Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (16 page)

“You hurt me bad, Cain.”

He nodded once, his eyes grieved. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say anythin’ before now? Why didn’t you ever write to me, Cain?” she asked, taking a step in his direction, closing the distance between them, wanting the warmth and strength of his arms around her, as much to comfort her as to satisfy her fierce desire to be touched by him.

“Because you weren’t my girl.”

“I
was
. I
wanted
to be.”

And then, like he’d read her mind, he opened those arms that she’d missed like a second skin, and Ginger stepped forward, her forehead landing on the bare skin of his neck as he embraced her. She took a ragged breath and held it, savoring the familiar, reassuring smell of Cain. She closed her eyes and exhaled, letting her breath caress the skin of his throat and memorizing the way his hard muscles felt under her fingers.

Her hands were flat against his chest, and she could feel the furious pounding of his heart, the way it thundered under her palms, but she slid her hands to his sides and stepped forward so that her heart was pressed against his and she was holding him too. And in so doing, she offered him the forgiveness she’d withheld since that terrible night he’d hurt her. And as though accepting it, his arms tightened around her, and he pressed his lips to her head.

“I’ve missed you, princess,” he muttered, his lips making kissing sounds against her hair, his voice low and strained. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

“Cain,” she sobbed, forgiving three years of heartbreak as she accepted his apology and welcomed him back into her life. She felt hot tears pool in her eyes and fall onto his chest. “I missed you too.”

“I dreamed of you, Gin.”

Oh God, my heart.

She’d dreamed of him too.

“Every night,” she murmured, kissing him, letting her lips touch down on the hot skin at the base of his throat and linger. She felt him shudder and reveled in his reaction, heady with this new power that she held over him. She lifted her lips, then dragged them over his skin again, her eyes closed, the muscles deep in her body tensing reflexively, instinctively, in preparation for something she hadn’t yet experienced.

“Ginger, I . . .”

“Cain,” she sighed, the words coming quickly and easily, and feeling as right as sunshine on a summer morning, “I’m yours.”

But the words, which felt so right to her, weren’t the right words at all.

He froze instantly, his hands lifting from her back as he took a sudden step away. Her body was jelly, and without the strength of his chest holding her up, she swayed. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her as she opened her eyes, looking up at him in confusion.

“Ginger . . .” His face was stricken, torn, and confused. He searched her eyes, begging her to understand.
Understand what?
she wanted to ask, but he spoke again before her lips could form the words. “I just want us to be friends, Gin. Just friends, if that’s okay.”

Friends?
After the warmth—
the heat
—of his words,
Ifuckinmissedyou
, this terrible, unexpected word,
friends
, bore a chill that smacked her face like a January wind. She didn’t feel
friendship
for Cain. She hadn’t felt friendship for Cain since she was twelve years old.

“Friends,” she repeated dumbly, staring up at him in confusion, her mind trying to figure out what the heck had just happened.

Friends?
Wait. No. No! Nothing about the way they’d just embraced felt friendly. His words,
I’ve missed you, I dreamed of you,
didn’t feel friendly. The way he’d passionately kissed her hair and held her. None of it felt friendly. What the
hell
was going on?

He nodded, pulling his hands away from her. “Yeah. Friends. We . . . we grew up together, Gin. We should be friends, not enemies, don’t you think?”

She looked up at his face. His jaw was tense, his eyes still dilated and dark, his cheeks flushed. His voice was offering her friendship, but it clearly wasn’t what his body wanted.

“Cain, I—”

“I missed home,” he said quickly, cutting her off and stepping away again. He looked away from her, as if meeting her eyes was painful.
You’re lying
, she thought, letting her arms fall listlessly by her side as he continued trying to convince her that his impassioned words had somehow been impersonal. “Of course I missed you, but I also missed my pop and Apple Valley and even McHuid’s. I missed
home
. I dreamed of it all the time.”

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. She was positive she hadn’t misinterpreted the way he’d touched her, the way he’d spoken to her, but it was also clear he wanted her to buy this song and dance about missing home.

I’m yours.

She’d said the words and meant them, but they’d made Cain push her away. Why? Was he frightened of being with her? Of belonging to someone? Of loving someone? His body had reacted to her nearness—his heart thundering under her hand, his breathing ragged and fast. But suddenly he’d frozen, and now he was building a little wall called friends to keep them at a distance from each other. Why? Why wouldn’t he give the chemistry between them a chance?

