Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (4 page)

He stared at her, trying to decide what to say. He didn’t sense that she was ready for a declaration of his eternal love, but Woodman wasn’t ashamed of the feelings in his heart, so he kept his answer simple.

“Mine,” he whispered, taking the bracelet from her palm and hooking it carefully around her wrist.

She showed no reaction to his simple admission, so he wasn’t sure if she’d actually heard him or if he’d whispered too lightly. At any rate, it wouldn’t make sense to repeat himself. As the bracelet latch clicked shut, he looked up at her, and she offered him a wobbly grin.

“Race you to the top?” she asked, then set off at a clip, running up the gravel hill in riding boots and a yellow sundress, heading back up to her birthday party.

Woodman didn’t rush after her. He watched her go, shaking his head as he chuckled softly to himself, now certain in the knowledge that she’d heard him and just didn’t know how to respond. That was his Ginger—marching headlong into a fight when she was angry or indignant, but running away when she felt bruised or uncertain. He didn’t mind. Maybe she just needed a little time for the idea of owning his heart to settle and find purchase in her mind. That was just fine. If she needed time, she could have it. He wasn’t going anywhere. That was for sure.

After all, the notion of Woodman and Ginger ending up together wasn’t exactly a brand-new idea. For as long as Woodman could remember, he had taken for granted the knowledge that someday Ginger, and her family’s farm, would belong to him.

A union between the Woodmans and McHuids was a favorite wish of both of their mothers, who spoke about a someday marriage in not-so-hushed tones (
“Won’t your Ginger make Woodman a beautiful bride someday?” “Yes, and Woodman is just the sort of good boy Ranger and I would want by her side.”
) and their fathers, who joked that their grandsons would be the best horsemen in Glenndale County one day. His feelings for Ginger, always strong, grew and deepened into something that felt more lasting and serious with every passing day. And Woodman loved McHuid Farm as much as Ranger McHuid or his Uncle Klaus, to whom Woodman had been apprenticed since he was a preteen able to properly muck out a stable.

Woodman had given Ginger his heart ages ago. The bracelet he’d given her today was just the first step toward securing hers, even though they had years ahead of them before they could finally be together.

As he continued his leisurely stroll up the gravel driveway, he thought about those years to come—about the carefully chosen plan for his life: currently a sophomore at Apple Valley High, he was in the top five percent of his class, but his goal was to be valedictorian by senior year. He also punted for the Apple Valley Appaloosas and had recently been elected treasurer of the student government. And he knew he’d need all these credentials lined up to be accepted at the Naval Academy like his father and grandfather.

After being accepted at Annapolis and successfully completing four years of undergraduate work as a cadet, he would graduate as a second lieutenant and request to be stationed at Naval Support Activity Mid-South in Tennessee, where he could work with the Navy Recruiting Command. That way, he’d be closer to home and in a better geographical position to court Ginger. After five years of active service, he planned to enter the Reserves for three years, during which he’d return to Apple Valley, propose to Ginger, and take over a portion of the operations at McHuid’s in conjunction with her father and Uncle Klaus.

And then? Woodman grinned. A gorgeous young wife in his bed whom he’d always loved. And someday? A little boy with her brown eyes and a little girl who shared her smile. He chuckled softly at the thought, holding it close to his heart.

“Basically, your average happily-ever-after,” he said aloud, waving at his parents as they came into view and feeling like the path he was on was the perfect route to a sweet life.

Three years later

~ Cain ~

“Ahh, baby,” he groaned, grinding his head back into the pillow, “you’re hotter’n a tin can in August.”

Cain’s flavor of the moment, Cherry something-or-other, giggled coyly, her bright red–dyed hair draped erotically across his cut abs as he leaned on his elbows to look down at her. Lips that matched her hair color were puckered around his cock, leaving garish red streaks as she pumped him in and out of her mouth, moaning like he was servicing her, instead of the other way around.

Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of her hair tightly, letting out a low growl as her teeth razed his taut, tender flesh. Her ministrations became more vigorous, and Cain felt the inevitable tightening in his balls that told him the end was near.

“Don’t finish me,” he groaned.

Her fingers, clutching his ass like she was holding on for dear life, dug into his skin, and he sucked a hiss of breath through his teeth as his cock hit the back of her throat and his back arched off the mattress.

“In . . . your pussy,” he managed to grind out, releasing her hair and reaching for a condom from the pile on the floor beside them.

They were at Cain’s little fuck pad in the old Glenn River Distillery, fully decked out with an old mattress, pillow, candles that had mostly burned down to nubs, and said stockpile of condoms. Cain wasn’t exactly known for his discrimination when it came to giving and receiving pleasure, but he was fastidious about his safety. From the very first time he’d had sex with Mary-Louise Walker, not fifty yards from where he was right now, he’d never once engaged in unprotected sex. It had been a deal breaker for him many times, in fact, when a soft and willing woman offered herself to him and he found himself unprepared. But his carefully stocked love nest, tucked into a windowed corner on the second floor of the abandoned, castlelike distillery building, made such assignations a lot more convenient.

