Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (15 page)

“You’ve been gone for three years,” she said, walking back to the table holding a carton of cream.

“That’s right. And now I’m home, and I want to be with you, dar—”

She looked up at him, frowning. “Do we have to have this conversation right now? I have so much on my plate. I’m in school and workin’, and Gran’s sick, and I just don’t . . . I mean, I don’t have time to date
anyone
, Woodman. I don’t need this kind of pressure on my life.”

Her words weren’t unreasonable, nor did they friend-zone him, nor did they outright reject his offer. Seen in a certain light, she was merely saying that his timing wasn’t good, and he could buy that. In fact, he agreed that his timing wasn’t good, but ever since the accident, he’d been anxious for control over his rapidly changed, out-of-his-control-feeling life.

Woodman could deal with bad timing—hell, he could even deal with being friend-zoned because he was sure he could wait her out and wear her down. But there was one reason for her not wanting him that he wouldn’t be able to change or fix.

“Is it because I’m crippled?”

“Woodman!” she scolded him, her eyes widening in shock. “After
that
question? It’s because you’re
stupid
.”

“
I’m
stupid,” he repeated, trying to follow her and unsure of where she was going.

“Yes!” she said. “You’re stupid if you think your injury would matter to me like that.”

“So it
doesn’t
matter to you . . . like that?” he asked, his lips tilting up just slightly, a rush of relief and happiness making him dizzy.

“It doesn’t matter to me, other than I want you to be as whole as you can be. And that’s goin’ to take a little while. Woodman, you don’t need a . . . a romantic distraction right now.”

“And you don’t
want
one,” he said softly.

She took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it go, looking up to meet his eyes. “It’s not the right time.”

“When will it be?”

“I don’t know.”

In fairness, she was right. His timing was total shit. Motivated by a need to control
something
in his life, he was pushing her to a place that was completely unfair, and he needed to back off. He’d been home for exactly twelve hours. He had no right to ask her to make a decision about dating him; they needed to spend some time together, get to know each other again on a daily basis, and see what happened. Besides, he was home for the long haul now, right? And he’d made his intentions and desires crystal clear. And, he reminded himself, feeling a strong sense of relief, she hadn’t shot him down.

It was time to practice patience.

He nodded. “Okay, Gin. You know what I want, but I’ll leave the ball in your court. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be waitin’ for you.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she grinned at him—a happy, more carefree smile. “And until then, we’ll just be friends?”

Ugh. The dreaded word.

Patience. Patience. Patience.

He nodded in agreement. “Friends.”

She rewarded him with a beautiful, beaming Ginger smile, picked up her coffee cup, and flicked a glance to his laptop. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I’m just checkin’ out the Apple Valley Fire Department website here.”

“Huh. What for?”

“Might ask if I can help out there.” He paused, looking up at her, searching her face for a reaction as he said his cousin’s name. “Cain thought it would be a good idea.”

“Cain,” she practically spat, and again Woodman felt a deep sense of relief, which he immediately regretted. Cain had been good to him. Cain’s support had made his injury and move home bearable. Despite the fact that he wanted to keep Cain and Ginger apart, he couldn’t let her speak ill of him.

“I know you don’t like him, but he’s been real good to me, Gin. He took a lot of time off to see me in Germany, then more time off to drive me home. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”

“We’re talkin’ about
Cain Wolfram
?” she asked acidly. “Self-servin’, self-centered, horse’s ass Cain Wolfram, right?”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side, darlin’.” Woodman chuckled softly, admiring the spark in her pretty eyes. “Listen, ole Cain’s never goin’ to be a perfect Southern gentleman, but he’s changed, Gin. I swear it.”

“Ha!” she snorted.

“I’m tellin’ you, Cain’s a better man than he ever was. Ain’t drinkin’ half so much.”

“But whorin’ double,” she blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Holy cow, she hates his guts,
he thought.

“You always had a way with words, Miss Ginger!”

