Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (34 page)

The heart of a lion.

The scars to prove it.

Literally speaking, she did have a white scar over her heart, where the doctors had operated on her so long ago.

Figuratively speaking, she had other scars on her heart, and many of them belonged to Cain.

Cain, who never stuck around.

Cain, who always left her behind, brokenhearted.

“
Why
are you still here?” she asked him, her voice low and breathless.

“I have my reasons.”

“Tell me, Cain. Thanksgivin’s come and gone.
Please
tell me why you’re still here.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

She didn’t want it to matter. She desperately didn’t want it to matter.

She nodded.

He leaned back from her and searched her face as though trying to determine something—if she was ready to know something, if he was ready to tell it.

“I tell you what, if you want to know why I’m still here, I’ll
show
you, but you need to take a ride with me.”

“Where to?”
“Not tellin’.” He paused. “You trust me?”

She shook her head. “No. ” She shrugged, sniffling softly. “Kind of.”

“We got a lot of water under the bridge, don’t we?” he said, looking away from her. He shrugged. “Well, it’s up to you.”

A good thirty seconds passed in silence as she struggled to make a decision. Part of her felt like running as far away from Cain as she could possibly get. The other part, however, needed him like a lifeline.

Survival won the draw.

“When?”

“Next Saturday.”

“What time?”

“Five,” he said. “And dress warm. I can’t keep borrowin’ my pop’s truck. We’ll take my bike.”

“Your bike. Oh, okay,” she said, watching as he opened his door and waiting as he walked around the truck to open hers.

She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before, but she was too intrigued to say no.

And Saturday felt like a very, very long way away.

***

For most of his life, Ginger McHuid had been forbidden fruit to Cain Wolfram. He hadn’t respected much of anything in his adolescence, but one thing he had
tried
to respect was his cousin’s early and undying love for Ginger.

When he’d realized, at fifteen, that he was attracted to her . . . or at eighteen, that his feelings for her ran far deeper than the childhood friendship they’d shared  . . . or at twenty-one, that he was in love with her . . . he’d
still
denied himself having her in deference to Woodman. Even five weeks ago, when he’d showed up at her doorstep threatening to haul her out of bed and throw her on Heath’s back in pajamas, he’d still maintained that walking back into her life was the only way to honor his promise to Woodman, and not because he had any tender feelings for Ginger. He
couldn’
t have any. He wouldn’t allow it.

But the thing he hadn’t expected was that being forced to care for her and be good to her also meant, by default, investing personally in her happiness and well-being. And that investment was causing an unintended shift in his heart—the hate and hurt he’d held on to for three years was shifting back to love so quickly, he didn’t know how to stop it. And without Woodman’s presence in his life, there was nothing stopping Cain’s conscience from loving Ginger all over again. And this time, forever.

Well, there was
one
other thing stopping Cain: the fact that she’d told him that she loved him, then turned around and slept with his cousin a few hours later. It had hurt like an unimaginable bitch to find her naked body entwined around Woodman’s. If he let himself think on it, it
still
hurt like hell. And if she’d hurt him once, certainly she could hurt him again.

After a lifetime of keeping his heart safe from harm, he’d be a fool to give it to the only girl who ever broke it, wouldn’t he? Yes. And Cain Wolfram was no fool.

Which was why the feeling of her body pressed up close to his, with her arms around his waist and her cheek resting against his leather-clad back as they raced through the darkness toward Versailles, was perilous to his heart and his sanity and his reason.

He was unprepared for the rush of emotions he felt as she held him tight, or for the way his cock swelled uncomfortably in his jeans, twitching and throbbing with every mile they rode, the vibration of the engine only making the torture worse.

It had been months since Cain had been with a woman—ten weeks, in fact, since he’d fucked a girl he met in a Norfolk bar before leaving for Versailles. Ten fucking weeks. He’d never gone that long without a woman since he’d given up his V card to Mary-Louise at the distillery when he was fifteen. And since the only woman with whom Cain had spent a significant amount of time in those ten weeks was Ginger, maybe it wasn’t so surprising that he’d get wood when her pussy was pressed up against his ass—
clothes be damned
—going sixty miles an hour into darkness.

But he was lying to himself if he pretended that’s all it was.

The uncomfortable reality was that the more time he spent with Ginger, the less he wanted to wander, the less he wanted a taste of random snatch. Though she’d been his cousin’s woman, and though he would miss Woodman every day for the rest of his life, Ginger was a growing ache inside. Not only in his heart, which could prove lethal, but to his traitorous fucking body too.

Exiting the highway, he pulled up to a red light and felt Ginger’s warm breath on the back of his neck behind his ear. He clenched his eyes shut for just a moment.

“Where in the world are we goin’?” she asked.

“Ten more minutes,” he said, surging forward, allowing himself to enjoy the rush of adrenaline he felt from having her on the back of his bike.

He’d spent the last week whipping his place into shape for her visit. He’d had a neon exterior sign made a few weeks ago, but he’d finally mounted it and turned it on before leaving to pick her up. He’d purchased a few bikes from a Lexington distributor so that he had some inventory on the floor. The cot in the office was gone, and the refrigerator was on top of a file cabinet that also held a Keurig machine for coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. He’d cleaned up the bathroom, installed a new sink and toilet, and placed a bar of orange-scented soap in a little white dish.

He couldn’t wait to show it to her.

