Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (6 page)

“Yeah,” he said, swiping his thumb over his lips.

“I’ll see you at seven?”

Seven? Oh Lord. Homecoming. No. He couldn’t go. It was out of the question.

But her eyes looked up at him, exquisite and pleading, and he heard himself answer, “Uh, yeah. Seven.”

Then he turned and hurried through the hayloft, down the ladder, by the stables, and out onto the gravel lot. He put on his helmet, straddled his bike, and kicked up the stand. Without looking up or looking back, he sped away, shame and guilt chasing him down the gravel driveway and onto the road that led to the distillery.

He was a thief who’d taken what wasn’t his . . .

. . . and a fool who wanted what he could never have.

~ Woodman ~

“She’s a beauty, sir,” said Woodman to Ginger’s father before gazing back at the newborn foal.

“That she is,” said Ranger, who always rolled up his sleeves to be present at the birth of a new McHuid horse, no matter what other business might be pressing. “With a sire like Rollin’ Thunder, we knew she’d be gorgeous.”

Woodman rubbed Bit-O-Honey’s nose, and the mare groaned softly. “You did real good, mama.”

“
Wie ist sein Name
?” asked Uncle Klaus, his ice-blue eyes flashing with rare excitement. “Her name?”

Ranger huffed, looking at the dark brown foal. “Magnolia started namin’ all the mares after candy, and I shoulda stopped her at some point, but I never had the heart. With a daddy like Rollin’ Thunder, guess we’ll go with Rolo. Sound good?”

“Rolo,” said Uncle Klaus, testing the name in his heavy German accent. “
Ja
. I like it.”

Woodman stepped away from Bit-O-Honey as she sprang to her feet, feeling grateful that her heavy breathing had started to normalize after the stress of an hour-long labor. His uncle pulled the placenta away from Rolo’s soft hair, and the baby struggled a bit at first, but finally made it up onto all four legs.

The three men chuckled and clapped for the tiny mare, but oblivious to their praise, she made a small sound of discontent, sniffing the air for her mama’s teats. She stumbled twice, but finally made her way over, latching quickly and drinking her fill.

“Congrats again, sir,” said Woodman, picking up a wool blanket off the grass and slinging it over his arm. He’d drop it in the basket by the tack room to be washed before heading up to the main house to see Ginger.

Ranger McHuid, his brown eyes the same color as Ginger’s, looked up at Woodman from where he knelt on the grass. “We’re sure goin’ to miss you, son.”

Woodman nodded, “I’ll miss you too, sir.”

“McHuid’s won’t be the same without him, will it, Klaus?”

Uncle Klaus cleared his throat. “
Nein
. We’ll miss you, boy.”

“Sure you won’t reconsider college instead of the military, son?”

Woodman shook his head. “No, sir. Besides, the decision’s in stone now. My cousin and I ship off to boot camp in the mornin’.”

“
Oh! Scheisse!
” exclaimed Klaus, snapping his fingers. “That remind me. Cain was comin’ to say
Auf Wiedersehen.
” He flicked his eyes to his watch, grimacing. “Prolly missed him. Now I’ll haveta head inta town tonight.”

Ranger shrugged. “I guess Cain’ll understand that you were needed here to help foal the new mare, huh?”

Woodman highly doubted it.

Without actually admitting it aloud, Cain had made it as clear as possible how much he hated working at McHuid’s, his moods increasingly sour as the years went by, his attitude jockeying between gruff and sullen whenever he was at work. Woodman, who loved just about everything about McHuid’s, wondered, from time to time, if it had anything to do with the way his Uncle Klaus sometimes seemed to favor him over Cain. But that wasn’t likely, was it? Cain had to know that all Uncle Klaus ever talked about was horses, a topic that made Cain’s eyes roll before glazing over. Woodman and Uncle Klaus had an interest in common, and that was it. It wasn’t like they had deep discussions about the meaning of life that Cain was missing out on.

Woodman adjusted the blanket in his arms and stuck out his hand. “I’ll be sure to write, sir.”

“To Ginger, you mean,” said Ranger, standing up and taking the younger man’s hand.

“With your permission.”

“Hell, Woodman, you’re practically family. You don’t need my damn permission.”

Woodman grinned. “Just want to do everythin’ right.”

“Which is why Magnolia and I have such high hopes for you and our little gal.”

