Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (18 page)

About two minutes later, the eggs were ready, and she was buttering Cain’s toast as he stepped inside, his T-shirt back on.

“Didn’t want to distract you from your breakfast,” he teased, taking off his hat and placing it on a peg beside the door.

Her cheeks, which had just gone back to normal, flushed again, but she didn’t care. Cain was here in her kitchen having breakfast, which made her so happy, it should have scared her. But all she saw was Cain, finally home again,
in
her home, back in her life, where her heart was sure he belonged.

“Still a cocky so-and-so,” she observed, pouring them each a mug of coffee.

“Says the gal oglin’ me from her kitchen window.”

“You know what, Cain?” she said, pivoting around with the coffee in her hands.

“No. Tell me what, Gin,” he volleyed back, sitting down at her small table and looking up at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

She giggled, shaking her head at him as she would at a naughty boy who was incorrigible and adorable. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Is that right?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she whispered, holding his eyes until his smile faded and his eyes grew dark and hot.

Finally he swallowed, looking down at the eggs she’d prepared. “No frozen pizza, I see.”
She placed the coffee in front of him and sat down at the other chair across from him. “I make good on my promises, Cain.”

He picked up his fork, about to dig in, when he suddenly stopped, looking up at her, seizing her eyes with a sort of desperate, grateful gaze. His lips tilted up as he speared some egg on his fork. “I’m glad to be home too.”

***

After breakfast, they went for another ride, dismounting again by the river and walking the horses side by side. As they meandered over the woods and meadows of Glenndale County, Cain told her about his last three years in the service—little anecdotes that made her smile, and even a few that made her eyes tear up. And what it all added up to was a man who was vastly more contented than the boy he’d been when he left, the sum of which made Ginger’s heart burst with happiness because a happy Cain might be a Cain who had room in his life for her.

“It’s like I was always meant to be a damage controlman,” he said, threading and rethreading Thunder’s reins through his fingers as they ambled at a steady pace. “I never loved horses, you know?”

“I
did
know,” she said. “I could tell.”

“I liked machinery.”

“Like your motorcycle.”

“Uh-huh. Like my bike. I never . . . I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, Gin, but I never really felt like I fit in here. In Apple Valley.” He scuffed the tip of his work boot on some pebbles dotting the path through Conrad’s Meadow. “Only thing that made it bearable was you and Woodman.”

“And the girls at the distillery,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess. And them. But you know they didn’t
mean
nothin’ to me. Not like you and Woodman.”

They walked in silence for a few moments while Ginger savored the welcome warmth of his words. When she looked up at him, his angular face seemed almost soft in its own way—like for once he wasn’t fighting where he was or whom he was with, like he might actually be content.

“I’m glad that you and Woodman patched things up.”

Cain flicked a glance at her before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Me too. Almost fucked things up between us for good when I . . . when you and me, well, you know.”

“Woodman didn’t have a claim on me, Cain. I
wanted
you to kiss me.”

He kept his head down, his boots crunching over pebbles and fallen leaves as they ambled along the well-trod path that crossed the meadow. “You were young.”

“I knew what I wanted,” she said simply.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said tightly.

Ginger bit her tongue and forced herself to be silent because she
wanted
to talk about it. She wanted to get it all out in the open. Why did he run from her every time it seemed like their relationship might veer from platonic to more? Why did he shut down their conversations when they approached the topic of their attraction to each other? Why wouldn’t he succumb to the feelings she sensed he had for her? It was maddening, especially since today was Saturday. Time was running down. A week from today, he’d be gone, and she didn’t have any idea when he’d be home again. She had this overwhelming, fierce need to make the most of the time they had left together.

“How’d you decide on nursin’?” he asked her.

“Huh. Well, my folks moved Gran to Silver Springs three years ago, and I would go to see her whenever I could. Guess I got used to bein’ there.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” she said, listening to the sound of their boots on the path. “I even
love
it.”

“That’s real good, Gin,” said Cain, elbowing her lightly in the hip. “How come you say it like it’s a secret?”

“My folks hate it. They would have preferred I go to college in Lexington or Frankfort, or somewhere like Vanderbilt.”

Cain scoffed. “Who gives a sh—
snit
what they want? It’s your life, not theirs.”

Warmth spread in her chest, and she turned to look up at him. Cain had always encouraged her to jump when everyone else wanted her to stay still, stay quiet, stay safe. How she longed for his swagger and strength as a constant in her life. How tiring it was to fight her little battles alone. Melancholy enveloped her as she thought about him leaving her again.

“You lookin’ forward to goin’ back on Friday?” she asked in a small voice.

He shrugged. “Half yes, half no.”

“Tell me about the halves.”

“Half yes because I’m good at what I do, and I feel, I don’t know, in charge of my life when I’m servin’. Responsible. Useful. Like I fit in in a way I never did while I was livin’ here.” He scrubbed his free hand over the jet-black bristles of hair on his head. “It’s a good match—me and the military. I
found
myself there, Gin. Jeez, that sounds so stupid, but—”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, but her heart ached a little, imagining that if he loved the military life so much, coming home and settling down in Apple Valley, which Ginger loved so desperately, wouldn’t be a very appealing prospect to him. “You goin’ to make a career out of it?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know yet. I’ve got another year on my contract, then I can take a few months off and figure it out.”

