He gave her a sheepish smile. “I just thought . . . well, honey, she was so excited about havin’ those things refinished. How about we take them and put them up in the attic for now?”
A brief rebellion flashed across her face—a little bit of the old Ginger spirit, and Woodman almost goaded her further because he missed that part of her. He wanted it back. But before he could say anything, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.
“Fine.”
Damn it! Fine again.
“Besides,” he said, “it’s just a weddin’ gift. What matters is that we’re gettin’ married. You and me forever, right?”
“Right,” she murmured.
“Happily ever after, Gin,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple.
“Happily ever after,” she said softly.
He clenched his jaw, thinking about the postcard in his pocket, thinking that now wasn’t the time to share that particular bit of news with her. He’d make some time later to have a talk with her.
It certainly wouldn’t help her present mood to know that Cain was coming home tomorrow.
***
As a freshly minted lieutenant in the Apple Valley Fire Department, Woodman could think only about—aside from Ginger and their upcoming wedding—being given permission by his doctor to suit up and start actually fighting fires again. But after six reconstructive surgeries at the Lexington VA Medical Center, which included a vascularized bone graft, an osteotomy, total joint replacement, core decompression, and two years of physical therapy, his injury still hadn’t healed completely. In fact, Doc Collins hadn’t even given Woodman the official okay to give up his cane yet.
It was a source of ongoing frustration for Woodman to watch the rest of the guys suit up and know that he couldn’t do his part. Sometimes he’d throw on a coat and go to the fire just to watch and be on hand, but he could feel it in his gut—the longing to be in the action, to be a hero again. He wanted it for himself, of course, but he also wanted it for Ginger. He couldn’t chase away the nagging thought that the reason she was unenthusiastic about their sex life might stem from the fact that she didn’t see him as a whole man.
When she’d first offered herself to him, that amazing night three years ago on her parents’ porch, he’d been so overcome with lust and devotion, he hadn’t really thought twice about taking her virginity and sharing his own. He’d been waiting forever to sleep with the girl he loved—he wasn’t going to say no when she suggested it. And while it had been quick the first time, she’d nestled into his arms right after, falling asleep against his chest, her warm soft skin touching his everywhere. Woodman had believed himself in love with her before that moment, but that’s when everything changed for him. After knowing the heaven of sleeping beside her, he could never give her up.
She was uptight and jittery about the wedding? That was okay. As long as they met at the altar and said “I do,” the wedding would come and go.
She still saw him as her best friend? That was okay too. They had a lifetime to find the romantic rhythm that all married couples eventually discovered.
She didn’t love sex? Well, Woodman figured that could be remedied too. The minute she saw him as a whole, fully functioning superhero of a man, she’d feel different about being intimate with him. He just had to get there.
“Woodman!” greeted Doc Collins, stepping into the exam room. “How we doin’, son?”
“Very well, sir,” he said, shifting his thoughts from Ginger to his ankle and praying that this time he’d be given a clean bill of health.
Doc Collins thumbed through some papers in a manila file folder. “How’s the ankle?”
“Real good, sir.”
“Any pain?” asked the doctor, locking his eyes with Woodman’s.
“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“But there is pain?”
Woodman shrugged. “Tells me when it’s gonna rain, that’s all.”
It was a lie. The pain was chronic and much more than an occasional twinge. Still, he wasn’t lying when he said he could handle it. He could. He did. Every day, without complaining.
Doc Collins cleared his throat, glancing at a chair in the corner of the room where Wodoman’s cane lap atop his jacket. “Still usin’ that cane like I told you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No skippin’ days, now?”
“No, sir.”
Another lie. He wasn’t using the cane and hadn’t for several months. He hated it and felt like an old man hobbling around. Ginger was young and gorgeous; he didn’t want to be escorting her to dinner or to the movies walking with a goddamned cane. Most days—unless the pain was truly outrageous—he left it at home.
His doctor took out an x-ray and held it up to the light. “Everythin’ looks good, I have to say. Bones seem to be healed and settled. Pulse ox in your toes tells me the circulation is fine. You’re tellin’ me there’s no pain. We’re surely gettin’ there, Woodman.” He placed the file on the counter behind him. “Why don’t you lie back and let me take a look.”
Woodman lay back on the crackly tissue paper and held his breath. This was the closest he’d ever come to getting the okay to go back to work.