Now, she had just made a fairly sexual observation about Mary-Louise Walker’s bosoms, hadn’t she? What if he employed the same crude style of sexual observation? Would it be okay or make things awkward between them? “Second? Pardon me, Gin, but I’m not cockblockin’ my only cousin. He might be a jackass, but that don’t mean I don’t love him.”
When she didn’t flinch at the crassness of the word he’d chosen, he realized that they’d just a cleared a new level of communication in their relationship that now included observations of a sexual nature, and a tremor of sweet awareness made his heart thrum. “And third? Your momma’s fixin’ to bring out the cake any minute, and there’ll be hell to pay if you’re not there to blow out twelve pretty candles.”
She walked beside him, but Woodman still felt her pull to the road, to follow Cain, wherever he was going.
“Christ! You’re so quiet. Quit fussin’ over Cain!” he said, feeling impatient. Instantly regretting the sharpness of his tone, he gentled his voice and added, “It’s your birthday, and I still haven’t given you your present yet.”
“You got me somethin’?” she asked, finally turning to him, her voice considerably warmer for the first time since Cain had left them.
“Course!” he said, grinning down at her. “You’re twelve. Hell, next year you’ll be a teenager, Gin, and then . . .”
“And then?”
. . . and when you’re a teenager like me, maybe you’ll let me take you to the junior prom, or let me be your first kiss, and—please God—let me be your first everything else, too.
Carried away by the thoughts in his head, he abruptly stopped walking and cast his eyes down so she wouldn’t see the longing there.
“And then you’ll be . . . well . . .”
“Woodman?” she prompted, the edge of a held-back giggle in her voice.
He looked up at her, at her smiling brown eyes and wide smile.
I love you, he thought, his fifteen-year-old heart threatening to beat out of his chest. I love you so much, Gin.
“Nothin’.”
“You’re actin’ weird,” she said with a light smile, smacking him on the arm. Her eyes twinkled with anticipation. “Now, ’bout this present . . .”
The little pink velvet pouch had been burning a hole in his pocket all afternoon. Fishing it out of his starched khakis, he offered it to her on his outspread palm.
“What is it?” she demanded, reaching for it with an excited giggle.
“Open it and see.”
She pulled the drawstring and opened her hand to catch whatever was inside, sighing “Ohhh!” as a silver charm bracelet caught the setting sun behind them and made the shiny metal sparkle in her palm.
Woodman lifted his gaze quickly to her face, watching with undiluted pleasure as her lips turned up into a surprised smile. She flashed happy eyes at him. “It’s just darlin’!”
His heart thrilled. “You like it, Gin?”
“I love it!” she said, surprising him by throwing her arms around his neck.
Woodman sucked in a surprised breath and held it while the world stood still.
While holding hands was run-of-the-mill for him and Ginger, full-body contact was not. He had noticed her breasts this summer—small and rounded beneath her T-shirts and Sunday dresses, but now, pressed flush against him, he couldn’t help his body’s reaction to her. It took all his self-control not to drop his lips to her bare shoulder and rest them there, as he silently prayed that his johnson wouldn’t stiffen so much that it poked her in the tummy.
But even the prospect of that mortifying brand of humiliation wasn’t enough for him to consider letting her go. Exhaling in a soft hiss, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and leaned his head down to whisper in her ear, “I wanted you to have somethin’ special.”
As if on cue, the banjo picker on top of the hill at the party finished a bluegrass lullaby and started playing “Sweet Virginia.”
Woodman’s eyes fluttered closed as he held her, this child–woman whom he had loved for as long as he could remember, on whom he’d staked a claim today, letting Cain know—in no uncertain terms—that Ginger was his. Their hearts pressed against each other’s, and Woodman imagined them recognizing each other, silently communicating, agreeing to beat together. Reaching up, he smoothed his hand over her light blonde hair and sighed, trying to memorize how it felt to hold his girl in his arms.
Without warning, Ginger stepped away from him, and though he wished he could see her expression—to know if she was as affected by their embrace as he was—she kept her eyes down, staring at the bracelet in her hand.
“What all’s on it?” she asked, her voice a little shaky.
Despite his prayers, his body hadn’t entirely listened, and Woodman needed a moment to recover from having her so close. He hoped to God she wouldn’t look at the slight bulge in his crotch as he cleared his throat.
“Uh, um, well, a little barn there . . . to remind you of the annual jump. And, uh, an apple. For Apple Valley. That there’s a little banjo, ’cause your pickin’ sure is gettin’ good. I thought that little silver horse looked like Heath. And then there’s . . . a, um…”