“My tone? We’re talking mutts here.”
Delaney planted a kiss on his muzzle before responding. “They’re not mutts. Not to me. They’re my babies. Dogs who happened upon some misfortune, but were fortunate enough to find me and my bleeding heart. Second of all, they are like my children, bonus being I don’t have to pay for college when they grow up, and they can’t ask to borrow the car. And it’s not like I’m going to have any kids, anyway. You need at least a date for that. And when wet blankets like you show up and rain on my social schedule at all hours of the day and night, demanding my attention, it makes it almost impossible for me to make a love connection. Ya feel me? No one wants to date the crazy chick who talks to herself.”
There was no self-pity in her statement. Not even a little. Her life was what it was. There just hadn’t been a man she’d come across who was strong enough to handle her otherworldly charms—not so far, anyway. And even if that man never came along, she was good being alone. Well, there was one man in her life who got it. Her brother, Kellen. He didn’t share her gift, but he believed. That she had one person in her life who understood was more than most who shared her gift had.
Besides, letting other people become involved with her had some hazardous risks she’d just as soon not take. So she’d stopped taking them.
“I feel like I should apologize again. I didn’t mean to insult you and your . . . dogs.”
Delaney lifted her head, glaring at her only purebred dog—a black Dachshund with bladder control issues—who was tugging at his festively decorated dungaree wraparound diaper, trying to yank it off.
She nudged him with a gentle elbow, drawing his soft, doe-brown eyes to hers. “You—knock that off. I can’t have you peeing all over the place or Mr. Li will have my head. I did decorate the diaper for you, didn’t I? Do you know how many hours I spent with that stupid BeDazzler, hooking you up so you’d have pretty man-panties? Now quit being so ungrateful. And you”—she pointed behind her head at the voice—“should feel like apologizing again. You stiffed me out of eight hundred smackers. I don’t suppose your bank account’s still open on the other side, now is it?”
His silence was palpable, resounding in her head.
She nodded her head, affirming her statement. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“So you don’t date?”
Delaney lifted herself off the couch, heading toward her small, narrow kitchen, six dogs at her heels. She popped her refrigerator door open, rooting around for some leftover Hamburger Helper. “Not since, like, 2005 or so, I think it was. Ira Warstein will never be the same, and I can’t say as I blame him. I decided, right then and there, after he’d been cracked in the head by his mother’s platter of carefully prepared gefilte fish, that not only did it look outwardly like I had the crazy goin’ on, but people were now getting hurt because of me. So end of. I’m just too hard to explain. Conversations like the one we’re having, where only I can hear you, harder still.”
“You hit him in the head with a platter of fish?”
She waved a hand at the voice, now in the center of her kitchen. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never hit someone with anything, let alone a platter of fish. Our date was rudely interrupted by a very angry ghost who wanted my immediate attention and just couldn’t hang on to his britches while I made polite excuses to leave.” Delaney turned to stare at the empty spot in the room she’d pinpointed his voice in. “Sound vaguely familiar?”
His tone was sheepish this time. “I’m apologizing again, right?”
She shook her head in a firm no, brushing long strands of her auburn hair from her eyes. “No. You’re going away. I already accepted your apology. We’re golden.”
“But I can’t go away.”
“Yes, yes, you can. It works like this. You disappear until, like, tomorrow, while I feed the dogs, eat my crappy leftovers, and watch Ghost Whisperer.” She looked down at the eager puppies who’d gathered at her feet the moment she’d opened the fridge door. “We always watch Ghost Whisperer, don’t we, babies?” she cooed in a tone reserved just for her animals.
His voice, if not his physical presence, remained firmly rooted to the center of her kitchen. “No, no, I can’t go away.”
For the love of some meaningful, much-needed quiet time, he’d damned well better. “Hookay. I think we need the big guns here. Are you going to make me sic Darwin on you?”
“Who’s Darwin?”