Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (25 page)

“You can’t,” he muttered, turning away.

But as his fingers curled around the doorknob, Ginger’s face flitted through his mind. Before he could give it another thought, he tore off the top sheet from the pad, stuffed it in his pocket, and headed out the door.

***

Dance class with Mr. Schultz hadn’t exactly felt terrific on his ankle, and afterward it throbbed like a bitch, but Woodman insisted on taking his fiancée out to dinner. They headed over to the Danvers Grille, waving hello to the many friends who greeted them.

“Dum, dum, dum
dum
!” sang Sallie Rialto, a waitress Woodman and Ginger had both known since childhood. “How many days till ‘I do’?”

Ginger blushed, grinning up at Miz Rialto. “I’ve still got time, Sallie! Don’t rush me.”

Her words were goodnatured as Sallie handed them menus, and Woodman relaxed, looking over the top of his menu at his future wife’s breathtakingly pretty face. Wedding jitters and adjusting. That’s all it is when she seems different. Once we’re married, it’ll all be perfect.

“Was it me, or was ole Mr. Schultz deafer’n usual tonight?”

She giggled. “Remember when we took that ballroom dancin’ class together when I was eleven? I think he was nigh on deaf then.”

He nodded, chuckling. “He made you wear white gloves.”

“And you wore a suit.”

“That’s right. I loved those Thursday nights, Gin. Fairly lived for ’em.”

She smiled sweetly but shook her head like he was lying. “For dancin’ with your little sister?”

He hated it when she said shit like that. He sucked his lip into his mouth and released it. “For the record, you were never my little sister.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, I know. I only meant you had to take some little girl dancin’ instead of playin’ baseball or runnin’ around with . . .”

Her voice broke off, and she blinked before sandwiching her lips between her teeth and looking down at her menu quickly.

“With Cain? Hell, I never ran in the same circles he did. You know that.”

But she didn’t answer him. In fact, it was almost like she hadn’t heard a word Woodman said. Ever since Cain had left Apple Valley that night three years ago, she’d all but refused to say his name. Mostly she just didn’t bring him up at all, but when she did, it was like she hit a wall before she could say his name or remember him fondly.

He didn’t know what had happened between them. He’d never asked, and Ginger had never offered the information. Whatever it was, however, it had made Cain leave and thrust Ginger into Woodman’s arms. He wasn’t going to go poking around in it. Whatever it was, it could be her secret. After all, she’d chosen
him
, not Cain. He didn’t much care why, only that it was so.

But the unfortunate reality was that Cain would be back in Apple Valley this time tomorrow night, and Woodman needed to tell her before he showed up out of the blue. He sighed because he dreaded it. Hated bringing up anything that made her upset or mad, and since she refused to even
talk
about Cain, Woodman could only imagine that his cousin’s visit would send his already off-kilter bride over the edge.

“I’m thinkin’ chipped beef on toast. How ’bout you?” she asked, her face serene and composed once again, but the playful sparkle she’d had when discussing Mr. Schultz was gone.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” He placed his menu on the table, and after she’d done the same, he took her hands in his. “I gotta talk to you ’bout somethin’.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Did somethin’ happen with Doc Collins today?”

Huh.
That wasn’t where he was headed, but yes, he needed to discuss that with her too.

He nodded. “Yep. Got permission to start firefightin’ again.”

She gasped, her whole face transformed by surprise and happiness. “Woodman! That’s huge news!”

He nodded, the lie pricking at him, even as he returned her smile.
It was worth it. It was worth it for this reaction.

“Yeah? Yeah. I know!”

“Honey, I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed, picking up his hands and kissing them with tenderness and excitement.

It was such an unexpected thing for her to do—to make a physical move like that—it made his heart clench and heat uncoil in his stomach.

“I just knew you’d be okay! Oh, I could sing a song! At least we need Champagne. You think Miz Rialto might have some?”

Woodman stared at her from across the table—the way her brown eyes sparkled and shone—and hope burst in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, she’d start seeing him as a whole man, as her
mate
, not just her friend. The thought made his breath catch with longing, with optimism and faith.

And frankly he refused to ruin such a moment by telling her about Cain’s visit.

She was grinning at him like a fool. “I’m going to go ask Sallie if she’s got any bubbly!” She leaned across the table and gave him a quick peck on the lips, then slid out of the booth and skipped over to the counter.

He’d figure out a way to tell her about Cain tomorrow.

~ Cain ~

With his BMW R 1200 RT—customized with a Saab 900 engine he’d acquired in Sweden and installed with a moto-nut mechanic in Iceland—between his thighs, Cain Wolfram roared through Huntington, West Virginia, headed west. The red, orange, and gold trees on either side of Highway 64 were pretty fucking beautiful, and he had to admit that, despite every amazing place he’d seen in his six years of travel, nothing quite compared to the good ol’ United States in October.