His eyes searched hers, and as though he knew the questions she was about to ask, he shook his head, warning her not to.

“Friends,” he said firmly. “That’s all.”

It hurt to hear him say it with such finality, but in the strangest way, there was solace in the fact that he was lying to her. She was positive he wanted her, even though he was denying them both. He wanted her, and she knew it, and she clung to it. It didn’t matter if he called her his friend. His feelings for her ran deeper than friendship. She was certain of it.

He crossed the kitchen and stopped at the sink, bracing his hands on the basin. “Let me take a look at this, okay?”

“Okay, Cain,” she said softly.

She didn’t know why he wouldn’t surrender to his feelings for her, but maybe it was because of their age difference, or because he was returning to the service, or because Woodman had always had a crush on her. Or maybe, as she suspected before, it was because Cain wasn’t sure of how to love someone, how to belong to someone. And suddenly she realized that it didn’t really matter why he needed space between them. He could call them friends all he wanted. He was home for two more weeks, and she planned to figure out why he wouldn’t let her closer, why he was so determined to keep her at arm’s length. And once she did, she’d untangle the riddle of how to love him the way he needed her to, and how to get him to admit he loved her back.

He looked so sorry, so frustrated and filled with yearning, she smiled at him. And into that smile, small though it was, she poured all her love, her desire, her profound hope that words were just semantics and the feelings they shared for each other were so strong, they wouldn’t be denied.

He stared back at her, seemingly overcome.

“It’s okay,” she said gently.

He exhaled a breath on a low hiss.

“I’m glad,” he said.

As much as she would have liked to ogle him for the rest of the afternoon, she needed to think. She needed to figure out what came next for her and Cain. She nodded, gesturing to the stairs. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll be upstairs. Call if you need me, huh?”

Cain lay down on his back, sliding his head under her sink. “Will do.”

Ginger turned and headed up the stairs, her hand flattened over her pounding heart.

~ Cain ~

“Promised to take a look at the kitchen sink. At the cottage,” said Klaus, who was sitting on a bench outside the barn on Thursday afternoon. “But I got to wait for Doc Keller to come. Ravenal’s lungs is rumbling. So I thought you go up and take a look for me.”

After running into Ginger in her car on Monday night, Cain had taken a long walk, thinking about nothing but her. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never experienced the sort of cold shoulder she’d given him as she drove up the driveway. Man, he must have hurt her. It was the one thing he’d never, ever wanted, and the reality of it—
written all over her face
—made him feel like total shit. And while he’d promised himself to stay away from her for Josiah’s sake, he
needed
to make amends. He needed to find a way to let her know that he was sorry. And banking on the fact that he was living in the barn and she was living in the cottage, he assumed they’d eventually bump into each other. Just . . .

“Cain? The sink?”

. . . not yet.

“Uh, why don’t I wait for the vet?” said Cain, sitting down on the bench beside his father.

Yes, he needed to apologize to her, and yes, this would be a good opportunity, but the thought of her ice-cold eyes made him pause. Waiting a few more days wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?

“I’ll wait for Doc Keller. You go check on Ginger’s sink.”

His father gave him a sidelong look. “
You
get the sink.
I
get the vet.”

“Aw, plumbin’ ain’t my—”

“Cain,” said Klaus, his light blue eyes suddenly all-knowing and all-seeing. “She live here. You can’t avoid her
für immer
.”

Für immer
. Forever.

Cain swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “What do you mean? I ain’t avoidin’ her. If anything—”

“You were friends. Now? You’re not. But it’s
gut
to be friends.”

“Friends.”

Klaus nodded. “Don’t
ficke sie
like the others.”

“Pop!”

“A father know his son. I know you’re popular with the
Damen
.”

“She’s different,” said Cain.

“
Ja.
She’s special,” said Klaus. “So go unclog the princess’s sink and make everything
gut.
Take my advice. I’m old. I wish I had made things right when I had the chance.”