Cherry lifted her head and grinned at him, backhanding her messy scarlet lips as he jackknifed up and ripped open the condom, rolling it over his slick and straining erection before reaching for her hips and turning her around. With her facing away from him, he pushed her back forward and pulled her down onto his cock. She was hot and wet, quivering around his pole, and Cain clenched his eyes shut as his neck fell back in pleasure.

Keeping his hands firmly clasped on her hips, he pushed her away, then pulled her closer, sliding her back and forth on his slick cock until her gasps became moans and the moans became cries of pleasure. Pushing her forward to her knees and elbows, he rose up on his knees behind her and continued to thrust into her from behind, reaching forward to cup her swinging breasts and tease her tight, pierced nipples.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!” she screamed as her inmost muscles spasmed around him.

Once she had found her pleasure, Cain slid his hands back to her hips, holding her tightly as he hammered into her twice more before biting down on his lip and growling into the climax of his own orgasm, which he rode out, pushing gently into Cherry’s willing body until he was completely spent.

Reaching for the condom, he pinched it tightly before pulling out of her. Slipping it off his glistening cock, he tied a knot in the open end and threw it into the metal bucket near the foot of the mattress.

Cherry fell onto her stomach, and Cain sat back, leaning against the wall beside her, watching her back rise and fall with her panting. His gaze wandered away, and he looked out the half-shattered, grimy window that remained in the once-grand sill to his left, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

“Well, this was fun,” he said, smacking her ass to signal that it was also over.

She raised her head, propping it on her elbow and looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Wait a sec . . . That’s it?”

No stranger to this particular conversation, Cain cocked his head to the side and opened his eyes wide, staring at her wordlessly.

She sat up, her gaudy lipstick smeared and cheeks still flushed from sex, looking at him like he’d just confessed to drowning puppies. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“About what?”

“You want me to go? Just like that?”

He stared at her—at her angry face and bare breasts, bright pink from the bristles on his unshaven jaw. An hour ago, when he ran into her at the Gas & Sip, she’d seemed wild and edgy with her bright red hair and lipstick. Now she just looked . . . used.

He shrugged.

“You’re an asshole,” she said, grabbing her bra and panties off the dusty concrete floor and standing up to get dressed.

So I’ve heard.

He thought about saying
I didn’t force you to come here. In fact, you practically insisted on followin’ me. And from all that racket you just made while I was fuckin’ you doggie style, I think you got as good as I gave. I don’t remember either of us makin’ promises. So what’s the problem?

But Cain knew from personal experience that that particular speech would, at a minimum, get him a slap across the face, so he didn’t say anything—just looked up at her, his face void of emotion, because, well, he
didn’t
feel anything. In fact, Cain had yet to feel anything significant when he flirted and fucked. He felt the same physical pleasure any normal, hot-blooded eighteen-year-old would feel, of course, but his heart remained unmoved, no matter how many women he bedded, and the list was long and ever growing.

Like my cock
, he thought, smirking.

“Are you laughin’ at me?” Cherry what’s-her-name demanded, her voice screeching a little when she said “me.”

He schooled his expression to bored and shook his head no.

“You are a total fuckin’ asshole,” she said, zipping up her jeans and swiping her T-shirt up from the floor. “You know what else? I hope they send you to Iraq. I hope you don’t make it home.”

He flinched, just barely, and she gave him a mean smile before grabbing her shoes from the floor and hurrying toward the stairs.

When the rickety stairwell door slammed behind her, Cain stood up and stretched leisurely, walking to the window to watch her stomp away from the building, through the opening in the fence they’d used to enter, and back to her car. She burned rubber pulling away, and Cain rubbed his jaw, thinking of the red marks on her breasts and thinking he should probably shower and shave before he headed to McHuid’s to say good-bye to his father . . . and to Ginger.

***

An hour later, Cain pulled his motorcycle up the gravel driveway of McHuid Farm, turning right at the first pass, and headed straight to the barn, as he had thousands of times in his life. Today was his last chance to say good-bye to his father before shipping out to Navy boot camp bright and early tomorrow morning.

Since his parents had divorced, two years ago, Cain had been living with his mother in a small apartment on Main Street, while his father, who decided to sell their family home, had moved into the tack room at McHuid’s. In a move completely sanctioned, if not encouraged, by Ranger McHuid, Klaus’s work and life were seamless now, and Cain doubted his father left the farm more than once a week, and only then when he ran out for groceries or beer.

Pulling his fully restored 2001 Yamaha R6 into the gravel lot beside the barn, Cain cut the engine, pushed down the kickstand, and unhooked his helmet. Throwing his leg over the seat, he sauntered toward the barn.