Woodman squeezed his hand before dropping it, then turned to his uncle. “Think you can keep this place runnin’ without me?”

“Oh,
ja
,” said Uncle Klaus, looking up at Woodman and nodding with hooded eyes. “But I be waitin’ for you boys t’get home.”

Pulling his uncle into an awkward embrace, Woodman whispered by his ear, “I’ll keep an eye on Cain, Uncle Klaus.”

“
Ja.
He need watchin’.”

“He’ll be okay. I promise.”

His uncle cleared his throat and drew away, swiping at his eyes as he knelt down and started checking the filly’s hooves without another word.

“Guess that’s it, then,” said Woodman, and Ranger clapped him on the back one more time.

Leaning closer to Woodman, Ranger said softly, “I ’spect ole Cain can watch out for himself well ’nough. Don’t get pulled into any of that hellion’s shenanigans. Just bring
your
bones home safe, Josiah Woodman.”

“Yes, sir. Good-bye, now,” he responded, nodding at Ginger’s father before turning away and heading back down the hill toward the barn. He’d clean up in Klaus’s tack room bathroom before heading up to the main house to say good-bye to Ginger, then home for dinner with his parents and a good night’s sleep before the 5 a.m. bus tomorrow.

Even though Annapolis had been Woodman’s plan, a slick late-summer football field last August had resulted in a torn ACL, arthroscopic surgery, and several missed weeks of school. Losing football as an extracurricular activity had been the first blow, but the second was the drastic dip in his first-semester senior-year grades because he was out of school for surgery and rehab for so many weeks. He still applied to Annapolis in December, but received a rejection letter in April—his grades simply weren’t competitive enough. To be accepted, he’d have to redo his senior year and reapply next December.

Because his father and grandfather had served directly out of high school, and Woodman felt strongly about honoring the family tradition, he had decided to enlist in the Navy instead. At first, he was concerned that the September surgery would sideline him from enlisting, but after requesting his x-rays and full medical history right after graduation, MEPS had determined that Josiah’s recovery was complete and ruled to allow his enlistment.

When Woodman had announced, at dinner with his parents, aunt, and cousin, that he had decided to join the Navy, Cain grinned at him and then promptly announced that he’d decided to do the same. Woodman wasn’t sure when Cain had decided to enlist, though he strongly suspected it was at that same dinner table, the minute the words had left Woodman’s mouth. He’d asked Cain several times if the Navy had been on his radar prior to his own announcement, but Cain never directly answered the question, just smirked and told Woodman that someone needed to look after him.

For as much as Cain had been, at times, the most infuriating part of Woodman’s life, he couldn’t deny the deep comfort he felt in knowing that they’d be tackling this hugely unknown new world together. In fact, they’d enrolled in the Navy’s Buddy Program so they would be together for boot camp and their first couple of deployments. Without the pressures of home—of McHuid’s, Cain’s broken family, and Woodman’s affluent one—Cain would surely show Woodman a different side. A less angry one. A more responsible one. Because he was fairly certain a more unhappy, less responsible Cain was impossible, and Woodman yearned for closeness with his only cousin.

Frankly Woodman didn’t know what had stood between them over the past three years, but he felt strongly that an unspoken wedge separated them from true familial intimacy. It could have been a million things: the differences in their families’ prosperity, Cain’s parents’ divorce, or the fact—as Woodman suspected—that Cain had some notions about Woodman being closer to his father, Klaus.

Or maybe it was the fact that they’d grown into vastly different men: Cain fucked everything in sight, loved his motorcycle the way Woodman loved horses, and got drunk down by the distillery every weekend, while Woodman spent his time studying, working at McHuid’s, and spending his weekends in church.

They were as different as night from day, yes, but they were still cousins, and their increasing distance from each other bothered Woodman mightily. Whatever it was that had lodged so squarely between them, Woodman was ready, even anxious, for it to be eliminated. And he dearly hoped that embarking on this adventure together would give them a chance to renew the close bond they’d enjoyed as children.

