Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (21 page)

~ Ginger ~

Dinner with the Woodmans was an exercise in torture after what had happened with Cain, and it didn’t help that her mother drank too much Chablis and started in on her and Woodman getting married someday. After her charged exchange with Cain, it was the very last conversation she cared to have or listen to. All she really wanted to do was curl up in her bed and cry herself to sleep, so she stayed quiet and pushed her food around her plate as she tried not to burst into tears at her mother’s dinner table.

Woodman, who seemed to sense her despondency, suggested they take a walk, and finally they excused themselves to sit on the porch swing. Though she couldn’t tell him what had transpired with his cousin—not that she wanted to, it was almost too humiliating to bear—at least she wasn’t subject to her mother’s unbearable teasing anymore. 

“You’d think it wouldn’t be so much fun for them after ten years,” she said.

Woodman chuckled softly. “They were worse’n usual today.”

“They treat us like Daddy’s horses.
Go breed us some grandbabies, daughter!
It’s disgustin’.”

“Aw, come on, now. They’ve always been a little silly about us.”

She’d cried all the way from the old barn back to her cottage this afternoon, and then for an hour or more on her bed, until the Woodmans arrived for supper. And now her tears threatened to return again so she summoned anger to try to negate her deep sorrow. “It’s just a big game for them—who we love, who we want.”

“Ginger—”

“I’m nobody’s puppet, Woodman,” she said, turning to look at him as he sat down beside her on the swing.

“I know that,” he said gently, his face grieved. “You’ve always had a mind of your own, darlin’.”

“Even if you want to control people, you can’t. Our hearts make decisions that our heads don’t even approve. We can barely control ourselves. And nothin’—
nothin’ on earth
—ever works out the exact way you want it to.”

She was talking about Cain, of course—about how she’d stupidly thrown herself at him, believing that he’d draw her into his arms, make love to her for days, and declare his undying devotion. And he had soundly rejected her, trouncing her heart, humiliating her, and closing the door on whatever future she’d dreamed they could have.

So Woodman’s next words surprised her because he must have assumed that she was talking about
him
.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For tryin’ to force you to love me.”

“Oh, Woodman,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I
do
love you.”

“I know you do. Like a best friend. Like a brother.”

She shrugged helplessly, a sudden memory of him taking her to the homecoming dance flashing through her mind. “And at times . . .”

She looked over at Woodman—at his blond hair and clean-shaven face. He was handsome and kind, and he’d do just about anything for her. Ending up with him would be a good life, a fine life, a life that would suit her far better than a life with Cain, and maybe, just maybe, if she let her dreams of Cain die, she could open her heart completely to Woodman.

Suddenly she remembered him giving her the charm bracelet for her twelfth birthday, how she’d felt a strange surge of attraction to Woodman, and again at the homecoming dance, when he’d saved her bacon and kissed her for the first time.

“There have been times,” she said softly, “when I thought I felt somethin’ more.”

“I love you,” he said, as though her words had given him the courage to say what he felt.  “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

As the very words she’d wanted so desperately from Cain spilled from his cousin’s lips with such tenderness, such constant earnestness, a dam broke inside her, and tears of hurt and frustration streamed down her face.

“Woodman,” she sobbed.

“If you told me ‘no,’ Gin, if you told me ‘never,’ I’d leave you be. You know that, don’t you? It would damn near kill me, but I’d . . . I promise you, I’d walk away. But until you say those words, Ginger, I will keep hopin’ and keep waitin’ for you.”

She took a deep, sobbing breath beside him, grieving her lost chance with Cain today and feeling the strong pull to surrender to Woodman. How easy it would be to choose him, to build something with him. No more frustration and heartbreak. No one challenging her or asking her to jump. No more arms pushing her away, just pulling her into a warm and safe embrace.

“Gin,” he whispered, “are you in love with Cain?”

And just like that, her heart broke all over again, but this time, for Woodman.

Because she knew how painful it was for him to ask the question, and yet he asked it and he asked it kindly, his voice filled with love and understanding. Her shoulders trembled, and her chin fell forward to rest on her chest as she wept.

I love the wrong cousin. Oh God, help.

“Gin,” said Woodman, putting his finger under her chin and tilting her face up to look at him. His eyes were sad but kind as he looked down at her. “Cain is my cousin and I love him, but I just . . . I just don’t think he’s right for you.”

“
Why?
” she asked, finding that she was desperate for an answer.
What’s so wrong with me that he can’t choose me?

“I see you with
me
, not
him
,” Woodman continued. “Darlin’, I’d be so good to you. Don’t you know that?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face because of course she knew it was true. It had
always
been true. He reached down and took her hand, placing it directly over his heart.

