Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(51)

She nodded, her smile slipping. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll be upstairs. Call if you need me, huh?”

Cain lay down on his back, staring up at pipes, grateful that his face was finally hidden from her. “Will do.”

***

Never having had a close woman friend, it surprised Cain how easy and fun it was for him to have a friendship with Ginger over the next few days.

As she came home with groceries on Saturday afternoon, he helped her unload her car, joking about her choices as they stacked frozen dinners in the freezer. “Remind me not to come sniffin’ around here for a home-cooked meal.”

“Ha!” she retorted. “I can make biscuits and gravy with the best of ’em! But it’s late when I come home from work, so forgive me for not whippin’ up dinner from scratch.”

He accompanied his father to Lutheran church on Sunday, running into Ginger and her parents at the Country Diner after services. While his father visited with Ranger and Miz Magnolia for a moment, exchanging pleasantries, Ginger had raised her eyes dramatically at Cain.

“Don’t tell me you were at Sunday services! Did the roof cave in?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes twinkling and her voice even but not unkind, “you were.”

“Well, I didn’t see you there, Miss Virginia. People in glass houses—”

“I’m Presbyterian,” she said, grinning at him.

“Welcome home, Cain,” said Ranger McHuid, half standing to offer his hand. “Looks like the service is treatin’ you well, son.”

“Thanks, Mr. McHuid. It’s been good for me, sir.” He slid his eyes to Ginger’s mother. “Nice to see you, Miz Magnolia.”

“Why, Cain. You always were a handsome devil,” she said, simpering as he shook her hand. “Sophie said you’d . . . improved.”

Uncomfortable around Miz Magnolia, he dropped her hand quickly and shifted his eyes back to Ginger. She picked up her orange juice and sipped it to cover a giggle. When she set it down, she mouthed, “Most improved!” He felt the smile crack his face and damn near started snickering before the waitress interrupted to show him and his father to their table.

He found himself looking for her on Sunday, but they must have been running in different directions because he didn’t see her. Nor on Monday, and by Monday afternoon he realized he was missing her sweet smiles and fun banter. Taking a walk up the driveway to see if she was home, he was disappointed to see her cottage dark and wondered where she was and with whom. Before his jealousy could get out of control, however, he remembered that she’d returned home late from work last Monday evening, too, when they’d said their first hellos on the darkened driveway.

She’s at work.

She’s just at work, not with . . .

Woodman.

Except she could be with Woodman.

His jaw tightened and his fists balled at his sides right before his eyes widened in horror. Fuck. Fuck, no. He wasn’t jealous of Woodman, was he? Fuck. He was. He was jealous of anyone who got to spend time with her because he wanted her to himself.

“Aw,” he groaned, “this is no f*ckin’ good.”

He turned around and headed back down the driveway muttering, Just friends, just friends, just friends in his head like a mantra until he was safely back at the barn.

Lying in his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, he knew it wasn’t okay to be jealous of Woodman. First of all, it was stupid since Woodman was the better man in almost every way, and second, Woodman needed Ginger. Cain just . . . aw, f*ck it. Cain just wanted her.

For the rest of the week, he’d studiously avoided her, even hiding in the bathroom of the tack room apartment once when he saw her approaching the barn through the window of his father’s little kitchen. She wasn’t his, he was leaving in a week, and he had no business developing the sort of feelings that led to jealousy. No, sir. He’d avoid her until it was time for him to leave, and that was that.

***

On Thursday he rode his bike over to Belle Royale to check on Woodman. As he pulled up, he noticed an oil leak on the driveway and asked to borrow his uncle’s tools. Woodman used his crutches to get to the porch and sat on the steps in the sunshine, keeping Cain company as he tinkered on his motorcycle.

“So,” asked Cain, seated on the ground beside his bike, back to Woodman, a wrench in his hand. “You got a job? At the firehouse?”

“Sure did. Remember Gloria Kennedy?”

“Cute redhead with huge ta-tas?”

Woodman chuckled. “That’s the one. She’s havin’ a baby next month, which leaves them short a dispatcher, so she’s trainin’ me for the job.”

“That’s great,” said Cain, genuinely pleased. Woodman looked way better since last Friday. His color was better, his beard had been shaved, and he’d moved with more purpose and confidence from the back patio to the front porch. “Perfect fit for you, son. By the way, you look a hell of a lot better’n you did. How’s the physical therapy goin’?”

“It sucks,” said Woodman, “but after PT, I head to the fire department every day, and you know? It feels good, Cain. Real good. Sort of balances out the bad, you know?”

Cain’s heart, which had been in knots, expecting Woodman to say that time spent with Ginger was responsible for his improvement, relaxed, and he let go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.