totally painless. They’d gone to his neighbor’s and collected Hypotenuse, who was as aloof as ever and forever meowing the indignity of sharing his new home with six dogs.
Clyde had a job now, working as a chemical consultant with a local research firm, and she was considering going back to school for her degree in veterinary medicine. A degree Clyde offered to fund one night when he’d wanted to soften the blow of taking her out for cheeseburgers and fries.
She was also considering dragging Clyde to the altar if he didn’t drag her there first. Though they’d only known each other three months, she was all for having a short engagement.
“Maybe this was the universe’s way of giving you a vacation—so we can hang out and, you know, be all carnal.” Clyde wiggled his eyebrows at her, his deep blue eyes teasing, but sympathetic. No one understood better than Clyde how she’d mourned the loss of her gift and then in turns rejoiced in it. All those years, all those waffling souls needing guidance, messages delivered to people who just didn’t believe and she’d spent a lot of time convincing, had taken a toll on her. Her life hadn’t been hers totally for a long, long time. Some days she thought acceptance had finally come, yet others were still spent hoping Charles Bronson would offer up a
Death Wish
or Michael Landon would show up and want to play Name That
Little House on the Prairie
Episode.
The smile she returned was bittersweet. In this deal, she’d gotten Clyde. Brilliant, klutzy, sexy, sometimes too serious Clyde.
In this deal, she’d gotten a future.
And in this deal, she’d also lost the only close friend she’d had for ten years.
Marcella was gone.
At least in the physical sense.
Delaney couldn’t bring herself to wade too far into the murky waters of her brain to reason where exactly her longtime friend was. When all was said and done, she had to trust in Uriel and what he said he’d do to help Marcella or she’d lose her mind. Though each time she thought of her closest friend, Delaney experienced a twinge of relief, a vibration that came as quickly as it went, and as sure as she was that miracles really did happen, she was sure Uriel was responsible for that otherworldly reassurance.
Though that didn’t keep her from having a moment or two of selfish irritation with her BFF. If Marcella could have just kept her nose out of it. If she would have just listened, just once, instead of letting that damned temper of hers get the better of her. If she’d just not gotten involved, none of this would have happened. Delaney teetered between infuriated with her for never listening, and missing seeing her so much it hurt.
Clyde kissed the tip of her nose, tugging his glasses off to reveal the deep blue of the eyes she’d fallen in love with. “No Marcella either, I gather.”
Delaney shook her head, her hair curtaining her face. “No, and I miss the hell out of her, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If I can’t see the spirits anymore, I can’t ask around, but I have faith Uriel kept his word. And Kellen’s just getting his feet wet with the medium thing, but maybe as he gets better at communicating with the dead, he’ll find a way to check on her.”
Because technically, Delaney had died the night of her show-down with Satan, the original contract with Vincent’s father, and the clause that said the gift would be passed on to the next relative in line, lived on—in Kellen.
And he hadn’t been too happy about the medium gift that kept on giving, but he’d picked up where she’d left off, and she’d been helping him to adjust to the sudden and abrupt turn his life had taken.
Clyde put his glasses back on and pulled her to her feet, enfolding her in his strong, secure arms. “I know you miss her, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to know her better. If it weren’t for her, we’d have never known what had to be done that day.”
They’d talked long into many nights about how lucky they were, how grateful they were to Marcella and Uriel.
Despite her anxiety and longing for certainty about Marcella’s safety, she found herself letting Clyde’s embrace soothe her. “And Darwin. Who’s going to look after him and help him cross? He was such a stubborn shit I don’t think there’s another medium in the world that can do it. I’m worried about him.”
Clyde never offered solutions when she grieved the loss of Darwin and Marcella. Instead, he quietly urged her to move forward by redirecting her thoughts, giving them focus on the here and now. Something neither of them would ever take for granted again. Today was no exception. “I think I might have found something to distract you,” he said, kissing her forehead before pivoting on his heel and grinning as he headed for the storefront door. He popped it open, unhooking something from the doorknob.
