Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (14 page)

“Welcome home,” she said softly, leaning over him. He caught a whiff of her lemon-scented shampoo and tilted up his face to meet her lips with his, but she disappointed him by kissing his forehead gently, like he was breakable. All things equal, he wished she hadn’t kissed him at all. As she stepped back, taking the seat across from him instead of the one beside him, which would have let him hold her hand, he felt a chill pass through him. It was as though his worst fears were being confirmed. Did she see him as less of a man now?

“Did your retirement come through yet?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“But it will.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Then what?”

Bitterness and disappointment made his tone caustic. “Then I’ll be retired from the Navy at twenty-one.”

“No,” she said. “I mean, college? Work? What comes next for you?”

He shrugged, wishing she’d leave. He hadn’t been ready to see her—he hadn’t been prepared. He looked awful, felt awful. He wanted to look spit-and-polish for her, and instead he looked beaten and weak.

“Not college. I’ve had enough of takin’ orders for a while. I don’t know, Gin. Can I just get used to bein’ at home first?” he snapped.

Her eyes widened with hurt, and she sat back in her chair, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It’s okay,” she said, giving him a small smile that lit up her whole beautiful face and made his heart clench with the wanting of her. “I’m really, really glad you’re home.”

Well, that’s something.
“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Hope multiplied. “Really, Gin?”

“You’re my best friend, Woodman. Of course I’m—”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.

“Here we are!” interrupted his mother, handing his rucksack to Ginger.

Her timing was impeccable. If he’d already lashed out at Ginger for asking about his plans, he was about go to ballistic when she called him her best friend. But his mother’s presence tempered his response, and he clenched his jaw, staring daggers at Ginger until she got the point and looked away. She busied herself looking for his meds, finally holding up a vial. “See this?”

All he saw was the girl of his dreams treating him like a patient, not a man. He nodded curtly.

“Says ‘Take as needed every four to six hours for pain,’ right?”

He nodded again.

“Are you in pain?”

He looked at her deep brown eyes, drowning in them, terrified that an injury he never saw coming would be the thing that ruined his chances with her for good.

“Yeah, Gin. I’m in pain.”

She flinched slightly, fully aware of his double meaning, before lifting her chin and schooling her expression into Nurse McHuid’s. “Then you should be takin’ one every four to six hours. When did you last have one?”

He shrugged, looking away from her.
Go, go, please go. I can’t bear this anymore
. “I had half of one at four.”

“It’s eight thirty. Take another.” She opened the vial and shook one into her hand, holding it out to him.

He cut his eyes to hers, then, slamming into them, nailing them, owning them, hoping that she could see that there was still a strong, vital man sitting in this chair with his shattered foot up on a flowered cushion. He was a man and she was a woman, and they would fit together like lock and key if she would only give him the chance. She would never want for anything. He’d spend his whole life making her happy. If she could only see him—only
see
the wellspring of his love for her and deign to accept it.

He rested his fingers in her palm before taking the pill and swallowing it down. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” she said, standing up and kissing his forehead again. “I’m happy now.”

She didn’t look happy one bit, but when her sweet lips brushed against his forehead in a chaste kiss that she’d give a brother or a baby, he closed his eyes and let himself bask in her touch. And to his surprise, his heart, which still clung to much higher hopes, despite everything, couldn’t fathom giving up on her.

***

Even though things hadn’t gone the way he wanted with Ginger last night, he still felt much better in the morning. He’d taken another Vicodin at three o’clock in the morning and slept until almost nine, when he took another. With the pain better managed, he still felt like shit, but not quite as bad as yesterday.

Not quite as bad physically, at least.

His heart, however, was feeling a little battered.

After Ginger’s initial hello, she hadn’t exactly welcomed him home with kisses and softness and excitement, and while he was champing at the bit to start officially dating, she was far more concerned about his pain meds. Maybe it was time, even long past time, to lay all his cards on the table. He was home. She was home. He wanted to be with her. It was time to say it.

When Cain arrived later that morning to check in on him, he was sitting on the porch, his mood still middling foul.

“How you doin’?” asked Cain, taking the free seat beside his cousin. “Good to be home?”

Woodman shrugged, reaching for a glass of the sweet tea his mother had brought them. “It’s good to see my folks. But I hate the way they look at me.”

“They’re just worried, son. Give them some time to adjust.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, setting his glass down. “Want to know the worst of it?”

“Tell me.”

“I
liked
bein’ a damage controlman, Cain. I
liked
puttin’ out fires. I liked feelin’ like a . . . a danged superhero. I would’ve done it forever. I would’ve stayed in for the four years like we promised, then come home and gotten a job workin’ at the FD. No college, no need. Just a pension from Uncle Sam and a job right here, fightin’ fires and savin’ people. Maybe I would’ve even made assistant chief after a few years. With Ginger by my side, it would’ve been a good life. A real good life.”

“You can still
have
that life.”

“
How
?” Woodman lashed out, his frustration mounting. “How do I have that life when I can’t even—fuck! I can’t even walk around on my own goddamned
feet
? I can’t
save people
from fires, Cain. I can’t be a firefighter no more! I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

“You can still contribute!” yelled Cain, looking furious. “Stop bein’ so goddamned hopeless, Josiah! You can still go down to the fire department. You can, fuck, I don’t know, answer the fuckin’ phones! Share what you learned in the service! Have dinner waitin’ when the guys come back from calls! Hell, you’re still
useful
!”

“Everythin’ okay out here?” asked his momma, sticking her head through the doorway and wringing her hands as she looked back and forth between the cousins, finally resting disapproving eyes on Cain. “Maybe your cousin’s tirin’ you out, honey?”

