Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (24 page)

“Mm-hm,” she hummed. “I’m fine.”

“You sure, baby?” He tipped her chin up and brushed his lips against hers.

They were warm and soft. Comforting. But when he tried to deepen the kiss, she pulled away to answer him. “I’m sure.”

“How’d it go at the cake place?”

She sighed. “Our mommas and Miz Simpkins run the whole show.”

“Aw, baby,” he said, his hands making soothing strokes up and down her back. “They’re just excited, is all.”

Quietly she bristled. Though she knew, or believed, that when push came to shove, Woodman was on her side, he was so conciliatory, so easygoing. She wanted him to slay dragons for her, but instead he became friends with the dragons and made excuses for their fire-breathing ways.

She leaned back in his arms and gave him a peeved look. “Your momma mentioned somethin’ ’bout a weddin’ gift?”

Woodman cringed. “Too much?”

“
Way
too much.”

“I just thought . . . well, honey, she was so excited about havin’ those things refinished. How about we take them and put them up in the attic for now?”

Another step closer to a destiny that isn’t mine.

“Fine,” she said, leaning her forehead on his shoulder and feeling beyond weary.

“Besides,” he said, “it’s just a weddin’ gift. What matters is that we’re gettin’ married. You and me forever, right?”

She nodded against him, an unrelenting heaviness that even Woodman couldn’t lighten, making it hard for her to speak.

“Right,” she managed to whisper.

“Happily ever after, Gin,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple.

“Happily ever after,” she repeated, closing her eyes and trying to remember how to breathe.

~ Woodman ~

“Austin should’ve caught that,” said Woodman, cupping her face with his hands and looking at her forehead. Her skin was soft and smooth, and she was so beautiful, most days he couldn’t believe she was his. “You okay, darlin’?”

Instead of answering, she did something he loved almost more than anything else in the world: she stepped into him, flush against his chest, and let him hold her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and his heart exploded with tenderness for her.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed. “I’m fine.”

Woodman pressed his lips to her hair, clenching his jaw with worry. The problem was that, despite her reassurances, he just didn’t feel like she
was
totally fine. She hadn’t been fine for a while. Though she always assured him that she was happy when he asked, since he had proposed, she had been unusually emotional. She cried more. She seemed more anxious and withdrawn. And Woodman couldn’t totally figure out what was going on.

Was it just wedding jitters? Dear God, he hoped that was all it was. He hoped that once they said “I do,” she’d start being herself again.

Though, if Woodman was truly honest, the person Ginger used to be had changed even before he asked her to marry him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when the change had started—for a year or so after he came back, it just felt like they were adjusting to each other, getting used to being boyfriend and girlfriend after so many years of being friends and the sudden shock of sleeping together. Little by little, they’d become a couple with all the trimmings—him staying over at Ginger’s cottage and her staying at his place once he’d bought the house. They spent every weekend together, every holiday, celebrated every important milestone together, and shared their challenges at work and annoyances with family. But sometimes Woodman got the feeling that Ginger was going through the motions—like maybe her whole heart wasn’t invested in their relationship in the same way that his was.

The biggest problem of all, as far as Woodman could tell, was that even after three years together as a couple, their relationship had never quite segued completely from friendship to romance. Well, for him it had, but not for her. When he was her friend—when they were having dinner together or talking about their days at work or he was comforting her as he was now—she seemed relaxed and comfortable. But when he wanted to be her lover—to tease her, caress her, make love to her—she became standoffish.

Right now, with her breasts pressed against his chest and her soft hair brushing his throat, his body came alive with hunger. But he knew her well enough to know that she was holding on to him because she was in a snit and a hug from him comforted her because he was still, as he had ever been, her best friend first and foremost.

“You sure, baby?”

“I’m sure,” she said.

He tipped her chin up and brushed his lips against hers, unable to keep himself from trying—hoping that this time she’d wind her fingers through his hair or arch her body closer to his. He longed for the sound of a sweet moan from the back of her throat, or to feel her shiver in his arms, so that he’d know that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Her lips were warm and soft beneath his, allowing his kiss, puckering to kiss him back, even, but turning away before it had even started. His disappointment was all too familiar, but he reminded himself that he’d gotten exactly what he’d asked for.