“You can have this heart to break,” he said softly, his voice gravelly with emotion, “if there’s even the smallest chance you might want it someday. Because here is what I know: even if you can’t ever give me yours, mine already belongs to you.”

And inside Ginger’s heart, something gave way. Something happened that she hadn’t expected or seen coming: a tectonic shift of broken, shattered plates. It wasn’t that she suddenly loved Woodman in the wild, passionate way she’d always loved Cain, but for just a moment, her heart recognized him as more than he’d ever been before. And after the beating her heart had borne earlier in the day, it felt like a blessed relief.

When she raised her eyes, she tried to smile at him, but more tears spilled over. “God
damn
it, Josiah. Why’re you s-so good to me?”

“Why’s the sky blue, Ginger?” he asked, raising her hand to his lips and kissing the underside of her wrist before entwining his fingers through hers. “Because it don’t know no other way to be.”

“I’m so tired,” she said honestly, letting her head fall to his shoulder. She took a deep, ragged breath that shook her whole body, and he put his strong arm around her, pulling her into his side and resting his head on top of hers.

And in Woodman’s arms, she found a profound and unexpected peace at the end of a long and emotionally exhausting day. In Woodman’s arms, there was unconditional love, support, admiration, and acceptance. In Woodman’s arms, she was safe and wanted. And right now? Right this minute, in the wake of Cain’s devastating rejection? Safe and wanted felt good, felt right, felt like the right path for her future, for her whole life.

“Then you go ahead and rest,” he said. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Gin. My heart belongs to you. If you’re ever ready to give me yours, well, you come find me, darlin’. I’ll be waitin’.”

She tried to catch her breath but ended up sobbing and sniffling before continuing. “You d-deserve the best, W-Woodman.”

“Which is why I’m waitin’ for her to come to her senses,” he said, chuckling lightly.

She’d woken up this morning certain that she wanted to give herself to Cain, yet here she was, ending her day in Woodman’s arms, tucked against his side, and feeling more peace and comfort than she had a right to.

And suddenly it occurred to her that it was within her control—right here, right now—to leave Cain behind, to banish him from her aching heart, to forget she ever wanted him . . . and give all her love to Woodman.

Don’t think about it so hard. Just do it. Make a good choice. Make the right choice.

“You love me that much?”

“That much and more,” he said tenderly, and she knew—beyond even a shadow of doubt, that the words were true. “Close your eyes and rock awhile beside ole Woodman. I love you, Gin. I’ve got you covered. You just take your time, darlin’.”

Again, the perfect words, said just exactly when she needed them. She took a deep, clean breath and relaxed against him, closing her eyes as he’d instructed. She squeezed his fingers for reassurance and let her head rest heavy against his shoulder, but restfulness didn’t come. A vision of Cain, pushing her away, appeared front and center in her mind as his cruel words echoed in her head, making her beaten heart constrict with pain.

Do you know where I go every night, Ginger? I go fuck Mary-Louise Walker . . . I don’t think you have any idea what the hell you want . . . cock-teasin’ bitch . . . This conversation is over. Go home.

She winced from an onslaught of fresh anguish, opening her eyes. She couldn’t bear it. She had to do something—
anything
—to erase Cain from her mind once and for all. And suddenly the answer revealed itself to her like a light in the darkness, like warmth after cold—a choice that would soothe the broken rawness of her shattered heart.

“I don’t need any more time,” she said, lifting her head and nailing Woodman with the hottest look her virgin eyes could muster. “I want to be with you.”

~ Cain ~

I know you love me, Cain. I can see it. I can feel it. I know it’s true. This is the last time you will
ever
reject and humiliate me. I promise you. The last time.

He’d relived their fight for the rest of the day, hearing her words in his head over and over again until the sun set and a sort of panic took hold of him.

There was such a cold finality to her words, and frankly it frightened him. Why? Because he’d known since her twelfth birthday that there was a chemistry, a once-in-a-lifetime electricity, between them. He’d ignored it and denied it and tried to put it aside for Woodman’s sake, but the idea of losing her for good?

No, it wasn’t just frightening. It was terrifying. It was too final. In its own way, it felt like death.

I just want us to give this . . . this
thing
between us a chance. You’re leavin’ on Friday, for God’s sake! I’m only askin’ for a handful of days. Why can’t you do that, Cain? Why can’t you
be
with me? Why can’t you give us a
chance
?