“Nah,” said Woodman, shaking his head, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not Cain. It’s me, Momma.”

“Why, you’re just . . .” She stepped onto the patio, gesturing uselessly to his foot before looking at his face with glassy eyes.

“He’s just recoverin’,” said Cain smoothly.

“Recoverin’! That’s all. Why, you’ll be up on your . . .” Realizing what she was about to say, his mother gasped, pressing her hand to her chest.

“Up on your own two feet in no time,” finished Cain with confidence. “Know why? ’Cause you’re the toughest sumbitch I know.”

“Oh my,” said his mother, fanning her face at Cain’s use of profanity.

“Don’t cuss in front of my momma, Cain. Where were you born? In a barn?”

“Nah,” he said, winking at his cousin “But I’m livin’ in one!”

Woodman rolled his eyes, but his chest shook with laughter, and even his mother giggled softly before kissing the top of his head and returning to the house. Once she was safely out of earshot, Woodman leaned forward. “She fusses over me too goddamned much. Makes me feel like an invalid.”

“She’s your momma. Smile and say thank you.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He paused, changing gears and watching Cain carefully for a reaction. “Saw Ginger last night. She stopped by on her way home from work.”

“Oh, yeah? Where’s she workin’?”

“Silver Springs. You know, where they put her gran.”

Cain nodded. “Sure.”

“She’s gorgeous, Cain,” said Woodman, holding the rim of the glass between his lips, his gaze riveted on Cain’s face. Surely, if he’d seen her by now, Woodman would see some spark of recognition in his cousin’s eyes. “She’s, well, she’s everythin’ a man could want.”

“That right?”

“Just seein’ her made me, well, it made me want to, I don’t know . . . Maybe it made me want to stop feelin’ sorry for myself and figure out what comes next.”

Woodman felt relieved when Cain nodded, an encouraging smile on his face. “Glad to hear that, son.”

But it wasn’t enough. He needed to hear it. He needed to know that Cain had no designs on Ginger. He wouldn’t rest easy until he was reassured.

“You wouldn’t . . . I mean, I know you’re stayin’ there at McHuid’s for a few weeks, and you two had that incident a few years ago, but you’d never make a move on her . . .”

Leaning forward, Cain placed a hand on his cousin’s knee. “You staked your claim years ago, son. She’s yours.”

A rush of powerful relief coursed through Woodman, and he felt his whole body relax just as a shot of adrenaline and hope sluiced through him. Cain had no interest in Ginger, and besides, he was leaving in two and a half weeks. And while Woodman would miss his cousin, he’d be the man left in Apple Valley, ready and willing to court Ginger. Lord willing, it would all work out as it was supposed to.

He grinned at Cain. “Hey, maybe you’re right about the fire department. Maybe they could use someone to, I don’t know, answer the phone, like you said, or I could share some of my trainin’, or . . . What do you think?”

“I think you won’t know until you ask.”

“Give me a ride over there?”

Cain chuckled at Woodman’s sudden gumption, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. “I will. But give it a few days, huh? Rest up first, okay? For your momma’s sake.”

Sighing, Woodman sat back, knowing that Cain was right, but frustrated that a plan was forming in his head and he wasn’t able to jump at it as he would have before the accident. “Friday, Cain.”

Cain had agreed to come back on Friday to take him to the fire department, but in the meantime Woodman had taken out his laptop and set it up on the kitchen table, determined to familiarize himself with the department and maybe even to figure out where a man like him could be useful.

He wasn’t expecting Ginger, but when the doorbell rang and she walked into the kitchen with his mother a moment later, he was glad to see her all the same.

“Gin!” he greeted her, looking up from his computer.

She looked like a picture, her hair all soft and golden, wearing fancy pants, a dark blue sweater, and pearls. It occurred to Woodman that she’d dressed up for him, and his heart just about exploded with gratitude and hope. Smiling broadly, she reached out a hand and he took it, squeezing it affectionately as he drank in the sight of her pretty face, letting his eyes dip lower, to her full breasts straining against her sweater as she sat down. She caught him, giving him a look of censure and pulling her hand away before sitting down.

“You sure look nice.”

“Thank you,” she said, sitting across from him. “Thought I’d stop by. Didn’t like how we left things last night.”

Nor did he, although seeing her had given him a bit of a kick in the ass. He was determined to get back on his feet faster than ever now.

“Woodman,” said his mother, “I’m runnin’ to the market. Anythin’ you need?”

“No, thanks, Momma,” said Woodman, his eyes totally focused on the gorgeous girl across from him. “I got everythin’ I need right here.”

His mother scurried out, and Ginger blushed a deep pink, which made Woodman grin like a crazy person. He affected her, and the knowledge was so welcome, he could have cried.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, getting up and walking across the kitchen to the refrigerator. “I think it makes your momma jealous.”

He chuckled at her remark but composed himself when he realized she’d given him the perfect opportunity to share his feelings with her.

“But it’s the truth, Gin. It’s how I feel.”

His conversation with Cain this morning had primed the pump, so to speak. She was eighteen and he was twenty-one, and Woodman had loved her ever since he was eight years old. It was high time to put his cards on the table.

“I’m home now,” he continued. “Stable. Not runnin’ off again.” He paused, wishing she’d turn around and face him. “I’m ready for somethin’ serious, Gin. With you.”

“Woodman, we’re not . . .”

He tensed.
Oh God, sweet girl, don’t call me your friend again, when we both know I could be so much more.

“Not what?”