Three years ago, when he’d sat on that porch swing with her, right before she’d given him her virginity, he’d told her that his heart belonged to her. He’d offered it to her without demanding any promises in return. He’d wanted her that badly. And now she was his, marrying him in just a few more weeks. So what did it matter if they were still best friends and a little short on the heat? He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he?
Don’t beg for rain when you just got the sun. One thing at a time. It’ll come. Eventually.
And Woodman had every hope and expectation that it would.

“How’d it go at the cake place?”

She sighed. “Our mommas and Miz Simpkins run the whole show.”

“Aw, baby,” he said, his hands making soothing strokes up and down her back. “They’re just excited, is all.”

They’re more excited’n you.
Everyone’s
more excited’n you.

He had asked her last night, after a lackluster few minutes of lovemaking, if she was happy, but she’d brushed him off, insisting that she was.

And he hadn’t pressed it, because her words relieved him even if he questioned them. The fact of the matter was that he loved her so much, he’d take her any way she offered herself to him. Sure, it bothered him that they didn’t reach for each other passionately, that she’d never—in the two years they’d been sleeping together—initiated lovemaking after the first time or cried out in ecstasy ever. But she also didn’t pull away from him. She didn’t deprive him of her warmth and her body. And when he’d asked her to marry him, she’d said yes.

Most of the time Woodman concentrated on the good and trusted that he had enough love for her to last them both a lifetime. Really, everything had worked out exactly the way it was supposed to for them. And hey, maybe things would get better with time. He looked forward to a long life with her, and he’d make every possible effort to keep her happy.

Apparently, however, Ginger’s happiness wasn’t on the agenda
today
. When she leaned back and looked up at him, her pretty face was sour.

“Your momma mentioned somethin’ ’bout a weddin’ gift?” she asked, her eyes wide and accusing.

Oh, shit. The cradle and rocker.

He cringed. “Too much?”

“
Way
too much,” she said without a fleck of humor.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I just thought . . . well, honey, she was so excited about havin’ those things refinished. How about we take them and put them up in the attic for now?”

A brief rebellion flashed across her face—a little bit of the old Ginger spirit, and Woodman almost goaded her further because he missed that part of her. He wanted it back. But before he could say anything, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

“Fine.”

Damn it!
Fine
again.

“Besides,” he said, “it’s just a weddin’ gift. What matters is that we’re gettin’ married. You and me forever, right?”

“Right,” she murmured.

“Happily ever after, Gin,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple.

“Happily ever after,” she said softly.

He clenched his jaw, thinking about the postcard in his pocket, thinking that now wasn’t the time to share that particular bit of news with her. He’d make some time later to have a talk with her.

It certainly wouldn’t help her present mood to know that Cain was coming home tomorrow.

***

As a freshly minted lieutenant in the Apple Valley Fire Department, Woodman could think only about—aside from Ginger and their upcoming wedding—being given permission by his doctor to suit up and start actually fighting fires again. But after six reconstructive surgeries at the Lexington VA Medical Center, which included a vascularized bone graft, an osteotomy, total joint replacement, core decompression, and two years of physical therapy, his injury still hadn’t healed completely. In fact, Doc Collins hadn’t even given Woodman the official okay to give up his cane yet.

It was a source of ongoing frustration for Woodman to watch the rest of the guys suit up and know that he couldn’t do his part. Sometimes he’d throw on a coat and go to the fire just to watch and be on hand, but he could feel it in his gut—the longing to be in the action, to be a hero again. He wanted it for himself, of course, but he also wanted it for Ginger. He couldn’t chase away the nagging thought that the reason she was unenthusiastic about their sex life
might
stem from the fact that she didn’t see him as a whole man.

When she’d first offered herself to him, that amazing night three years ago on her parents’ porch, he’d been so overcome with lust and devotion, he hadn’t really thought twice about taking her virginity and sharing his own. He’d been waiting forever to sleep with the girl he loved—he wasn’t going to say no when she suggested it. And while it had been quick the first time, she’d nestled into his arms right after, falling asleep against his chest, her warm soft skin touching his everywhere. Woodman had believed himself in love with her before that moment, but that’s when everything changed for him. After knowing the heaven of sleeping beside her, he could never give her up.

She was uptight and jittery about the wedding? That was okay. As long as they met at the altar and said “I do,” the wedding would come and go.

