Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(96)

The door opened and slammed shut, and Cain looked over at Ginger.

She still looked pretty terrible, but her face was scrubbed shiny, her wet, freshly washed hair slicked back in a tight bun. She was wearing a clean sweatshirt that read “ I ? Nursing” and jeans that hung slack on her thin frame.

“Well, you look a little less awful,” he observed.

“The compliment of my dreams.”

“At least you’re clean.”

“I even put on deodorant,” she sniped.

“Thank God for small mercies.” He paused, staring at her baggy jeans. “When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

“You know what? Screw you, Cain.”

She turned around and reached for the doorknob to go back inside, but Cain grabbed the hand that swung back and held it tightly, keeping her on the porch.

“We’re ridin’,” he growled, ignoring the warmth of her hand and the way it felt clasped in his. It was a long time since he’d voluntarily touched her skin like this. Even when he’d told her about Woodman and carried her to her room, he hadn’t touched her skin. And at the funeral home, she’d reached for his hand, not the other way around.

She turned to look at him, flicking a quick look at her hand in his before snatching it away.

“Christ! Fine! I’ll ride, but I’m not talkin’ to you.”

“Fine with me. Can’t say your conversation is rockin’ my world much this mornin’ anyhow.” He stepped off the porch, giving her a no-nonsense glare. “Now let’s go.”

***

Ginger had no idea what had propelled her feet upstairs and into the shower. She had no idea why—amid bitter complaining—she’d pulled on fresh underwear for the first time in three or four days and found a clean pair of jeans and sweatshirt from her month-old unfolded laundry basket in the corner of her room.

Then again, for most of her childhood, when Cain said “jump,” Ginger jumped. So perhaps she’d just been shocked into autopilot by his sudden appearance on her doorstep. Besides, she had to grudgingly admit that it was a relief to feel something again, even if she felt manhandled, pissed off, and annoyed.

For all the murky water under their mutual bridge, Cain was still someone she’d known her whole life. Not even her parents had been able to get through to her the way Cain just had. On the most visceral possible level, Cain affected her—always had, and maybe, she thought ruefully, he always would. Oh, she’d never allow herself to fall for Cain again, or to feel the rush of joy she used to feel in his presence—she was too jaded by his rejection to ever be that stupid again—but their connection, for lack of a better word, was forged over a lifetime, and she could feel it now between them as they walked in silence, side by side, down to the barn. The snap and crackle of energy, the way their footsteps had synchronized within moments of walking, the way he felt beside her—familiar, warm, and strong, even if he hadn’t been able to love her the way she’d once loved him.

Historically speaking, he’d hurt her more than any single person in her life, but there was a comfort to walking beside Cain that she recognized, that made her feel less lonely. And in that quiet fellowship, she found the smallest morsel of the peace that had been denied her since Woodman . . .

Since Woodman had gone away.

“We may not be the best of friends, Gin,” said Cain, as though sharing the same wavelength on which her thoughts were traveling, “but Woodman loved you. So I’m not just goin’ to—”

She spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to talk.”

“I get that, but I just wanted to say—”

She stopped walking, put her hands on her hips, and watched him continue down the driveway until he realized that she wasn’t beside him and turned back around to face her.

“Don’t talk about him,” she whispered, her voice a hair short of crazy. “I mean it.”

Cain flinched, his eyebrows furrowing for just a moment as he stared at her, searching her face. “At all?”

She was clenching her jaw so hard, she was afraid it would pop. She couldn’t speak, but she managed a jerked shake of her head.

Cain nodded slowly, holding out his hand to her to coax her along. “Okay.”

She glanced down at his hand, then back up at his face, and stepped around it, refusing to touch him, but was relieved when he fell back into step beside her.

After two hours of riding side by side in utter silence, they returned to the barn. Ginger slipped down from Heath and led the mare into her stall, quietly removing her bridle and saddle and hanging them up. She nuzzled the horse’s nose gently.

“I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, pretty girl. I’m sorry I’ve been away so long.”

Cain peeked through the stall slats at her. “Want a cup of coffee?”

She shook her head, still looking at Heath. “No, thanks.”

“Tea?”

“No.”

“Hot chocolate?”

Sighing with annoyance, she turned from her horse and left the stall, locking it behind her. “No.”

Cain nodded. “Okay. Then I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday. How about I pick you up at ten?”

She wrinkled up her nose, facing him. “What are you talkin’ about? For what?”