Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(41)

The twenty-one-year-old cripple whose life had changed too swiftly to ever feel safe or predictable again.

Woodman’s fingers curled into the seat on either side of his hips as they pulled into town. Whatever life was beginning, its success and greatness depended on one person and one person alone, and Woodman silently prayed that his destiny was woven into the beatings of her heart.

***

He didn’t know that his mother had called Miz Magnolia until Ginger arrived, out of nowhere, standing in the patio doorway.

“Woodman,” she said, her voice warm and lush, as welcome as summer rain and the sweetest music he’d ever heard. “Woodman, it’s so good to . . .”

Her smile was huge, hurting him with longing just as much as it made his veins throb with pleasure. Sadly it only lasted a moment. Her eyes widened as she scanned his face and frowned.

“Where are your meds?”

“Hello to you too, Gin.”

“Hello, Woodman. Where are your meds?”

Just as he’d feared, she saw him as a patient right out of the gate. He concealed his disappointment by rolling his eyes. “Upstairs somewhere.”

Ginger turned to his mother. “Miz Sophie, would you be an angel and bring Josiah his meds?”

In addition to Cain, Ginger also used his given name from time to time, but almost always when she was scolding him, which he absolutely loved.

“You’re not takin’ them like you’re supposed to.”

He was so glad to see her, he grinned at her, shaking his head back and forth.

“Gin, for the love of God, would you just come sit by me and let me kiss you hello? Take off the nursin’ hat for one minute and welcome me home, dang it.”

“Welcome home,” she said softly, leaning over him. He caught a whiff of her lemon-scented shampoo and tilted up his face to meet her lips with his, but she disappointed him by kissing his forehead gently, like he was breakable. All things equal, he wished she hadn’t kissed him at all. As she stepped back, taking the seat across from him instead of the one beside him, which would have let him hold her hand, he felt a chill pass through him. It was as though his worst fears were being confirmed. Did she see him as less of a man now?

“Did your retirement come through yet?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“But it will.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Then what?”

Bitterness and disappointment made his tone caustic. “Then I’ll be retired from the Navy at twenty-one.”

“No,” she said. “I mean, college? Work? What comes next for you?”

He shrugged, wishing she’d leave. He hadn’t been ready to see her—he hadn’t been prepared. He looked awful, felt awful. He wanted to look spit-and-polish for her, and instead he looked beaten and weak.

“Not college. I’ve had enough of takin’ orders for a while. I don’t know, Gin. Can I just get used to bein’ at home first?” he snapped.

Her eyes widened with hurt, and she sat back in her chair, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It’s okay,” she said, giving him a small smile that lit up her whole beautiful face and made his heart clench with the wanting of her. “I’m really, really glad you’re home.”

Well, that’s something. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Hope multiplied. “Really, Gin?”

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

Fuck, f*ck, f*ck, fuuuuuuck.

“Here we are!” interrupted his mother, handing his rucksack to Ginger.

Her timing was impeccable. If he’d already lashed out at Ginger for asking about his plans, he was about go to ballistic when she called him her best friend. But his mother’s presence tempered his response, and he clenched his jaw, staring daggers at Ginger until she got the point and looked away. She busied herself looking for his meds, finally holding up a vial. “See this?”

All he saw was the girl of his dreams treating him like a patient, not a man. He nodded curtly.

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

He nodded again.

“Are you in pain?”

He looked at her deep brown eyes, drowning in them, terrified that an injury he never saw coming would be the thing that ruined his chances with her for good.

“Yeah, Gin. I’m in pain.”

She flinched slightly, fully aware of his double meaning, before lifting her chin and schooling her expression into Nurse McHuid’s. “Then you should be takin’ one every four to six hours. When did you last have one?”

He shrugged, looking away from her. Go, go, please go. I can’t bear this anymore. “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 cut his eyes to hers, then, slamming into them, nailing them, owning them, hoping that she could see that there was still a strong, vital man sitting in this chair with his shattered foot up on a flowered cushion. He was a man and she was a woman, and they would fit together like lock and key if she would only give him the chance. She would never want for anything. He’d spend his whole life making her happy. If she could only see him—only see the wellspring of his love for her and deign to accept it.