Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(37)

“You’re my best friend, Woodman. Of course I’m—”

“Here we are!” said Miz Sophie, joining them on the porch and handing Woodman’s rucksack to Ginger.

She nodded at Woodman’s mother in thanks before glancing up at him and did a double take at his expression. It was hard and frustrated, annoyed and seeking. What? she wondered. Why’s he so—

Of course.

You’re my best friend.

That’s what.

She couldn’t seem to do anything right tonight. She wore the wrong clothes, made the wrong greeting, asked the wrong questions, and hurt his feelings by slapping him into the friend zone when he wanted more from her. Fine. Time to go. She’d head home in a minute, but not before she made sure he was taking his meds correctly. The nursing student in her couldn’t leave without making certain.

She rifled through the outside pocket, taking out an amber vial of Vicodin and holding it up. “See this?”

Woodman nodded curtly.

“Says ‘Take as needed every four to six hours for pain,’ right?”

He nodded again.

“Are you in pain?”

His eyes were still narrow and hurt when he nodded yet again, but this time he added in a low, frustrated voice, “Yeah, Gin. I’m in pain.”

She almost flinched at the double meaning in his words, but controlled her expression and ignored his innuendo. “Then you should be takin’ one every four to six hours. When did you last have one?”

He shrugged, looking away from her. “I had half of one at four.”

“It’s eight thirty. Take another.” She opened the vial and shook one into her hand, holding it out to him.

He took his time reaching for it, claiming and owning her eyes as his fingers lingered far longer than necessary in her palm. “Fine.”

She watched as he placed the pill on his tongue and chased it with coffee before opening wide to prove it was gone. “Happy now?”

She wasn’t happy.

She wasn’t happy that her friend was in pain, either because of his injury or because she couldn’t give him what he wanted.

She wasn’t happy that Cain was finally home, because it had taken a long time for her to bury the heartache he’d caused her, and his sudden presence in her life was likely to bring it all to the surface again.

No, she wasn’t happy.

“Yes,” she said, standing up to say her good-byes. “I’m happy now.”

***

Ginger had chosen to become a nurse after her grandmother had been transferred to Silver Springs, three years ago—hell, she spent so much time visiting Gran and volunteering there, she already knew the facility inside out and most of the residents by name. When they had first moved Gran to Silver Springs, she seemed to improve. Seemingly cheered by the camaraderie of other seniors (she affectionately called Silver Springs the Old Folks Country Club), she still got around on her own and became very popular in many different social circles at the residence half of the facility. But just last month, Gran had taken two falls, the second worse than the first, and fractured a rib. And while the doctors had grudgingly decided that she didn’t require a wheelchair quite yet, she was in significant to severe gait decline, which had affected her spirits. She had to start considering a move to the Silver Springs Care Center across the street, which was little more than a really lovely nursing home with proper hospital facilities.

Between Gran and Woodman, both frustrated by the limitations of their bodies and taking it out on those around them, it promised to be a terrific autumn, she thought sourly, then quickly chastised herself for such unkind thoughts. She was able-bodied, healthy and hearty—she had no right to judge Gran, whose traitorous body was giving up on her way too soon, or Woodman, who was retired from a job he loved at twenty-one and would likely be crippled for life.

“I’m just tired,” she muttered, turning into her driveway. “I’ll get into bed, and it’ll all look better in the mornin’.”

But her intentions were thwarted when she saw a lone figure, standing by one of the paddock fences, turn in the spotlight of her headlights and face her car. She couldn’t really make out more than a tall silhouette, but she knew who it was. She knew exactly who it was, and her breath caught as her eyes burned with sudden and tiresome tears. As she braked without thinking, she clenched her fingers around the steering wheel and braced herself to come face to face with heartache after three years apart.

He raised his hand in greeting, crossing in front of her car to come say hello, and though it vaguely occurred to her to hit the gas and run him over, she decided that homicide would only make a bad night worse, so she pulled up the emergency brake and rolled down the window instead.

And—Lord Jesus, Mother Mary, and all the saints in heaven—he’d somehow gotten even better-looking while he was gone. Her lips parted, and a soft, whimpering sound escaped from her throat, but she prayed he didn’t hear it. If anything, he looked a little unsettled himself to be in her presence again. As he strolled over to her car and rested his hands on the windowsill, she clamped her lips shut and tried desperately for a cool expression. She had no idea if she succeeded, because she was so distracted by the throbbing of her pulse in her ears.

She might have murmured “Welcome home,” but she couldn’t be sure.

“Hey, princess.”