“Says the gal oglin’ me from her kitchen window.”
“You know what, Cain?” she said, pivoting around with the coffee in her hands.
“No. Tell me what, Gin,” he volleyed back, sitting down at her small table and looking up at her with a twinkle in his eyes.
She giggled, shaking her head at him as she would at a naughty boy who was incorrigible and adorable. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Is that right?” he asked.
“That’s right,” she whispered, holding his eyes until his smile faded and his eyes grew dark and hot.
Finally he swallowed, looking down at the eggs she’d prepared. “No frozen pizza, I see.”
She placed the coffee in front of him and sat down at the other chair across from him. “I make good on my promises, Cain.”
He picked up his fork, about to dig in, when he suddenly stopped, looking up at her, seizing her eyes with a sort of desperate, grateful gaze. His lips tilted up as he speared some egg on his fork. “I’m glad to be home too.”
***
After breakfast, they went for another ride, dismounting again by the river and walking the horses side by side. As they meandered over the woods and meadows of Glenndale County, Cain told her about his last three years in the service—little anecdotes that made her smile, and even a few that made her eyes tear up. And what it all added up to was a man who was vastly more contented than the boy he’d been when he left, the sum of which made Ginger’s heart burst with happiness because a happy Cain might be a Cain who had room in his life for her.
“It’s like I was always meant to be a damage controlman,” he said, threading and rethreading Thunder’s reins through his fingers as they ambled at a steady pace. “I never loved horses, you know?”
“I did know,” she said. “I could tell.”
“I liked machinery.”
“Like your motorcycle.”
“Uh-huh. Like my bike. I never . . . I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, Gin, but I never really felt like I fit in here. In Apple Valley.” He scuffed the tip of his work boot on some pebbles dotting the path through Conrad’s Meadow. “Only thing that made it bearable was you and Woodman.”
“And the girls at the distillery,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance.
He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess. And them. But you know they didn’t mean nothin’ to me. Not like you and Woodman.”
They walked in silence for a few moments while Ginger savored the welcome warmth of his words. When she looked up at him, his angular face seemed almost soft in its own way—like for once he wasn’t fighting where he was or whom he was with, like he might actually be content.
“I’m glad that you and Woodman patched things up.”
Cain flicked a glance at her before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Me too. Almost fucked things up between us for good when I . . . when you and me, well, you know.”
“Woodman didn’t have a claim on me, Cain. I wanted you to kiss me.”
He kept his head down, his boots crunching over pebbles and fallen leaves as they ambled along the well-trod path that crossed the meadow. “You were young.”
“I knew what I wanted,” she said simply.
“Let’s not talk about it,” he said tightly.
Ginger bit her tongue and forced herself to be silent because she wanted to talk about it. She wanted to get it all out in the open. Why did he run from her every time it seemed like their relationship might veer from platonic to more? Why did he shut down their conversations when they approached the topic of their attraction to each other? Why wouldn’t he succumb to the feelings she sensed he had for her? It was maddening, especially since today was Saturday. Time was running down. A week from today, he’d be gone, and she didn’t have any idea when he’d be home again. She had this overwhelming, fierce need to make the most of the time they had left together.
“How’d you decide on nursin’?” he asked her.
“Huh. Well, my folks moved Gran to Silver Springs three years ago, and I would go to see her whenever I could. Guess I got used to bein’ there.”
“You like it.”
“I do,” she said, listening to the sound of their boots on the path. “I even love it.”
“That’s real good, Gin,” said Cain, elbowing her lightly in the hip. “How come you say it like it’s a secret?”
“My folks hate it. They would have preferred I go to college in Lexington or Frankfort, or somewhere like Vanderbilt.”
Cain scoffed. “Who gives a sh—snit what they want? It’s your life, not theirs.”
Warmth spread in her chest, and she turned to look up at him. Cain had always encouraged her to jump when everyone else wanted her to stay still, stay quiet, stay safe. How she longed for his swagger and strength as a constant in her life. How tiring it was to fight her little battles alone. Melancholy enveloped her as she thought about him leaving her again.
“You lookin’ forward to goin’ back on Friday?” she asked in a small voice.
He shrugged. “Half yes, half no.”