Her shoulders shook as she laughed with him, and Woodman felt a deep sense of contentment, sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, drinking coffee, and laughing with the woman he loved.

We could have this forever. Life could be full of laughs and love and kids and . . . Patience. Quit getting ahead of yourself.

“I can’t speak for his . . .” Woodman cleared his throat, still choking back laughter, “extracurricular activities, but I can tell you this: he’s cleaned up his act. Never thought I’d say this, but when he leaves in two and a half weeks, I sure will miss him.”

He meant the words, felt them suddenly in the pit of his stomach, how much he would miss Cain, how—when Cain left—his life in the military would truly be over. But he lifted his eyes to Ginger, hoping that she would be the anchor for him in civilian life that Cain had been in the Navy.

“Enough about Cain.” She grinned at him sweetly. “Tell me more about your plans to work at the firehouse.”

~ Ginger ~

She stopped by to see Woodman before heading to work, and this time she wore cream silk slacks and a navy blue sweater set with pearls. She could change into scrubs in the ladies’ room before her shift started.

Miz Sophie gave her a polite smile as she opened the door. “Ginger! You put a little extra effort into your visit today, I see.”

Ginger bit back a smart remark and held out a loaf of zucchini bread she’d picked up from the farmers’ market and smiled, as expected. “For your breakfast tomorrow.”

“Why, thank you!” Sophie leaned forward conspiratorially. “I ‘spose you’re here to see Josiah? He’s in much better spirits today.”

As if they could get worse
, she thought.

“Wonderful news,” she said politely, following Miz Sophie to the kitchen, where she found Woodman sitting at the rustic kitchen table, a cup of coffee and a laptop on the table before him and his leg elevated on a chair under the table.

“Gin!” he greeted her, looking up from his computer. His hair and beard still looked unkempt, but his color was better, which meant he’d gotten a good night’s sleep and was taking his meds as directed to keep the pain at bay.

She reached out a hand and he took it, squeezing it affectionately as his eyes wandered over her outfit. They rested on her breasts before sliding back up to her face. “You sure look nice.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her hand away and taking a seat across from him. “Thought I’d stop by. Didn’t like how we left things last night.”

“Coffee, honey?”

“Yes, please,” she said, grinning at Miz Sophie, who placed a steaming mug before her.

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

“No, thanks, Momma,” said Woodman, sparing a quick look at his mother before focusing on Ginger again. “I got everythin’ I need right here.”

Miz Sophie’s eyes narrowed for just a moment before telling them to behave and slipping out the door, leaving Ginger blushing and Woodman beaming at her discomposure.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” she said. “I think it makes your momma jealous.”

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

Uncomfortable with this declaration, she stood up abruptly and crossed to the refrigerator, opening it in search of cream and grateful for the cool air on her cheeks.

“I’m home now,” he said to her back. “Stable. Not runnin’ off again.” He paused. “I’m ready for somethin’ serious, Gin. With you.”

“Woodman, we’re not . . .”

“Not what?”

“You’ve been gone for three years,” she said evenly, closing the refrigerator door and turning to face him.

“That’s right. And now I’m home, and I want to be with you, dar—”

“Do we have to have this conversation right now?” she interrupted, feeling an edge of panic slip into her voice. “I have so much on my plate. I’m in school and workin’, and Gran’s sick, and I just don’t . . . I mean, I don’t have time to date
anyone
, Woodman. I don’t need this kind of pressure on my life.”

His face dropped, but he held her gaze. “Is it because I’m crippled?”

“Woodman!” she scolded him, her eyes widening in shock. “After
that
question? It’s because you’re
stupid
.”

“
I’m
stupid,” he said tersely.

“Yes!” she said. “You’re stupid if you think your injury would matter to me like that.”

“So it
doesn’t
matter to you . . . like that?” he asked, his lips tilting up just slightly.

She sat back down at the table and poured a little cream into her coffee. “It doesn’t matter to me, other than I want you to be as whole as you can be. And that’s goin’ to take a little while. Woodman, you don’t need a . . . a romantic distraction right now.”

