Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(7)

“And you’re thinkin’ . . . what? You want to be her boyfriend?”

His face was entirely serious as he answered, “Someday, yes.”

“You stakin’ a claim here, Josiah?” he drawled, trying not to laugh.

“Yes.” His cousin’s eyes were grave and serious, and his voice carried the tone of a man taking a vow. “I am.” He paused for a moment, staring at Cain, then asked, “You got a problem with that?”

“Nope.”

“Sure? Because I’m serious about this. About her.”

“Serious about a little kid?” said Cain, a snicker escaping as he slapped Woodman on the back. “Hell, cuz, you ain’t gonna get any honey from that little hive for a long, long time while I got a real woman waitin’ for me. Frankly, I just feel sorry for you.”

“I don’t mind the wait,” said Woodman softly. “I’m . . . well, I’m goin’ to marry her someday. I’ll wait for her forever if I have to.” He shrugged Cain’s hand away before snapping, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Cain nodded, still chuckling at Woodman’s ridiculous crush. “Yup.”

“Were you even invited here today?”

“Nope.”

They both knew he wasn’t.

“Surprised you made the cut,” said Cain, unable to keep a slight bite out of his tone, “with the amount of time you spend muckin’ horse shit with my dad.”

Woodman crossed his arms over his chest, looking imperious. “I’m here with my folks today, not as a stablehand.”

“Of course you are,” said Cain, feeling sour. He flicked a glance at the sparkling gold high school ring on Josiah’s finger. Cain’s parents hadn’t been able to afford one for him, and since Cain was saving up for a pair of wheels, he’d gone without. “With the pretty hands to prove it.”

“Hey, now.” Woodman held up one callused palm. “My hands are just as--”

Princess Ginger suddenly appeared in the doorway of the barn with her hands on her hips and her face heaps of mad.

“Ain’t jumpin’ today?” asked Cain smoothly, cutting off his cousin.

He didn’t want to hear about how Woodman worked just as hard as he did. Whereas working at McHuid’s was bread and butter for Cain and Cain’s family, Josiah saw his work at McHuid’s more along the lines of a hobby. Cain and his father were there out of necessity. Woodman was there because he enjoyed it. There was a world of difference in their calluses, and Cain didn’t feel like comparing them.

“Y’all are supposed to catch me together!” Ginger pouted, folding her arms over her chest.

Her chest.

Wait a minute now.

Her . . . chest.

Little Ginger had a chest: two small mounds tented the front of her yellow and white sundress. When the hell had that happened?

Lifting his eyes quickly, he fixed a grin on his face. “Well, darlin’, at least your momma won’t come after us with a danged fryin’ pan this year.”

His cousin stepped toward her and wrested her arms apart, sliding his hand down Ginger’s tan arm to clasp her fingers. But Ginger didn’t seem to notice—her eyes were locked with Cain’s.

Again, Cain felt a small, but certain, jolt of surprise as he looked deeply into her deep brown eyes, framed with long lashes, curled at the ends. Was that eyeliner she was wearing? And mascara? When had Princess Ginger started wearing makeup anyway? And when had her eyes gotten so mature lookin’?

“Shouldn’t be jumpin’ out of barn doors anymore anyway,” said Woodman, his voice as tender as his gaze was cow-eyed. “You’re twelve now. A young lady.”

Ginger looked up at Woodman, her pretty eyes resting on his face for a moment, and something totally unexpected, incredibly ridiculous, and a lot like jealousy flared within Cain.

“A young lady!” he exclaimed, leaning down to grab his jean jacket and shrug it over his broad shoulders, uncomfortable with the way he was feeling. “Whoo-ee! What a joke! Woodman, you only see what you want to see, cuz!”

“She’s twelve,” said Woodman through grated teeth, a murderous glint in his eyes.

“’Zactly! Twelve. She’s a kid.” Whether he needed to prove the point to her or himself, he wasn’t sure, but Cain chucked her under the chin as he would a baby. “And if you ain’t jumpin’, missy, I’ve got places to be.”

Her brown eyes flashed. “But there’s cake!”

“Got somethin’ sweeter’n cake waitin’ for me,” said Cain, forcing his eyes not to drop to her small breasts again. Mary-Louise. Mary-Louise and her big available titties are waitin’. The princess is just a slip of a kid. Just a kid. “Not to mention, we all know I ain’t invited to Miz Magnolia’s festivities.”

“We’ll run up and git you some!”

“No, thanks,” he said quickly, turning away.

“You can’t just leave!”

Suddenly, Ginger’s fingers were hot and tight on his skin, digging into the flesh of his arm, and Cain’s mind flew to the gutter with such speed, it almost made him dizzy. Those same fingers clutching the back of his neck . . . clutching at his chest . . . clutching at his—