Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(24)

“Least I could do. Her date got strep throat.” And her other date is a bona fide *.

“That’s just fine.” His father cleared his throat meaningfully. “A real reminder of what you got waitin’ at home, son.”

Woodman felt his cheeks flare with heat as he nodded at his father. Though he appreciated the fact that his parents and the McHuids expected him and Ginger to end up together, sometimes it felt like there were a few too many cooks in that particular kitchen.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll drive you to the station tomorrow mornin’,” said his mother. “Just us three. We can say our good-byes then.”

“Yes, Momma. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Giving her son a somewhat happier smile, Sophie Woodman nodded, whisking her perfectly manicured fingers at him. “Well, scoot then! Go get ready for your dance, handsome.”

He kissed his mother on the cheek and nodded to his father, leaving them alone in quiet elegance as the sun slipped below the horizon.





Chapter 6


Ginger



“Gran!” she exclaimed, bursting into her grandmother’s kitchen, holding her homecoming dress in one hand and a large canvas bag in the other. “I’m here!”

She hung the dress on the coat hook by the door and placed the bag, which held hot rollers, makeup, three jewelry options, two shoe options, and four bottles of perfume, on one of two kitchen chairs. Scattered all around the small kitchen were taped-up moving boxes, which only multiplied as Ginger headed through the small dining room and into the screened porch.

“Doll baby,” her grandmother greeted her, reaching for the cane that had become omnipresent. “Your parents . . . leave yet?”

Ginger’s parents, who were on the board of the Apple Valley Country Club, had dinner plans tonight, which left Ginger to get ready at her grandmother’s cottage. All things considered, it was for the best. They wouldn’t have been pleased to hear that Ginger was being escorted to the dance by Cain and may have even forbidden her to go. Better to apologize later than ask permission now.

“No, Gran, don’t get up,” said Ginger, bending down to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “Daddy’s still in the pasture with Bit-O-Honey—she had a girl!—but Momma left a while ago. She needed to check on the centerpieces.”

“Magnolia does like . . . things . . . perfect.”

Though her grandmother’s mind was as sharp as ever, her body had become a minefield of tics and trembles over the past few months. The tremors had gotten worse, her physical movements had slowed to a tortoise pace, and she had trouble walking and balancing, resulting in several serious falls and finally necessitating a move to Silver Springs, the local retirement center/nursing home. Ginger’s father had secured his mother their best-possible accommodations: a private suite with two bedrooms, a living room, a galley kitchen, and a bathroom. It was a lovely apartment, and Gran would be well cared for, with dining and activities available for all residents, plus twenty-four-hour nursing assistance and the adjacent nursing home for when that day came.

But, for the first time in Ginger’s fifteen years, her gran wouldn’t be living in the cottage one hundred feet from the manor house. She’d be living all the way across town, and the timing—Gran’s move was scheduled for the same weekend that Cain and Woodman were leaving for boot camp—made it all the harder for Ginger, whose loneliness encroached at an almost unbearable speed.

Gran spoke slowly, struggling to keep her words clear. “You look . . . brighter’n . . . a new cop-per penny. Good to . . . see a smile . . . back on your . . . pretty face.”

“Can you keep a secret?” asked Ginger, sitting down in the chair beside her grandmother and grinning.

“You know . . . I can.”

She tugged her grandmother’s hand from her lap and embraced it between hers to keep it from shaking. “We kissed, Gran! Cain kissed me.”

“Oh, my!” she gasped.

“My first kiss,” sighed Ginger, beaming.

“And? How . . . was it?”

“Heaven,” said Ginger, releasing her grandmother’s hand gently and sitting back dramatically in her rocker. “Pure heaven.”

“So it’s Cain . . . is it?”

“Always, Gran. It was always Cain,” said Ginger softly.

“Why?” asked her grandmother, a flicker of worry flaring in her eyes, “when Josiah . . . is so . . . good to . . . you?”

A pang of guilt made Ginger frown for a moment. “It’s not that I don’t love Woodman.”

“So you . . . love them . . . both?”

“Of course,” said Ginger. “Just in different ways.”

“Cain sets . . . your blood . . . on fire.”

Ginger blushed, looking up to meet her grandmother’s eyes. “He does.”

“And Woodman?”

Ginger covered her heart with one palm. “He’s . . . he’s . . .”

“Your heart?” asked Gran hopefully, flicking her blue eyes to Ginger’s hand.

“My friend.”

During the lonely years when Ginger was homeschooled, her grandmother had become her most trusted confidante, her most intimate friend. She didn’t shy away from any conversation topic with Gran, but she also knew of Gran’s strong preference for Woodman over Cain.