Rounding the meadow, Woodman looked down at the barn at the bottom of the hill and was surprised to see two people sitting up in the doorway of the hayloft. He squinted from fifty yards away, and his heart lifted when he realized that it was Cain and Ginger. Maybe Cain had stopped by to catch her one more time before they shipped out tomorrow, since they’d be missing her birthday next week. Cupping his hands over his mouth to call to them, he stopped when he saw Cain reach for Ginger’s face. She leaned toward him, closer and closer, tilting her head to the side until, until—

Woodman gasped, and the words of greeting got lodged in the terrible, instant lump in his throat, his hands falling listlessly by his side as he watched his cousin kiss Ginger, as he watched his indiscriminate lothario of a cousin pollute the pristine pink lips that Woodman had been planning to kiss for the very first time tonight when he bid her good-bye.

As he gasped, a soft, strangled sound of pain slipped from his lips, his eyes burning as he watched Cain wind his fingers through Ginger’s blonde hair and pull her closer. There was no chasteness in this kiss, no brotherly farewell from an old friend. Their bodies were flush against each other, Ginger’s breasts flattened against Cain’s chest as she arched her back in a wanton way that made Woodman’s fists curl in protest.

He didn’t blame Ginger. Though he suspected she knew how he felt about her, his feelings were, as yet, undeclared. But Cain. Fucking Cain. Ginger was
his
girl,
his
love,
his
future, and Cain
knew
it. But per usual, Cain was thinking with his dick. He didn’t give a shit that he was sliding a knife between his cousin’s shoulder blades. He likely didn’t give a fuck that a kiss like that was a sort of promise to a nice girl like Ginger (and Woodman was positive that Cain had zero honorable intentions toward her). He clenched his teeth together, his whole body rigid with fury and heartache because he was certain that all Cain thought of, as always, was his own pleasure, without a shred of regard for anyone else’s feelings or anyone else’s heart.

Between the bitter sting of his cousin’s betrayal and the terrible ache of watching Ginger kiss his cousin, Woodman could barely breathe, and he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. When he looked up again a moment later, their positions had changed drastically. Now Cain was standing up with his hands on hips, his expression troubled, his body angled for retreat. Ginger, on the other hand, still sat with her legs dangling over the hayloft opening, and Woodman couldn’t read her expression since she looked away from him, up at Cain, but she worried her hands in her lap.

They exchanged a couple of words that Woodman couldn’t hear from where he stood, then Cain disappeared into the darkness of the barn, only to reappear a moment later downstairs. Without looking back up at Ginger even once, he hurried to his bike, put on his helmet, and sped away, his face set in stone. Angry. Unhappy. Pissed. Cain was deeply shaken, and Woodman would be willing to place bets on where Cain was headed to make himself comfortably numb until he showed up hungover at the Greyhound station tomorrow.

As for Ginger? She looked forlorn as she watched Cain go, holding on to her bottom lip with her teeth, a slight frown troubling her usually sunny expression. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, her lips lifted into a brilliant smile, transforming her whole face to such beauty, Woodman sucked a hiss of breath through his teeth. She was happy about something, and it had everything to do with Cain. She looked down at her watch, then slipped back into the barn. Woodman watched as she came out of the barn on her cell phone.

“Gran? It’s me. Cain’s goin’ to take me!” Her smile was so brilliant, even from this distance, it could have blinded him. Slowly, so as not to draw attention, Woodman crouched down behind a boulder and some tall grass to shield himself as she walked up the hill toward her grandmother’s cottage.

“Yes, I’m serious! He’s takin’ me to homecomin’, Gran.” She giggled, the sound musical and happy as she walked by the place where Woodman hid. “Help me get ready? I’m headed up to the manor house now. He’ll be back for me in two hours!”

As soon as she was far enough along the path, Woodman stood up and headed quickly down the hill to the parking area behind the barn, where his secondhand BMW waited.

He wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, because he’d arranged for Robby Hanson, one of the probies on last year’s football team and a nice kid who’d been warned against making any untoward moves on her, to be Ginger’s escort. Now, somehow, safe little Robby was out of the picture, and Cain, the big bad Wolfram, was in it.

But Woodman had seen the look on Cain’s face as he zoomed away from McHuid’s as fast as he could. Whatever Ginger
believed
had transpired between them, Woodman knew that Cain
wasn’t
coming back tonight. And his heart lurched at the thought of Ginger spending hours waiting for Cain before she finally realized he wasn’t coming. She thought she was going to a dance; instead, she’d end her evening with her heart in shreds. And the truth is, despite everything he’d just witnessed, Woodman loved her way too much to let that happen.