She still saw him as her best friend? That was okay too. They had a lifetime to find the romantic rhythm that all married couples eventually discovered.

She didn’t love sex? Well, Woodman figured that could be remedied too. The minute she saw him as a whole, fully functioning superhero of a man, she’d feel different about being intimate with him. He just had to get there.

“Woodman!” greeted Doc Collins, stepping into the exam room. “How we doin’, son?”

“Very well, sir,” he said, shifting his thoughts from Ginger to his ankle and praying that this time he’d be given a clean bill of health.

Doc Collins thumbed through some papers in a manila file folder. “How’s the ankle?”

“Real good, sir.”

“Any pain?” asked the doctor, locking his eyes with Woodman’s.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“But there
is
pain?”

Woodman shrugged. “Tells me when it’s gonna rain, that’s all.”

It was a lie. The pain was chronic and much more than an occasional twinge. Still, he wasn’t lying when he said he could handle it. He could. He
did
. Every day, without complaining.

Doc Collins cleared his throat, glancing at a chair in the corner of the room where Wodoman’s cane lap atop his jacket. “Still usin’ that cane like I told you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No skippin’ days, now?”

“No, sir.”

Another lie. He wasn’t using the cane and hadn’t for several months. He hated it and felt like an old man hobbling around. Ginger was young and gorgeous; he didn’t want to be escorting her to dinner or to the movies walking with a goddamned cane. Most days—unless the pain was truly outrageous—he left it at home.

His doctor took out an x-ray and held it up to the light. “Everythin’ looks good, I have to say. Bones seem to be healed and settled. Pulse ox in your toes tells me the circulation is fine. You’re tellin’ me there’s no pain. We’re surely gettin’ there, Woodman.” He placed the file on the counter behind him. “Why don’t you lie back and let me take a look.”

Woodman lay back on the crackly tissue paper and held his breath. This was the closest he’d ever come to getting the okay to go back to work.

“Sure would like to be able to help out at the fires,” he said.

“I know that. I know. But I wouldn’t be a very good doctor if I let you take a barely-healed foot into an unsafe situation, now, would I?”

The doctor handled his foot gently, feeling the plates and screws, the grafts and nails that held it all together. He made a face and tsked softly. “Got a little swellin’ here. Not a lot. Just a bit.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Woodman held another breath as Doc Collins poked around and forced himself not to wince from the friction of the nails being rubbed against his flesh.

The doctor sighed. “Well, you’re surely gettin’ there.”

But . . .

“But I don’t think you’re ready for firefightin’ just yet. Let’s give it a bit more time, huh?”

“Doc, if I’m that close, maybe I could just suit up?”

“You can
sit
up.” The doctor pulled the file from the counter, opened it, and wrote some notes on the top page before looking up at Woodman. “Not yet, son. I’m sorry. But I can’t risk givin’ you the okay and somethin’ bad happenin’ to you or someone else. You understand. Keep usin’ that cane. Keeps the weight off it while the bones continue to heal. Human body’s a funny thing—that injury may have taken one man a year to recover from, the next man a lifetime. You’re doin’ just fine. You’ll be on that fire truck before you know it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Woodman, his disappointment crushing.

Doc Collins took an Rx pad out of his breast pocket. “Swellin’ tells me there’s pain. I want to prescribe somethin’.”

“No, sir,” said Woodman.

The doctor placed the pad on the counter. “Bein’ in pain’s not goin’ to help anythin’, son.”

“I said I’m fine.”

The doctor sighed but shrugged before finishing his notes in Woodman’s file. When he looked up, his smile was professional but compassionate. “Soon, Woodman. I promise.”

Doc Collins offered his hand, Woodman shook it, and he left.

Finally letting out his breath in a long, annoyed huff, Woodman reached for his socks and pulled them on his feet. As he slid down the table, he looked across the small room and noticed the Rx pad that Doc Collins had left behind. He stared at it, then forced himself to look away, picking up his shoes and pulling them on. Once he was ready to go, he stepped over to the sink and looked down at the pad, swallowing uncomfortably. Woodman didn’t break the rules—never did, never had—but this was a special situation, wasn’t it? Certainly he knew his body better than Doc Collins, didn’t he? All he needed to do was take a slip of paper and write “Cleared for all duties” on it. He bit his lower lip.