“He’s gonna catch somethin’ nasty from Big Tits Walker,” she said, hoping to shock him.
Woodman’s eyes widened for just a moment before the edges of his mouth tilted up. He chuckled softly in surprise and nodded, tilting his head to the side as he stared at her. “I guess that’s possible.”
His smile quickly faded, and his gaze became uncomfortably searing, so Ginger looked away again, her eyes seeking one last glimpse of Cain. He was just a speck in the distance now, making his way down the long country road that followed the Glenn River and led to the distillery.
“You should go after him,” she said, “and . . . and, I don’t know, ask him to go for a joyride on Daddy’s tractor or—”
“I’m not goin’ after him,” said Woodman gently. His voice was firm as he reached for her hand and pulled her away from the barn, back toward the party. “First off, wouldn’t do any good. You know Cain as well as I do. He’s goin’ where he’s goin’, and nothin’s goin’ to get in his way but God or weather. 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. 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.”
Taking one final look down the road, she let loose a long sigh as she realized Cain was not coming back and Woodman was right. Her mother would have a fit if she missed the cake. But Ginger’s heart ached to know that the same lips that had just brushed her cheek with such tenderness would be used for far less chaste activities for the rest of her birthday.
Her mother would say that she was too young to love Cain the way she did, with a full thumping heart and her preteen body going hot and cold whenever he came near. She knew this, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her parents and Gran—and even Woodman—had fussed over her since her broken-heart episode when she was five, always telling her what she could and, more often, couldn’t do. Cain was the only one who seemed to recognize that she was just as strong as anyone. He was the only one who challenged and dared her, who pushed her, who made her feel like she could do anything. He was an unlikely oasis from the smothering care of others who loved her, and she adored him for it. And most of the time, when Cain said “jump,” Ginger jumped, without thought or regard for the safety of her arm . . . or her good-as-new heart.
“Christ! You’re so quiet. Quit fussin’ over Cain,” said Woodman, an impatient edge to his usually gentle voice. “It’s your birthday, and I still haven’t given you your present yet.”
Looking up at him, she relaxed her hand in his and matched his stride, walking around the barn and looking up to see McHuid Manor on top of the green, rolling hills of her childhood home. The arch over the driveway bore a sign that read “McHuid Farm” and, just under it, “Ranger Jefferson McHuid III, horse breeder.” As her mother was quick to boast, her father was the “premier” horse breeder of Glenndale County, Kentucky, and for as long as Ginger could remember, McHuid Farm had hosted the wealthiest, most discerning horse buyers in the world.
In fact, her birthday party today included only five children—from Apple Valley’s most important families, of course—and about fifty adults from Lord only knew where whom her mother and father had invited. Like most of her other birthdays, the party was much more about everyone else in the world than it was about Ginger, which made Woodman’s thoughtfulness all the more precious to her.
“You got me somethin’?” she asked, the heaviness in her heart relaxing as she fell into step beside him.
“Course! You’re twelve. Hell, next year you’ll be a teenager, Gin, and then . . .”
“And then?”
He stopped halfway up the gravel road that led to the main house, the sound of glasses clinking and a fiddle playing bluegrass floating down to them on the breeze.
“And then you’ll be . . . well . . .” He swallowed, dropping his eyes to his shoes.
“Woodman?” she prompted.
He looked up, his cheeks pinker than they’d been before. “Nothin’.”
“You’re actin’ weird.” She smacked his arm lightly and grinned up at him. “Now, ’bout this present . . .”
He smiled, his features relaxing as he dropped her hand and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pink velvet pouch and offering it to her.
“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. “It’s just darlin’!”
“You like it, Gin?”