Those questions circled around and around in his head as he pulled boards off the old barn and threw them into the pile. Her words plagued him mercilessly as he worked his fingers to the bone, splinters burying under his skin, nails digging into his flesh. He didn’t care. All he could see was her shattered eyes. All he could hear was her voice—her broken voice, begging him to see what was between them and give it permission, give it legs, give it life.

Why can’t you give us a
chance
?

Because of Josiah.

Because she was Josiah’s girl.

Because Josiah had been in love with her for almost as long as Cain could remember.

The problem, Cain realized as he left the old barn at dusk to walk home, was that he wouldn’t feel fear like this—
anguish like this
—unless he was in love with her too. And the recognition of the feelings he’d had since he was a kid—the realization that he was every bit as much in love with Ginger as Woodman—just about made him want to die. Because this was a no-win, terrible, awful situation.

Two cousins.

One girl.

Someone wins.

And someone loses.

And Ginger had all but guaranteed his win today, which meant Josiah— his best friend, his cousin, his brother, his flesh and blood—would lose. His breath caught. He wasn’t sure he could bear that.

But
fuck!
Was it fair that Woodman, who’d claimed her when they were only kids, was the ice wedged between the fire that Cain and Ginger shared? Just because Woodman wanted her and loved her didn’t mean that Cain didn’t love and want her too. He did. He always had. He’d just realized it a little later than Woodman had.

Reaching the barn, he opened the tack room door and called, “Papa? Pop? You here?”

When his father didn’t answer, he felt grateful. He needed the time alone to think.

Crossing the dark, quiet room, Cain took a Kölsch from the refrigerator and popped the bottle cap off, placing his lips on the icy glass and relishing the cold bubbles on the back of his throat as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Finally lowering the bottle, he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and clenched his eyes shut.

“Fuuuuuck!” he yelled into the silence, desperation and frustration ramping up until his heart pounded like he’d run a mile.

She was furious and hurt when she left.

And he was leaving in a few days.

Whatever window he had to fix this was swiftly closing, and if he didn’t go and talk to her now, it would be too late by the time he came home again. He’d practically pushed her into Woodman’s waiting arms, and with the two of them in Apple Valley together, proximity would assure that Cain lost any chance with her . . . forever.

“No!” he growled, taking another long sip from the bottle, then slamming it down on the counter.

He tore off his dirty T-shirt and threw it on the floor, unbuttoned his jeans, and headed for the bathroom. He turned on the shower and shucked off his boxers as he waited for the water to warm up, then he stepped inside, sighing as the hot water hit his weary muscles.

He had only four full days left at home before he was due back in Virginia, and he couldn’t bear the thought of spending those days avoiding Ginger when all he wanted was to reach for her, touch her, kiss her, love her, make enough memories with her to get him through the years ahead without her.

He soaped his chest, his fingers playing over the contour of muscle, wondering what it would feel like for Ginger’s soapy hands to slide over his skin. His cock twitched and swelled, remembering her eyes this afternoon. God, the strength it had taken for him to refuse her after that kiss—that scorching-hot fucking kiss. If he’d just taken when she was offering, by now, she would have been his. She would belong to him in every possible sense of the word. Leaning his forehead against the shower wall, he let the hot water sluice over his back, down his legs, until it ran clear of soapy bubbles and he was clean.

He wanted her. Fuck, how he wanted her.

“You can’t fuckin’ have her,” he muttered, shutting off the water and pushing the curtain aside. He plucked a clean towel from the pile on the back of the toilet, and as he dried his body he considered the changes in his cousin over the past few weeks.

Woodman was doing better now, wasn’t he? Sure, his full recovery would take some time, but he was working at the firehouse and his spirits had improved. He was shaving, taking care of himself. No more talk about life not being worth living.

Cain huffed as he pulled on some fresh boxers. No, the fucking timing was not fucking ideal, but if Ginger wanted him and he wanted Ginger, there had to be a way to make that happen, right? He could lay his cards on the table, get Ginger to forgive him for the hurtful things he’d said today, and then they could talk to Woodman about everything together. They could explain everything, couldn’t they? Put it in a way that would soften the blow, but still help him understand?

Pulling on some jeans, he tried the words.

“Josiah, we need to . . . um, no.” He tried again. “Josiah, here’s the thing: I know how you feel about Ginger, but I feel the same. No. I feel . . . fuck, I feel like I . . . fuuuuck!” he yelled, zipping and buttoning his pants. He ran a hand through his wet hair. “Okay. Woodman, we need to talk to you . . . No. Fuck. Okay . . . Woodman, we need to be honest with you about something.” He looked at himself in the mirror, nodding. “That’s good. That’s good. Um, we need to be honest with you about something, and we know you’re not going to like it, but we . . . we, uh,
what?
We need you to hear us out . . . Yeah. Okay . . . We need to be honest with you, and we know you’re not going to like it, but we need you to hear us out.”

