Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(15)

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.

She gasped in surprise and turned at the waist to look at him, dropping her hands flat on the planks behind her.

“Cain,” she sobbed, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Thought I might’ve heard a m-motor below, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Aw, princess,” he said gently, stepping over hay bales to make his way to her. He sat down carefully, letting his legs dangle beside hers and putting his arm around her shoulders. “What’s got you so sad?”

She sniffled, her small body shuddering as she laid her head on his chest like a wilted flower. The scent of her shampoo—fresh lemons—surrounded him, and he flinched, closing his eyes and memorizing the smell so he could pull it out and remember her when he was far away from home.

Since the day of her twelfth birthday, when Cain had first started seeing her as a woman, Ginger had appeared regularly in his dreams. But even his fantasies were careful of her. Sometimes fully clothed, oftentimes not, she represented something lovely and untouchable, something clean and innocent that squeezed Cain’s heart. Whether she was naked or not, her softness, her goodness, her undiluted, luminous beauty, beckoned him like an answered prayer, but Cain kept his distance. He never f*cked Ginger in his dreams. He stared at her from afar. He silently worshipped her. He wished things were different.

She sniffled again and raised her head, looking up at him. Her deep brown eyes were filled with tears, but still huge and seeking, framed by dark lashes. Her lips, at which he’d stared a million times, were full pillows of soft pink, and her body had filled out into womanhood in the most distracting ways: full, high breasts, slim hips, and legs than went on for days. He rarely allowed himself to be alone with her, knowing how desperately he craved her and how unworthy he was to have her.

Cain consumed women. He ate them for lunch and licked them clean for dessert. He turned them from soft, pliant, smiling creatures to spitting, narrow-eyed harpies who hated him. But he’d rather die than to ever see Ginger’s eyes flash at him with hurt, full of hatred.

Besides, Woodman loved her.

And he’d loved her longer.

And he’d love her better.

In every way that mattered, Woodman was the better man—smarter, richer, clean and honorable—and since Ginger deserved the best the world had to offer, Cain had no business going near her. And he hadn’t. Fuck, how he’d tried to stay away.

Still, he couldn’t see her so upset and just turn his back on her. Ginger had a right to the bit of softness in his tired, bitter heart, and if she needed him, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from her.

“Tell ole Cain what’s got you so sad, baby.”

She sniffled again, adjusting her head until her soft hair nestled into his neck, caressing his throat.

“Besides the f-fact that you and W-Woodman are leavin’ tomorrow?”

“Aw, Gin. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“What if you get s-sent to w-war?” she sobbed.

“Well, we just might,” he said soberly. “They need good men in Iraq.”

“You could d-die.”

“Is that what you’re worried about, baby?” He hugged her closer. “Ain’t no sense in fussin’ over that. I’ll look after Woodman, and he’ll look after me.”

“It scares me, C-Cain. I don’t know what l-life looks like w-without you t-two.” She hiccuped over her words, sniffling mightily and gasping for breath as she finished speaking.

“You listenin’ to me, Miss Virginia?” he asked, his heart hurting from her tears, twisting to know that his decision to enlist was wringing such sadness from the princess.

“Uh-huh.”

“Then f*ckin’ look at me,” he demanded.

She slid her head off his chest and looked up at him, her wide eyes glassy and bloodshot. Her lips parted in surprise at his words, but she held her breath like it would keep her tears from falling.

“Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to Woodman and me, baby. I promise you that.”

“You c-can’t—”

“Yes, I can.” He reached for her chin and held it firmly, the soft skin making his fingers tingle. “I promise you. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me, and you can bet your sweet ass ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to Josiah while I got breath in my body. We’ll be back here to catch you on your eighteenth birthday, you hear?”

“I h-hear.”

He nodded, offering her a little smile. “That’s my girl.”

She nodded back at him, but her eyes immediately filled with tears again, and she exhaled on a sob even louder than the ones before, letting her head hang down in sorrow.

He couldn’t f*cking bear it anymore.

“Don’t make me spank you, Miss Virginia,” he said severely, and she whipped her head to face him, snorting in such an unladylike way, it made him laugh. “Oh, you look a sight, princess.”

But her surprised smile was fleeting, and her mouth trembled into a deep frown as she wailed, “Robby Hanson’s got strep throat,” before letting her head fall back onto Cain’s chest.