Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(43)

Woodman felt relieved when Cain nodded, an encouraging smile on his face. “Glad to hear that, son.”

But it wasn’t enough. He needed to hear it. He needed to know that Cain had no designs on Ginger. He wouldn’t rest easy until he was reassured.

“You wouldn’t . . . I mean, I know you’re stayin’ there at McHuid’s for a few weeks, and you two had that incident a few years ago, but you’d never make a move on her . . .”

Leaning forward, Cain placed a hand on his cousin’s knee. “You staked your claim years ago, son. She’s yours.”

A rush of powerful relief coursed through Woodman, and he felt his whole body relax just as a shot of adrenaline and hope sluiced through him. Cain had no interest in Ginger, and besides, he was leaving in two and a half weeks. And while Woodman would miss his cousin, he’d be the man left in Apple Valley, ready and willing to court Ginger. Lord willing, it would all work out as it was supposed to.

He grinned at Cain. “Hey, maybe you’re right about the fire department. Maybe they could use someone to, I don’t know, answer the phone, like you said, or I could share some of my trainin’, or . . . What do you think?”

“I think you won’t know until you ask.”

“Give me a ride over there?”

Cain chuckled at Woodman’s sudden gumption, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. “I will. But give it a few days, huh? Rest up first, okay? For your momma’s sake.”

Sighing, Woodman sat back, knowing that Cain was right, but frustrated that a plan was forming in his head and he wasn’t able to jump at it as he would have before the accident. “Friday, Cain.”

Cain had agreed to come back on Friday to take him to the fire department, but in the meantime Woodman had taken out his laptop and set it up on the kitchen table, determined to familiarize himself with the department and maybe even to figure out where a man like him could be useful.

He wasn’t expecting Ginger, but when the doorbell rang and she walked into the kitchen with his mother a moment later, he was glad to see her all the same.

“Gin!” he greeted her, looking up from his computer.

She looked like a picture, her hair all soft and golden, wearing fancy pants, a dark blue sweater, and pearls. It occurred to Woodman that she’d dressed up for him, and his heart just about exploded with gratitude and hope. Smiling broadly, she reached out a hand and he took it, squeezing it affectionately as he drank in the sight of her pretty face, letting his eyes dip lower, to her full breasts straining against her sweater as she sat down. She caught him, giving him a look of censure and pulling her hand away before sitting down.

“You sure look nice.”

“Thank you,” she said, sitting across from him. “Thought I’d stop by. Didn’t like how we left things last night.”

Nor did he, although seeing her had given him a bit of a kick in the ass. He was determined to get back on his feet faster than ever now.

“Woodman,” said his mother, “I’m runnin’ to the market. Anythin’ you need?”

“No, thanks, Momma,” said Woodman, his eyes totally focused on the gorgeous girl across from him. “I got everythin’ I need right here.”

His mother scurried out, and Ginger blushed a deep pink, which made Woodman grin like a crazy person. He affected her, and the knowledge was so welcome, he could have cried.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, getting up and walking across the kitchen to the refrigerator. “I think it makes your momma jealous.”

He chuckled at her remark but composed himself when he realized she’d given him the perfect opportunity to share his feelings with her.

“But it’s the truth, Gin. It’s how I feel.”

His conversation with Cain this morning had primed the pump, so to speak. She was eighteen and he was twenty-one, and Woodman had loved her ever since he was eight years old. It was high time to put his cards on the table.

“I’m home now,” he continued. “Stable. Not runnin’ off again.” He paused, wishing she’d turn around and face him. “I’m ready for somethin’ serious, Gin. With you.”

“Woodman, we’re not . . .”

He tensed. Oh God, sweet girl, don’t call me your friend again, when we both know I could be so much more.

“Not what?”

“You’ve been gone for three years,” she said, walking back to the table holding a carton of cream.

“That’s right. And now I’m home, and I want to be with you, dar—”

She looked up at him, frowning. “Do we have to have this conversation right now? I have so much on my plate. I’m in school and workin’, and Gran’s sick, and I just don’t . . . I mean, I don’t have time to date anyone, Woodman. I don’t need this kind of pressure on my life.”

Her words weren’t unreasonable, nor did they friend-zone him, nor did they outright reject his offer. Seen in a certain light, she was merely saying that his timing wasn’t good, and he could buy that. In fact, he agreed that his timing wasn’t good, but ever since the accident, he’d been anxious for control over his rapidly changed, out-of-his-control-feeling life.

Woodman could deal with bad timing—hell, he could even deal with being friend-zoned because he was sure he could wait her out and wear her down. But there was one reason for her not wanting him that he wouldn’t be able to change or fix.