Of all the things he would miss in Apple Valley, this barn was—in a perplexing contradiction—on the very bottom and at the very top of his list. He’d worked here with his father for almost ten years, a minimum of twenty hours a week, and he was grateful for the income it had provided. His parents hadn’t ever been in a position to offer the sort of allowance that Josiah’s parents could give. Working at McHuid’s had made it possible for Cain to buy the parts to fix his motorcycle, for the gym membership that kept his body taut and toned, for the clothes on his back, and the help he gave his mother, who’d refused a cent of his father’s money during the divorce.

But this barn had also been a prison of sorts. Because Cain had never enjoyed working with horses, his job at McHuid’s had felt like aimless grunt work. A job for a check. Mucking stables. Shoveling manure. Birthing colts. It was hard, unglamorous work, and he wouldn’t miss it. Not a moment of it.

Nor would he miss the way his father and Josiah enjoyed every moment of it with the same passion that Cain hated it. The way his father ruffled Josiah’s hair or patted him on the back after a tough breech delivery. The way his father’s face lit up when Woodman walked into the barn, anxious to tell him about the new mare’s breeding lines or the stallion that Ranger was importing from England. It hurt Cain to see their natural, unforced camaraderie. Now that his parents were divorced, he didn’t hate his father as much as he used to—he could see that both of his parents were happier, healthier people apart than they’d ever been together. And Cain loved Josiah as much as always. But seeing his father and cousin together still made Cain feel like shit, and he wouldn’t miss it.

Then again, this barn was the place where Ginger had jumped into their arms year after year, her twelfth birthday notwithstanding. No matter what was going on in Cain’s life, no matter what he was doing or whom he was fucking, he had caught Ginger McHuid in his arms almost every year of her life, and he’d miss it come October. Yes, he would.

Not that he spent much time around Ginger anymore. She’d started attending public high school as a sophomore this year, and she was around the barn a lot less, he’d noticed. He’d also noticed that she had grown into,
hand to God
, the prettiest, sexiest girl in Apple Valley. Golden blonde waves tumbled down her back, and those deep brown eyes that had so captured his attention on her twelfth birthday now caught the notice of every other guy under the age of thirty. Her legs went on forever, toned and muscular from riding, and her smile—Lord, her smile!—stopped his heart whenever she flashed it at him, which was every time he saw her.

But the very transparent reality of Cain Wolfram’s life was that no matter what he felt for Ginger, there were three reasons he could never have her.

The first? She was way too good for him. She was as bright and shiny as silver in the sunshine, sweet, kind, smart, and rich. As for Cain? He was badly tarnished to a dull gray and cynical and selfish. He’d boned every girl worth having in a ten-mile radius. He’d been a poor student and a troublemaker, racing around Apple Valley on his motorcycle at all hours, and drinking down at the distillery with a rowdy crew of friends.

The second? Ginger loved Apple Valley. It was her home—a home he knew she loved to the marrow of her bones, when all Cain really wanted was to see Apple Valley get smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. And if he had his way, he’d never return again.

But the third reason was the most implacable, the most nonnegotiable reason he could never have Ginger McHuid. Because she belonged to Woodman. Always had, always would. And Cain loved Woodman too much to lose his cousin’s kinship over a girl. Even an angel–girl like Ginger.

Will you miss her?
whispered his heart.

That was like asking if he’d miss something he could never have. A better question would be,
Will you long for her?
And the answer, of course, was a sad and simple
Forever
. She would always be the sweetest something that the earth had to offer. And someday Cain would enter heaven or hell still wishing that he’d had a chance to love her.

Shaking off his thoughts and deciding against going up to the main house to find her and say good-bye (because, really, what was the point?), he walked into the barn and knocked on the tack room door. Looking around, he noted that the new stablehand, a sophomore from Apple Valley High who was probably a friend a Ginger’s, was doing a good job. The concrete floor between the stalls was clean as a whistle, and the barn smelled like fresh hay. Cain inhaled deeply, grudgingly admitting that the smell wasn’t totally unpleasant, and maybe even a little comforting.

“Papa?” he called, knocking on the door again, but there was no light shining through the crack under the door, and when he pressed his ear against the darkened window, all was silent on the other side.

Figures,
he thought, tamping down feelings of anger and disappointment. He’d told his father he’d be by to say good-bye this afternoon, and his old man couldn’t even bother to be around.
Bet he’d made time to say good-bye to Woodman.

“Fuck it,” he growled, turning on his heel and heading back out toward his motorcycle. He had better things to do. He had a few more hours of drinking and fucking before a 5 a.m. bus from Lexington to Chicago and a three-month hiatus from both. He had—

The sound of quiet weeping distracted him as he exited the barn, and he looked up to see Ginger sitting in the hayloft opening, her legs hanging down and ankles crossed. She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders trembled with sobs.

As though shot through the heart with adrenaline, Cain turned back into the barn, running through the stall bay and up the hayloft ladder, bending over at the waist to walk under the low-pitched roof as he made his way over to her.

“Gin?” he said softly from a few feet away, anxious not to startle her.