“And you don’t
want
one.”

She took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it go, stirring her coffee deliberately as she looked up and met his eyes. “It’s not the right time.”

“When will it be?”

“I don’t know,” she said simply, hating the fact that Cain’s face slipped through her mind uninvited and unwanted.

Woodman stared at her for a long while before nodding. “Okay, Gin. You know what I want, but I’ll leave the ball in your court. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be waitin’ for you.”

His words touched her heart, and she wished—for the millionth time—that she felt for Woodman half the attraction she felt for Cain.

“And until then,” she asked, grinning at him with affection and relief, “we’ll just be friends?”

He winced like he smelled something bad, then grudgingly nodded. “Friends.”

Beaming at him as she picked up her coffee cup, she felt much better. She took a sip, then placed it back on the table, glancing at his laptop. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I’m just checkin’ out the Apple Valley Fire Department website here.”

“Huh. What for?”

“Might ask if I can help out there.” He paused, looking up at her. “Cain thought it would be a good idea.”

“Cain,” she said darkly, the name sour in her mouth.

“I know you don’t like him,” said Woodman, “but he’s been real good to me, Gin. He took a lot of time off to see me in Germany, then more time off to drive me home. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”

“We’re talkin’ about
Cain Wolfram
?” she asked acidly. “Self-servin’, self-centered, horse’s ass Cain Wolfram, right?”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side, darlin’.” Woodman chuckled softly. “Listen, ole Cain’s never goin’ to be a perfect Southern gentleman, but he’s changed, Gin. I swear it.”

I’ve changed. My troublemakin’ days are behind me, darlin’.

“Ha!” she snorted.

But she couldn’t help but wonder when he’d changed and how he’d changed, and if he deserved a second chance that she didn’t feel like giving.

“I’m tellin’ you, Cain’s a better man than he ever was. Ain’t drinkin’ half so much.”

“But whorin’ double,” she blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Woodman’s eyes widened to saucers, twinkling and merry. “You always had a way with words, Miss Ginger!” He cackled with mirth, and she knew they were both thinking of the time she’d called Mary-Louise Walker, Big Tits Walker.

Her shoulders shook as she laughed with him, relieved that their friendship appeared to be restored for now.

“I can’t speak for his . . .” Woodman cleared his throat, still choking back laughter, “extracurricular activities, but I can tell you this: he’s cleaned up his act. Never thought I’d say this, but when he leaves in two and a half weeks, I sure will miss him.”

Leaves in two and a half weeks. Leaves.
The words swam around in her head, making her dizzy, making her heart ache, making her long for peace with this supposedly new and improved version of Cain before he left again.

She picked up her coffee and took a long sip, wishing she could just shrug off her feelings and leave Cain in her wake once and for all, but Cain was in her blood, and she could already feel her clenched heart opening like a flower to the sun, hopeful, longing, wondering who Cain was now, and desperately wanting to know.

She caught Woodman staring at her thoughtfully and forced a cheerful grin. “Enough about Cain. Tell me more about your plans to work at the firehouse.”

***

Three days later, she was watering the geraniums on Gran’s front porch when Cain ambled up to the cottage, a distant look in his eyes and Klaus’s toolbox hanging by his side. And, oh Lord, how her heart hammered. He was tall and muscular, his chest broad, his arms thick and corded, veins winding around the sinew. His jeans sat on his hips, slung low, and he walked with an unhurried grace, as though the world waited for Cain, never the other way around. He was comfortable and confident, at ease in his skin with a force field of masculine energy around him that fairly leveled her. And yet his face, lost in thought, had a sort of shocking ethereal beauty too—pale skin over cut angles and icy eyes under long, curled, jet-black lashes. He was a dark angel, a blue-eyed devil, the very embodiment of her fiercest desires and the apathetic object of her unrequited love. And for just a moment, she hated him. She hated his beauty and grace and potency. She hated it because she wanted it, longed for it, dreamed of it . . . and he had denied her of its having.

