Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(105)

“I can understand that,” he said softly, turning out of McHuid’s to head into town. “I’m glad to hear you’re movin’ forward, Ginger . . .” He glanced over at her and sniffed experimentally. “. . . and showerin’ regularly again.”

“Always such a flatterer,” she said, giving him a pissy look.

“If you’re lookin’ for someone to blow sunshine up your ass, I ain’t a contender for the job. Ain’t never seen you as a china doll, princess. Sorry.”

His words sank in, and she felt the stark and utter truth of them. Cain had never treated her like she was fragile. Hell, her mother barely let her leave the house after her heart issues, but there was Cain, goading her into jumping from a two-story barn window. There was Cain, who didn’t soften the blow of his rejection when he told her he didn’t want her. And now here was Cain, threatening her, forcing her out of her house, back into the world, when, truth be told, she would have kept watching TV in dirty pajamas for a much longer time.

This was textbook Cain for as far back as she could remember—challenging her, getting under her skin, but treating her like an equal, even though he called her princess. There were times when he had her back, as he had at the funeral parlor, when Miz Sophie jumped down her throat, but as a rule he didn’t mollycoddle her, and unlike everyone else, he didn’t underestimate her either. Somehow the way Cain treated her made Ginger want to be more, to be stronger, to be better. Maybe because he believed in her in a way that nobody else did. He believed she was strong, and that made her strive to be strong.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, straightening her spine and raising her chin as she looked out the windshield. “Because I’m not a china doll. Never was.”

Cain nodded. “Don’t have to tell me. I’ve always known that.”

“How?” she asked, turning to him. “How did you always know that when everyone else always treated me like . . .”

She gasped, realizing where her question, where her train of thought, was headed. It would betray Woodman, wouldn’t it, to admit that he didn’t see her as strong? He didn’t see her as an equal. He saw her as delicate and fragile. He saw her as someone to protect and manage. Wait. Not saw but had seen her as someone to . . .

She inhaled sharply and squeezed her eyes shut as her mind tried to change the tense of her thoughts to the past.

No!

“Stop,” she said quickly. “I mean, f-forget it!”

“Actually, I’d like to answer you, if that’s okay,” said Cain, glancing at her as they stopped at a red light close to Silver Springs.

“Cain, please just . . .”

He spoke over her. “When your heart got all screwed up, when you were a kid, the whole town knew about it. The little princess at McHuid’s was airlifted to Vanderbilt, they said. Maybe she’ll die, they said. Poor little thing, they said.” He stopped talking, clenching his jaw for a moment and staring at her, his eyes fierce. “I hated it. I hated every word. I hated the thought of losin’ you. I was only eight, but I told myself that if you came home, then you were stronger than death, Gin. Stronger’n death, with the heart of a lion. And I told myself that if you could beat death, that would make you the strongest little girl in the whole world.”

“Cain . . .,” she said softly, moved to tears by a version of her story she’d never heard before.

A car beeped at them from behind, and Cain thrust his middle finger into the rearview mirror before shifting back into drive. He stared out the windshield as they pulled into the care center.

“And then you came home,” he said, pulling into a parking space and turning to face her. His face, his beautiful face, was trained on her, his eyes soft, his lips tilted up just a touch. “You came home. And you were runnin’ around and yellin’ and playin’ and ridin’ just like always, and I said to myself, My God, it’s true. She’s stronger than death. She’s stronger than anythin’. And it was so strange to me because no one else seemed to see it. Your folks pulled you outta school and got you a tutor, and your momma tried her best to keep you quiet, keep you inside. No one else seemed to see that you were so strong, you’d beaten death. No way life was goin’ to take you down if death couldn’t finish the job.”

Ginger took a deep, shaking breath and lowered her chin to her chest, which tightened with emotion. “But life does get me down.”

“Course it does.” Cain nodded. “I know it does. I know that, Gin.” He shrugged. “Still doesn’t change the fact that when the clouds part, you’re goin’ to be okay. You’ve got the heart of a lion, princess. And you’ve got the fightin’ scars to prove it.”

She thought of all the times in her life he’d called her “lionhearted l’il gal,” and suddenly it made sense to her. He was referring to her strength. He’d been talking about her survival.

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.