“Figure out whether or not you’ll reenlist?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Lately I’ve been sort of thinkin’ that I’d like to get on my bike and ride it across the country. Or across Canada. Or across Europe. Or hell, all three. I’ve seen all these amazin’ places from the sea. I’d like to see them from the ground too.”

“Wanderlust,” said Ginger softly.

“Wanderlust,” he repeated, and she could tell he was trying out the word for the first time. “Hey, I like that. I think I might have found a new name for my bike, Gin.”

“So you finish your year, you ride across the U.S., Canada, and Europe, and then you figure out whether you reenlist or . . .”

“Or,” he said with finality, as though “or” could be a choice, and probably—in Cain’s world—“or”
was
a choice, which was maddening for Ginger, who wanted plans and promises, who wanted to know he’d be back on such-and-such a date so that she could circle it in red on her calendar and look at the circle whenever she had a bad day.

Suddenly he stopped walking and pressed Thunder’s reins into Ginger’s hand. She looked up and watched him sprint across the meadow a little ways to an apple tree at the edge of an orchard. He reached up, his long body stretching skyward as he picked four apples, cradling them in his arms as he ran back to her.

“Think old Mr. Pinkney will notice four missin’ apples?”

“Bet not,” she said, handing him Thunder’s reins and taking two of the apples. One she gave to Heath, and the other she bit into, letting the tangy sweetness slip down her throat. “You never talked about the other half.”

“The other half?” he asked, apple juice pooling at the corner of his mouth. For just a moment, she imagined herself being bold enough to lick it off.

“When I asked if you were looking forward to gettin’ back, you said, ‘Half yes, half no.’ What’s the ‘half no’?”

“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows and taking another bite of his apple as he gazed down at her, and she wished she knew what he was thinking because he winced just slightly before turning away from her and pulling on Thunder’s reins to start walking again.

She followed him, good at knowing when Cain had talked himself into a corner, but also certain that if she stayed silent, he’d talk himself out of it.

After a while, he said, “There’s this quote I like, about how teenage boys see their fathers as stupid, but by the time they turn twenty-one, they’re shocked by how much their fathers have learned.”

Ginger chuckled softly, taking another bite of apple before offering the rest to Heath.

“It’s a little like that with my dad,” said Cain. “We never . . . I don’t know . . . we never really got along. He was so into the farm and the horses. Always seemed like he had way more in common with Woodman than me.”

“And now?”

“Either he grew up . . . or I did . . . or we both did,” said Cain thoughtfully. “Thing is, he still talks about horses all the danged time, it’s just that—”

“You don’t hate it so much?”

Cain shook his head. “I don’t hate it at all. Kind of like it, actually. There’s somethin’ . . . familiar about it.”

“Comfortin’.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And the farm?”

“Same thing,” he said. “I was so fuckin’ anxious to leave here, but it’s been a surprise comin’ back, you know? Comin’ home? Like seein’ it all through different eyes and realizin’ that everythin’ you thought you hated really wasn’t so bad.”

“That’s ’cause you’re different,” she said.

“You think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, looking up as a flock of geese honked above them, heading south in a V formation. “I
know
so. You’re not half as mad or hotheaded. I mean, you’re still a flirt,” she said, elbowing him in the side. “But you grew up a lot while you were away, Cain.”

“That’s because I found a purpose,” he said. “Same way you have, Gin.”

But my purpose keeps me here, while yours will take you so very far away from me
, she thought mournfully, imagining him leaving for Virginia on Friday and not coming home for a long, long time as he finished his commitment, toured the world on his motorcycle, then reenlisted for another four years. It was so depressing, a lump formed in her throat, and she stared down at the ground wishing it away.

“So, yeah, I think I’ll miss my dad. And I’ll be sorry to leave my cousin. Ain’t never been a sailor without him around.”

“I’ll look after him,” she said, chancing a glance at Cain’s face as she said this. He clenched his jaw, reaching up to swipe at his bottom lip with his thumb.

“I’m sure you will,” he said, an edge to his voice.

When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be waitin’ for you.

Woodman’s words knocked around in her head, and she thought about them . . . thought about Cain being away for the past three years . . . thought about him going away again and never really coming back. Even if he didn’t reenlist, he wanted to see the world, and her world was here, in Apple Valley. If she was smart, she’d forget the way her heart fluttered around Cain, the way her fingers longed to touch him and her ear inclined to the low, sweet sound of his voice. If she was smart, she’d get on her horse right now and ride away, over to Woodman’s house, and tell him that she’d decided to give them a try. If she was smart, she’d put every ounce of effort she had into loving Woodman, in dating him with her whole heart, with every good intention, and see if there was a good life for them to share, just waiting to be discovered.

“And I’ll miss you too, princess,” Cain whispered, slowing down until he stopped walking. “I’ll miss you somethin’ awful.”

She stopped just in front of him, processing his words for a moment before turning around to look at him. He met her eyes with such open tenderness in his gaze, she was helpless to look away.

“You’ll be missin’ me from Timbuktu,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, but failing.

“Wherever I am,” he said in a tone of such heartbreaking longing, her breath caught and held in her chest, “I will
always
be missin’ you.”

As she stared into his blue eyes, thunder rumbled over the meadow, and Ginger looked up in time to see a dark cloud roll over the sun.

“Storm’s comin’,” said Cain, staring up at the sky in concern. “We’d best get back.”

He braided his hands together, and though she hated to leave their conversation where it was, she stepped into his hands and he helped her onto her horse, then leaped up on Thunder’s back, settling easily into the saddle.