For the first time in Cain’s life—the very first time—he felt like he had something worthy of Miss Ginger McHuid, and although he had no expectations, he’d be crushed if she didn’t like it.

And that was the God’s honest truth.

***

Ginger had never ridden on a motorcycle before, and at first she was uncomfortable, in an
embarrassed
way, pressed up against Cain so intimately. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for her to close her eyes and relax, relishing the contact and enjoying the ride.

Relish
, not because she had any designs on Cain—she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for him again, nor did she feel herself available—but it simply felt nice to hold on to him.

Once upon a time, she’d had a safe haven, a fiancé to whom she ran whenever she was sad or down or confused, and he would hold her close, kiss her and hug her, give her unlimited comfort and unconditional affection. For weeks now she hadn’t been touched very much by anyone. At first she’d been deliberately housebound, but then, even as she came out of her self-imposed shell little by little, there just weren’t that many people in her life who kissed and hugged. Her parents weren’t affectionate, and her gran didn’t have enough muscle control to embrace her anymore. Her safe, warm harbor was gone. And she missed the physical contact. She missed it desperately.

So she held on fiercely to Cain, resting her cheek against his leather jacket and feeling the tight muscles of his stomach clench and release as they zigged into turns and zagged through valleys. She closed her eyes and held on and basked in the warmth of human contact.

When he finally stopped the motorcycle, it took her a moment to open her eyes, and once she did, it took another moment to realize that she needed to unclasp her hands and let go of him. An audible sigh of regret passed through her lips like a whisper, but she hoped he hadn’t heard it, and she tried to comfort herself that she’d get to hold on to him again all the way home.

“You okay, princess?” he asked over his shoulder, his voice gentle.

She reached up for the helmet he’d fastened under her chin and unclasped it, pulling it from her head as he dismounted from the bike and offered her his hand.

“Uh-huh. Where are we?” she asked, letting him help her off the saddle.

His eyes sparkled in the darkness—pools of obsidian outlined in light blue. He tugged her hand, and they walked out from under a garage roof and onto the sidewalk, under the stars.

“Turn around,” he said.

She did. And she gasped softly when her eyes found the bright white sign over the garage that read “Wolfram’s Motorcycles.” She blinked twice, taking in the double-bayed, open garage they’d just walked from and the shiny glass of the adjacent showroom. The floor inside was gray and glossy, and five or six motorcycles gleamed in the bright blue and white fluorescent track lighting that shone down from the showroom ceiling.

“Cain,” she murmured.

“What do you think?” he asked from beside her.

She looked up to find him staring down at her, his face expectant but uncertain, his eyes searching.

“It’s yours?”

He nodded. “Uh-huh.
All
mine. My own business.”

“But I thought . . .”

I thought you were leavin’.

Suddenly her eyes filled with more tears than she could handle, and she dropped her head and looked down at her shoes. It was basic and visceral, the feeling that swept through her like a flash storm.
Relief.
She was so relieved, so
unbelievably
relieved, she almost couldn’t breathe.

“You don’t like it,” he said softly, his voice low, edged in hurt.

She shook her head, pressing her palm to her chest, unable to speak.

“Huh. Well. I guess motorcycles aren’t for everyone.” He stopped talking and dropped her hand. “Fuck,” he hissed. “I’ll take you home.”

As he started to move away, she grabbed his arm, her fingers viselike around his wrist as she raised her glassy eyes to his.

“I’m so proud of you,” she sobbed. “So damn proud.”

His face was transformed by her words. Hurt and angry at first, he furrowed his brow in confusion as he stared at her, and when he had confirmed the truth of her words from looking deep into her eyes, his dimples sprang out at her, and his smile—so wide, so happy—was blinding.

He laughed softly, shaking his head at her. “I thought . . . oh, man, I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I don’t,” she whispered. “I
love
it.”

“You
love
it?” he asked, looking down at his wrist still captured in her hand before sliding his eyes back to her face.

“You’re stayin’,” she said, her eyes locked on his.

He nodded. “I’m stayin’, Gin.” He reached forward with his free hand and gently wiped a falling tear from her cheek. Then he adjusted her grip on his wrist so they were holding hands, and he pulled her back up the driveway. “Come and see!”

She smiled and nodded at all the right places as he gave her a tour of his new business. And truly she
was
proud of him. He had a sort of rustic-industrial thing going on that worked well with his motorcycles—rough-hewn wood walls, gleaming gray floors, funky lighting on modern tracks, and tin signs with motorcycle logos and neon lights decorating the walls.

But even as she noted the details, and truly admired them, her mind whirred with more important matters.

He’s stayin’.

Cain’s stayin’.

Cain’s finally stayin’.

It was all new territory for her. With the exception of two weeks, Cain had essentially left Kentucky when she was fifteen years old. And now, six years later, he was home. For good. Her mind flew back to the wild yearnings she’d had three years ago—the desperate hope that he’d sleep with her and suddenly find a way to make Apple Valley his home. He’d been a wanderer then, and she had been sure he was still a wanderer now. But some significant part of him must not have wanted to wander anymore. He had purchased a business not forty-five minutes away from Apple Valley. Cain Wolfram was finally settling down.

It was jarring and confusing for Ginger because it didn’t correspond with the man she thought him to be. It was also a relief because he’d become important to her again over the past few weeks and she wasn’t ready to lose him. And it was a little sad because her onetime dream had finally come true, but it was too late for them now.

Too late because she’d already made her choice, and it hadn’t been Cain.

It had been . . .