Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(12)

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.





PART TWO




Three years later





Chapter 4


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 *,” 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 f*ck 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.