He nodded at his reflection again, practicing a small speech as the words came to him one by one.
I can’t help it . . . I wish I could . . . I love her too . . .
And finally, when he had all the words he needed, he threw on a clean, white buttoned-down shirt, slipped his feet into sneakers and hurried out the door.

First he had to make things right with Ginger.

***

Walking up the driveway to the McHuids’ manor, he noticed his aunt and uncle’s car parked in front of the house and wondered if Woodman had come with them. For a moment he rethought his decision to speak to Ginger, especially since he wasn’t exactly welcome at Miz Magnolia’s supper table, but he cast his eyes at Ginger’s cottage and decided it couldn’t hurt to check and see if she was home.

Bypassing the main house, he took the path that wound around the side of the porch and led to the cottage, and was relieved to note that the lights were on. He knocked on the door lightly, then stepped back, looking through the window, hoping to see her face as she approached to let him in. As he stood waiting, he thought about what he was going to say to her. Yeah, she’d still be hurt and probably spitting mad so it would sure take a lot of sweetness, but—he grinned to himself as he remembered the feeling of her lips beneath his earlier today—Cain was good at making up. And they still had Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to make up for lost time. Anxious to see her, he stepped forward and knocked a little harder, but the door must have been shut hastily, because it wasn’t latched and swung open.

He took a step into her kitchen, listening for signs of life. “Ginger?”

There was no answer, but just as he turned to leave, he heard something. A clunk, like a small piece of furniture falling over above his head, and he turned back around.

“Ginger?” he called again, but still no answer.

Damn it, he didn’t want to intrude on her, but he didn’t want to waste any more time either. He needed a chance to make things right with her and convince her to go with him to break the news to Woodman. Surely, if they all sat down together they could figure this out, right? Right.

Heading quietly up the stairs, he walked down the upstairs hall, his sneakers muted by the plush carpet Ginger’s gran must have chosen. He stopped and listened for a moment, then, hearing a noise from the room to the left at the top of the stairs, he turned and paused before the door.

I know you love me, Cain. I can see it. I can feel it. I know it’s true.

It
was
true.

It was true, and no amount of pretending it wasn’t would make it go away. And he deserved the chance to love her if that’s what she wanted. Because Lord knew he wanted it too.

Raising his hand to push her bedroom door open, he froze as he heard a man’s voice—his cousin’s voice on the very brink of sleep—groan, “Gin, I love you.”

What? What the fuck was Woodman doing in Ginger’s bedroom?

He leaned closer to the door and listened for her voice, but didn’t hear it—didn’t hear anything.

Without knocking, he pushed the door open soundlessly.

It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the half-light of dusk, of dreams and nightmares, of everything he wished he could unsee and unknow.

They were both naked, tangled together in her bed, their bodies pale and relaxed. Woodman was on his back, and she was on her side, next to him, nestled in his arms. Her hair lay across his chest in a softly curled mess of gold. One of her arms was buried beneath her, but the other lay flat on his chest, covered by his, their fingers intertwined like lovers.

Cain’s lungs slowly drained of oxygen until his head swam, and he backed up into the hallway, grasping at the chair-rail molding with clawlike fingers, trying to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he whispered with the last breath in his body, his eyes burning, his head dizzy.
I have to get out of here.
He made his way to the stairs and half slid, half stumbled down the carpeted stairs, lurching through the small kitchen and toward the open door.

This is the last time you will
ever
reject and humiliate me. I promise you. The last time.

Had she known? Had she known, even then, that when she walked away from Cain, she’d walk directly into his cousin’s arms and offer herself to him instead?

He walked through the darkness like a drunkard, his feet slow and uncertain at first, then picking up momentum and balance until he was running down the driveway like the devil was at his heels. When he got to the barn, he walked into the tack room, grabbed his keys, then pulled the door shut behind him. His dog tags were around his neck. Anything else could be sent or replaced.

Heading out into the night, he straddled his bike, threw on his helmet, and turned the key, clenching his jaw and eyes shut for a moment as the engine thundered to life. The Ginger of his dreams, the sweetest, loveliest girl who ever lived—
the princess of his broken heart
—was just another fickle, fucking bitch.

Opening his cold, flinty eyes, he turned his bike toward the road and squeezed the throttle. He roared down the driveway, down the road, out of Apple Valley, out of Kentucky.

All that mattered was distance.

All that mattered was getting as far away from both of them as fucking possible.