She straightened her spine and put her hands on her hips.

“What are
you
doin’ here?” she snapped.

“Why are you
livin’
here?” asked Cain, casting his glance at the manor house before looking back at her. “Castle not to your likin’, princess?”

She rolled her eyes, gesturing to his toolbox with a flick of her chin. “Klaus sent you to fix my sink?”

“Always wanted to get a look at your plumbin’, Gin.”

It was such an unexpected and teasing remark, her lips parted, and she felt an imminent smile. Unwilling to provide him such approval, she turned around and huffed, heading back into the cottage to compose herself.

Don’t fall for his wiles. Be stronger, Gin. Whether he’s changed or not, doesn’t matter, doesn’t change how he left things between you. Be smart and keep your distance.

A rumble of light laughter filled the little kitchen as he followed her inside, and her longing to be closer to its source made her head to the farthest edge of the room and face him, crossing her arms over her chest as though annoyed. She gestured to her sink with an open palm. “It’s clogged.”

But Cain wasn’t looking at the sink. He was looking at Ginger. Setting his toolbox down on the floor, he did nothing, in fact, but look at Ginger. Her breath caught as his eyes caressed her face, trailing from her hair to her eyes, sliding down her cheeks to her lips in leisurely perusal. Her pulse raced, throbbing in her throat, as he dropped his intense gaze to her breasts, holding there for an interminable moment before lowering his gaze to her hips and legs. She could hear the subtle increase in his breathing—the way it quickened, the way it grew more ragged as time stopped and Cain studied her.

As his eyes skated back up her body, they were hungry, and she was acutely aware of his size, so much bigger and stronger than she, in the small room they shared. But she wasn’t frightened or intimidated—this was Cain, after all, whom she’d known forever, and she had a funny sense that he was trying to catch up, trying to figure her out the same way she was trying to get her bearings with him. He was logging the changes in her, and the shift in his breathing told her he liked what he saw, which made it the most erotic sixty seconds of Ginger’s heretofore unerotic life. Her nipples tightened, her veins pulsed, and her private places flooded with a sudden rush of liquid heat.

Cain. Oh God, Cain, how do you do this to me with just a look?

She wanted to race across the room and leap into his arms. She wanted his lips on hers, his hands on her body. She wanted clothes littered across the kitchen floor. She wanted things she’d never experienced before—the weight of his body on top of hers, the heat of his skin branding hers, his breath in places that had never seen the light of day. She was on fire. She was . . .

Gaping.

And he was staring at her with wide eyes that seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

“You done?” she sniped.

“Are
you
?”

“So full of yourself.”

Cain took a deep breath and released it in a huff, stepping toward her. And she noted a change in him—his movements were still graceful, but they were tight and focused now, like a wolf stalking its prey. And his glance was less about exploration, focused with laserlike precision on her eyes.

“Princess,” he drawled, moving still closer, “I know I was an ass to you once upon a time, but I swear I’ve changed.”

“You seem the same,” she murmured, but her voice lacked conviction because she wasn’t telling the truth.

In some ways—
in the way he set a woman on fire with only his eyes
—he felt the same. He still teased her as he always had. His conversation was as loaded with innuendo as it had ever been. But there was something deeper and more earnest in his voice when he’d talked about Woodman a few nights ago, and now, when he said he’d changed, something about the way he said it felt less like a line and more like . . . honesty.

“I’m sorry, Gin,” he said gently, taking another step toward her, mercilessly holding her eyes and not allowing her to look away. He took a deep breath and let it go slowly before saying, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry I stood you up that night.”

These words. Oh God.

Her longing for these words—for
some
indication of Cain’s remorse—had haunted her for three long years, taunting her with their unattainable sweetness. And now, out of nowhere, here they were, delivered by the devil of her dreams. Her eyes swam with grateful, relieved tears, and he blurred before her.