Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(108)

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 . . .

“Woodman,” she said.

“Huh?”

He’d been gesturing to one of three motorcycles raised up on small, foot-high, black-lacquered platforms. But now he turned to her, his smile fading.

“I chose Woodman,” she said, her voice faraway.

Cain nodded. “Yes, you did.”

She tugged her bottom lip into her mouth, her brain spinning, the past and the present colliding. Woodman’s gone and Cain’s here. Cain’s settling down and Woodman’s wandering. Wait. No. That’s not right. That can’t be right. Confusion and dizziness made her blink, and she reached her hand out to steady herself. She felt Cain’s arm snake around her waist, and he walked her into his office, helping her into a chair.

“I’ll get you some water.”

“Woodman,” said Ginger again, closing her eyes and trying to take a deep breath. “I want him to come back.”

She felt the cold glass press against her lips, and she opened them to let the cool water slip over her tongue and down her throat. When she was finished, Cain pulled the glass away, and she heard him set it on a nearby surface.

“Ginger,” he said gently but firmly, “open your eyes.”

She opened them on command, still feeling deeply unsettled as she looked up at Cain. He reached out to cup her jaw, forcing her to hold his gaze. “He’s gone, darlin’.”

She flinched, trying to escape his grip, but he increased the pressure of his fingers and kept his eyes glued to hers.

“He’s gone, and no amount of pretendin’ he’s comin’ back will make it so. You need to face his loss, Ginger. You need to deal with it.”

She didn’t fight the way he held her chin—it wouldn’t have done any good since he was much stronger than she—but she felt a coldness sluice through her veins as his words sank in, and she welcomed it. It felt good. It felt like a shield, like protection. It helped her tears dry and kept her voice low and steady when she finally spoke.

“You can force me to go ridin’ or to a wreath layin’ or even carolin’, but you can’t force me to grieve on your timeline, Cain.”

He flinched, his blue eyes sad and concerned. His voice was deep and rough with emotion. “I know what you’re doin’, and it ain’t healthy, darlin’.”

“I don’t care,” she growled. She jerked her face away and left his hand hanging in midair for a moment before he lowered it.

“I do,” he said intently, squatting down in front of her, “and Woodman would’ve too.”

His name. Hearing someone else say his name hurt. So much.

She took a shaky breath, sobbing softly when she let it go. “I’m really grateful to you, Cain. I’m goin’ back to work. I’m back on my feet. And this place is great. I wish you a lot of luck with it.” She paused for a moment, holding his eyes as she stood up, looking down at him. “But I want you to take me home now. And I need you to leave me alone.”

He stood up too, which changed their positions and forced her to look up at him.

“I’m only tryin’ to help, Ginger.”

“I know that,” she said, the coldness inside keeping her voice stoic and calm. She turned away from him and headed back to his motorcycle. “Now, please take me home.”





Chapter 27


For the next two weeks, grubby pajamas and greasy hair reigned once again, but this time there was no Cain stopping by to threaten and force her out of her comfort zone, which, if she was honest, bothered Ginger to hell and back. And she finally discovered—or had to face the fact—that the reason she was keeping herself so low was almost as bait for Cain, or out of protest for the way he’d tried to force her process. Yes, she’d told him to leave her alone, but she hadn’t meant it. What she’d really meant was “You can come and bother me, and we can spend time together, but only if we both pretend that Woodman went on a long trip and someday he’ll be home again.”

It was crazy. The logical part of her brain knew it was crazy, even knew that she couldn’t go on like this forever, but as long as she could keep her grief at bay, she would. She was terrified of what would happen once she was forced to face it.