Flicking a glance at the dash clock, he wasn’t surprised to see that it was almost two. He’d been riding since six o’clock in the morning, with only a couple of stops for snacks and gas since he left Norfolk, Virginia. With any luck, he’d make it to Versailles by four.

Versailles, Kentucky.

Cain’s new home.

He hadn’t been back to Apple Valley since that October day three years ago when Ginger had declared her love for him, offered herself to him, then turned around and fucked his cousin instead.

He ground his jaw as he revved the motor and ducked his head down lower.

It still hurt.

After three fucking years—which included six months of fucking his way through Europe with every señorita and mademoiselle who’d spread her legs—it
still
fucking hurt.

A million times he’d reviewed in his head the details of their meeting out at the old barn: her passionate declarations and heavenly fucking body flush against his. The way her tits had felt under his palms, beaded and greedy, the way her mouth—which was the eighth wonder of the fucking world—had opened and sucked his tongue inside. But even though her body had been
made
for the sort of sin Cain loved best, it was her words that haunted him, taunting him as visions of her naked body snuggled next to Woodman blazed through his head night after night.

Cain . . . I love you. God, I love you so much.

You
are
. You
are
good. And I’m in love with you.

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

And when he thought the ache of remembering her sweet words—her sweet, sweet
lies
—would break him, he’d torture himself just a little more and remember her eyes when she left him that afternoon—the broken fucking way they’d looked, and how it had practically ripped his heart out of his chest to watch her walk away.

. . . it doesn’t matter anymore. This is the last time you will
ever
reject and humiliate me. I promise you. The last time.

And boy, had she made good on her word.

The last one to get rejected hadn’t been her. Between the two of them, it had been
him
.

She’d never know how hard he had to fight himself from reaching for her again that afternoon, how much his body ached and heart throbbed for her, how fucking much he wanted to run after her after she’d left him. She’d never know that he showed up hours later at her fucking cottage to try to work things out, to try to give them the chance she’d begged for. And she’d never, ever know how much he’d loved her—and that the loss of that love felt like a massive earthquake in the foundation of his being, with tremors that had rocked his world for years after. The fault had left a crack zigzagging down his broken heart like a gaping void in the earth, too jagged and deep to ever be filled, too shattered to ever be solid again.

There were so many Gingers who lived in his mind: the little girl he’d known as a child, the twelve-year-old sass-mouth who’d refused to jump on her birthday, the gorgeous fifteen-year-old to whom he’d given a first kiss, and the stunning eighteen-year-old woman who had made him feel more whole, more welcome in her presence than he’d ever felt in his entire life. It hurt to think about her playfulness when he’d been washing her gran’s old truck. It was like a knife to his heart to remember their rides and walks, talking about everything and nothing as they wandered through meadows and munched on freshly picked apples. And the old barn? Well. If he had his way, he’d burn it to the ground and incinerate all the memories it held. Because it hurt too fucking much to remember, and sometimes Cain feared that it always would.

It had taken a sizable amount of courage to decide to return to Kentucky, but Cain prided himself that he wasn’t a hotheaded teenager anymore, he was a grown man. And he finally realized that coming home to Kentucky was a choice he could make independently of his memories of Ginger. Furthermore,
fuck her
. Coming home was about
him
—about seeing his mom and dad, and cousin, who’d asked Cain to be his best man. And most importantly, it was about Cain taking control of his future and finally putting down some roots. It pissed him off that bitter thoughts of Ginger had poisoned the well of his better memories. After three long years away, he was sick of her being the thing that stood in the way of his return home—it gave her control over his life that she didn’t fucking deserve.

So he’d eventually decided to take it back.

Woodman had written to him two months ago, asking Cain to come home and be his best man when Cain’s contract was up in October. His initial reaction was “Hell, no!” But despite Cain’s painful personal history with Woodman’s two-faced bride-to-be, every time he sat down to write back to his cousin, he found he couldn’t say no. And he finally realized it was because, although Cain liked travel and had enjoyed seeing much of the world, as his final days in the Navy came to an end, he found himself—almost shockingly—longing for home.

After six years in the military and very little in the way of expenses, Cain had managed to save almost $30,000 in a U.S. bank account, and during a few days of liberty over the summer he’d flown into Lexington without alerting his family and spent two days with a commercial real estate broker. Looking in Lexington, Frankfort, and every little town in between, he’d finally found what he was seeking in Versailles, located about fifty minutes away from Apple Valley, just south of the I-64 corridor that connected Lexington and Frankfort.

It was a four-thousand-square-foot brick structure that included a large carport, a double-bayed garage, a drive-through showroom with finished, but stylishly rustic wood paneling, and a small office with a full bath. The lease was $1,800 per month, locked in for a full year, and Cain’s small collection of three additional motorcycles would be arriving on a transport next week to populate the showroom. He planned to modernize the building to his liking, then open the garage to service and sell motorcycles starting in January.