As Cain walked up the driveway with his father’s toolbox, he reflected that his father’s words were the closest he’d probably ever come to admitting that McHuid’s and his love of horses had gotten in the way of his marriage, but there was a peace to hearing his father confess it. And it allowed Cain to quietly forgive his father too.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of a change in his attitude or the fact that Woodman wasn’t around to steal his father’s attention, but Cain found himself enjoying his father’s company. Yes, Klaus talked about horses an absurd amount, but it was passionate, good-natured talk, and because Cain had practically grown up at McHuid’s, he found he was able to contribute a great deal to the conversation. It made for pleasant evenings of slow-cooked chicken paprikash and boiled spätzle with cheese, full of unexpected camaraderie, and Cain felt grateful for the opportunity to get to know his father again, to see him through a new lens.

Since returning home, Cain hadn’t been down to the Glenn River Distillery a hell of a lot either, though a couple of his old friends had stopped by to invite him to join them for a night of drinking. The contrast in their lives was startling. Cain had sailed the world, learned how to protect an aircraft carrier from all manner of fire, taken control of his life, and developed pride in his service, while most of them had lingered around Apple Valley for the past three years, mooching off their parents, getting fucked-up at the distillery, and holding down shit jobs. He just didn’t feel like he had much in common with them anymore, and besides, he was anxious to show his father, and everyone else in Apple Valley, that Cain Wolfram could be more than troublemaking white trash.

A few of the girls he’d “dated” had stopped by, too, and Cain had to admit, they were still looking pretty fine. Point in fact, after he drove Woodman to the fire department tomorrow, he had a date with Mary-Louise Walker to get reacquainted at her place. And by
reacquainted
, he intended to fuck her five ways from Sunday and watch those epic tits rock and roll all over her apartment until dawn. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

“What are
you
doin’ here?” demanded a saucy voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up to find Ginger, hands on her hips, standing on old Mrs. McHuid’s little front porch.

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

She rolled her eyes, flicking a glance to his toolbox. “Klaus sent you to fix my sink?”
“Always wanted to get a look at your plumbin’, Gin.”

Her lips parted in surprise before she huffed in annoyance, turning her back to Cain as she stomped back into the cottage. But one, he could have sworn he saw her lips tilt up before her show of pique, and two, she left the door open.

Chuckling softly—because, Lord, the woman knew how to hold a grudge—he followed her inside, noting that she stood in the far, far corner of the tiny room—as far away from sink as possible. She gestured to it with an open palm. “It’s clogged.”

Setting his father’s toolbox down on the floor, he took a moment—
stole
a short moment—to look at her.

She wasn’t very tall, maybe five-foot-five inches, just tall enough for her head to nestle perfectly under his chin. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail again, but she wasn’t wearing her glasses from Monday night. She didn’t wear makeup either, not that she needed any: naturally she was, hands down, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of what the world had to offer. Her yellow T-shirt was scoop-necked and hugged her perfect size B tits like a fucking dream, and her jeans, standard Levi’s, cupped her rounded ass like they’d been custom-made. Her waist was trim, hips narrow, and Cain knew her legs were probably even more toned now than they’d been three years ago. She was a fucking work of art, this woman. An
angry
work of art, he amended when his eyes skated back up her body.

“You done?” she sniped.

“Are
you
?” he countered, noticing the way she’d been ogling his chest before meeting his eyes.

“So full of yourself.”

And that was it. He just couldn’t bear her rancor anymore. He owed her an apology, and by God, she was going to get one.

“Princess,” he drawled, taking a step toward her, “I know I was an ass to you once upon a time, but I swear I’ve changed.”

“You seem the same,” she murmured, though her face softened with uncertainty. She licked her lips unconsciously, and he knew—beyond any shadow of doubt—that she was suddenly remembering their kiss in as much detail as he was.

“I’m sorry, Gin,” he said tenderly, taking another step toward her. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry I stood you up that night.”

She clenched her jaw, and though her eyes were severe, they flooded with tears as she stared back at him. “You hurt me bad, Cain.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say anythin’ before now? Why didn’t you ever write to me, Cain?” she asked, taking a step in his direction, closing the distance between them.

“Because you weren’t my girl.”

“I
was
. I
wanted
to be.”