“You didn’t.” She gave him a stern frown all while her lips turned upward in a smile.
Clyde gripped a pink leash in his hands. Attached was the mud diest, mangiest, most matted brown and white dog she’d seen in all her pet rescues. A black smudge circled one eye, and his alert ears stood high on his head.
And he had no right front paw.
“I found him outside the 7-Eleven, digging in the alleyway. I figured he’d match dog number six. They make one whole dog if you put them together,” he said with a husky chuckle.
Delaney squealed when Clyde let the leash fall to the floor and their newest addition tackled her, lavishing her with smelly dog kisses. She couldn’t stop the giggle of joy Clyde’s bringing home a stray brought, or the swell of her heart as she made note of the fact that he totally and completely got it.
Lock, stock, and now seven dogs and counting.
Clyde dropped to the floor beside her, pressing a hand to the dog’s backside to encourage him to sit. Clyde nuzzled her cheek with his nose, setting the butterflies in her belly free. “So tell me, fruit cup, how do you feel about actually naming this one?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. How do you feel about a jealous canine uprising?”
“I was sorta thinking maybe something refined and classy like Tripod. How ’bout you?”
Her giggle tinkled in her ears while the new puppy buried his head in her hands, lapping at her fingers. “No go. That’s like calling a pit bull Fluffy.”
“Okay, then, what about Norville or Ned or Aloysius?”
Dogs one through six had sensed a new presence and began to bark. “I say you’ve had too much sugar today, Clyde the Reincarnated.”
His eyes became serious when he cupped her chin and captured her gaze. “So, you in?”
“In?”
“Yeah, are we keeping him?”
“Definitely.”
“No backsies?”
“Of course no backsies,” she replied.
His sigh was big, and it held distinct relief. “So you
are
in. We’re keeping him.”
Delaney nodded with a wide smile, warming at the word
we
in the equation. “All the way.”
All. The. Way.
“Frank Sinatra was the first to record it, I think; 1957.”
Delaney cocked her head at him. He was spewing music trivia—and that always meant he was stressed about something. It was probably the consumption-of-bad-preservatives kind of guilt. He’d better not have had a cheeseburger on the way home after she’d lovingly prepared a wheat germ salad and salmon burgers for their dinner—she’d have his ass on a platter. “Yeah, Frank. But whatever has you freaking has nothing to do with Frank. So spill, honey.”
Clyde smiled, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “You just said yes—it geeked me out for a minute. Nerves about asking and all. It’s over. I’m good.”
The many facets of Clyde. “Now in English—for the non-Mensas of the world.”
His grin was mysterious and playful. “I brought home a dog and asked if you were all in, and you said
yes
.”
“Code for?”
“The dog is a symbol of my desire to mate with you, honey. He’s my engagement gift to you. You know, like in foreign countries when the suitor brings his woman’s family a wildebeest or whatever to declare his love?”
Though her heart raced, and her stomach danced a tango, she teased, “I thought that was goats, or a herd of sheep.”
“Sorry—I couldn’t find any sheep. So a dog it’ll have to be. And you already said yes. That means no backsies.”
Her giggles filled the store, startling the dog, who whined with impatience. That he’d brought her the one thing he knew she couldn’t deny was what meant he could stay.
Forever
.
“I did not either. Maybe I’d prefer a goat, Atwell. Goats make cheese. I like goat cheese—”
Tackling her to the floor, Clyde’s rumble of laughter penetrated her chest—her heart. “Goats don’t make cheese, honey,” he corrected, shooting her a smile. “You make me batshit, Delaney Markham, and the sick thing is, I like it. Nay, I love it, and you. So, one more time: You all in?”
“All”—she punctuated the word with a kiss to his yummy lips and a breathy sigh—“in.”
Clyde offered his fist to her.
She knocked it, and they blew it up.
Together
.
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