He’d gotten the idea of opening his own business when he stayed for a month and a half with his friend Sven in Iceland. He’d learned how Sven did his books, serviced bikes, took on pet projects like restorations, and moved a small number of new models. Though there would certainly be hiccups to being a new business owner, Cain had been reading up on small business ownership in Kentucky, and he felt ready to tackle a new future.

It felt strange to think of leaving the service after six such life-changing years, but Cain had enrolled in the active Reserves with a December 1 start date, which kept his leg in and meant he could still enjoy some of the perks of military life: medical insurance, training at a GI Bill–approved learning institution should he decide to seek out some technical courses, local commissary use, and a modest ancillary income relative to his retirement rank of seaman first class.

And sure, he’d still travel when the wanderlust bug bit him. He was dying to see the Pacific Ocean, a place he hadn’t been able to visit during his active service in the U.S. Sixth Fleet. Cain had seen a lot of the Eastern seaboard of the United States and the coasts of Africa and Europe, not to mention the harbor lights of the Mediterranean from the vantage point of a flight deck. But he’d never gotten to the Pacific. Being his own boss meant that, after Woodman’s wedding, Cain could close his garage for a few weeks, jump on his bike, and spend some time riding from Washington State to Baja.

For the first time in his life, he had a plan for himself that felt grounded in his interests but would still give him the freedom he needed when he craved it.

Fast approaching Lexington, he stepped on the gas, bypassing the exit that would take him north of the city to Apple Valley and continuing west toward the exit that would take him home. But of course his eyes tracked the exit, and his mind shifted seamlessly back to Ginger like a homing pigeon whose cage is gone but who can’t seem to find a new home.

Would it be awkward to see Ginger?

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he snarled, looking back at the highway ahead.

As far as he was concerned, she was dead. She didn’t exist. And he certainly didn’t plan to spend any time near her. He’d never crush Woodman by relating the events of that terrible day three years ago, and if he couldn’t stand there with a cheerful fucking smile plastered on his face while Woodman said “I do,” he should have just said no to his cousin’s letter.

A promise is a promise
, he thought ruefully, so he would show up at the Valley View Presbyterian Church and stand up next to his cousin as Woodman made the biggest mistake of his life.
Mistake
because Cain knew one thing for certain in his gut, and it burned like acid: Woodman, who’d been in love with her since childhood, deserved
much
better than fickle, faithless Ginger McHuid.

***

As he pulled his bike into the drive bay, Cain’s phone buzzed. He plucked it from his back pocket as he pulled off his helmet and swung his leg over the saddle.

JAW: What’s your ETA, cuz?

Cain grinned. Damn it, but he was looking forward to seeing Woodman again.

CW: Can be there tonight. You got plans?

No one, not even his cousin, knew that Cain had signed a lease in Versailles, and for the time being Cain wasn’t interested in sharing the news. He could just imagine his aunt Sophie’s disapproval when she discovered he was doing something as menial as opening a garage to service motorcycles. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone to piss on his dreams. 

JAW: Firehouse dinner. BBQ. You still like ribs?

CW: Fuck yeah. What time?

Not only did Cain like ribs, but a firehouse dinner seemed like a safe bet for pulling off his reunion with Woodman while still managing to avoid Ginger. Besides, hanging out with a bunch of firemen sounded like a solid way to spend an evening—he was accustomed to the company of men, and he’d enjoyed enough pussy in Virginia that he didn’t feel the need to track down Mary-Louise Walker on his first night home.

JAW: Six o’clock.

CW: Aye, aye, shipmate.

Shoving his phone back into the hip pocket of his jeans, he pushed his sunglasses on top of his head, unzipped the pocket of his Kevlar jacket, and pulled a pair of keys from their depths. There was still a key fob that read “Versailles Realty,” but he’d get a new one soon enough that read “BMW” or “Harley-Davidson.” He shoved the key through the lock and twisted, a feeling of anticipation making his heart beat a little faster.

This place is mine. All mine. I’m not a worker here, like my dad was on McHuid Farm. I’m the owner. The boss.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the empty space, taking a deep breath that smelled of motor oil and fresh paint. The Realtor had arranged to have the floors painted a gleaming battleship gray for him, but Cain looked forward to doing any additional work himself. And hell, maybe he could even get his dad and Woodman to leave McHuid’s for a few hours and give him a hand . . . help him make Wolfram’s Motorcycles a success.

Leaving the door ajar, he stepped back out onto the carport and opened the left saddlebag, removing a backpack filled with clothes and toiletries. Moving around to the other side, he took out another bag that contained a sleeping bag, a pillow, and a towel. He’d sleep in the office until he could find a little place to rent somewhere in Versailles.

Checking his watch, he noted the time, 4:20, which left him forty minutes to shower, shave, change, and head up to Apple Valley. Shutting and locking the door of his place behind him, he walked across the showroom and into the office and threw his bags on the floor. And then he took a moment to appreciate everything that belonged to him . . . and ignore his despised longing for the girl who never would.