His arms, appendages he’d warned
not
to open to her under any circumstances, spread wide, and Ginger stepped forward, her forehead landing on the bare skin of his neck as he embraced her, holding his breath and closing his eyes. The bony angles of her teenage body had rounded into womanhood, and as she clasped him to her body, her curves cradled his muscles.

And all thoughts of Mary-Louise Walker, and every other female creature, were banished from his mind. Cain had known a lot of women in his life—a
fuckload
of women—but
no
woman made his heart race, made his breath catch, made his insides a trembling mess of longing like Ginger McHuid. His chemistry with her, ever since her twelfth birthday, had been catastrophic and unmatched, and holding her now was no fucking different at all. If anything, they were both mature adults now, and Cain was hotter and needier than ever.

“I’ve missed you, princess,” he muttered into her hair, pressing his lips to the citrus-scented golden strands. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

“Cain,” she sobbed, and he felt the moisture of her tears against his skin, sliding between his pecs, baptizing him with her sorrow. “I missed you too.”

“I dreamed of you, Gin.”

“Every night,” she murmured, her lips touching down on the exposed V of his chest and making him shudder.
Christ. More.

“Ginger, I . . .”

“Cain, I’m yours.”

You staked your claim years ago.

She’s yours.

Woodman.

He froze, his hands lifting from her back as he took a sudden step away. She swayed slightly, unprepared for the loss of his body against hers. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her and took a deep breath, willing his body not to react to her nearness.

“Ginger . . .” He swallowed over the lump in his throat and offered her a neutral smile as he uttered words he’d never before in his life said to a woman. “I just want us to be friends, Gin. Just friends, if that’s okay.”

“Friends,” she repeated dumbly, staring up at him in confusion.

He nodded, pulling his hands away from her now that she was standing on her own. “Yeah. Friends. We . . . we grew up together, Gin. We should be friends, not enemies, don’t you think?”

“Cain, I—”

“I missed home,” he said, trying to explain away the passionate way he’d just held her. “Of course I missed you, but I also missed my pop and Apple Valley and even McHuid’s. I missed
home
. I dreamed of it all the time.”

Her eyes searched his, boring into his with the familiarity of someone who’d known him his whole life. She was confused and hurt, but talking about it wouldn’t help, would only weaken his resolve. He wanted her so badly, he ached inside, but he wouldn’t take away the girl who was Woodman’s primary hope. Not when his cousin was still so goddamned hopeless.

“Friends,” he said firmly. “That’s all.”

She looked so lost, so disappointed, he couldn’t bear it, so he turned his back to her, clenching his eyes shut against the pain of keeping her at arm’s length as he crossed the kitchen and stopped at the sink. He braced his hands on the basin, his fingers clawlike on the porcelain rim. “Let me take a look at this, okay?”

“Okay, Cain,” she said softly, her voice hitching just a little.

Turning around to look at her, he saw the sadness on her face, but her sweet lips lifted up in a little smile—the first genuine one she’d offered him in three years—and his heart flooded with something big—no,
huge
—and warm, making it expand in his chest and thunder in his ears.

“It’s okay,” she said gently, and just like that, two little words that were common, everyday, ordinary words became his favorite because she wasn’t pushing him for something he couldn’t give, and accepting what he could.

He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I’m glad,” he said.

And despite the disappointment in her eyes, and the unsatisfied longing in his heart, he
was
glad. A not insignificant part of him was glad that he’d had an opportunity to betray Woodman again, and this time, he hadn’t taken it.

She nodded, her smile slipping. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll be upstairs. Call if you need me, huh?”

Cain lay down on his back, staring up at pipes, grateful that his face was finally hidden from her. “Will do.”

***

Never having had a close woman friend, it surprised Cain how easy and fun it was for him to have a friendship with Ginger over the next few days.

As she came home with groceries on Saturday afternoon, he helped her unload her car, joking about her choices as they stacked frozen dinners in the freezer. “Remind me not to come sniffin’ around here for a home-cooked meal.”

“Ha!” she retorted. “I can make biscuits and gravy with the best of ’em! But it’s late when I come home from work, so forgive me for not whippin’ up dinner from scratch.”

He accompanied his father to Lutheran church on Sunday, running into Ginger and her parents at the Country Diner after services. While his father visited with Ranger and Miz Magnolia for a moment, exchanging pleasantries, Ginger had raised her eyes dramatically at Cain.