“You were friends. Now? You’re not. But it’s gut to be friends.”
“Friends.”
Klaus nodded. “Don’t ficke sie like the others.”
“Pop!”
“A father know his son. I know you’re popular with the Damen.”
“She’s different,” said Cain.
“Ja. She’s special,” said Klaus. “So go unclog the princess’s sink and make everything gut. Take my advice. I’m old. I wish I had made things right when I had the chance.”
As Cain walked up the driveway with his father’s toolbox, he reflected that his father’s words were the closest he’d probably ever come to admitting that McHuid’s and his love of horses had gotten in the way of his marriage, but there was a peace to hearing his father confess it. And it allowed Cain to quietly forgive his father too.
He wasn’t sure if it was because of a change in his attitude or the fact that Woodman wasn’t around to steal his father’s attention, but Cain found himself enjoying his father’s company. Yes, Klaus talked about horses an absurd amount, but it was passionate, good-natured talk, and because Cain had practically grown up at McHuid’s, he found he was able to contribute a great deal to the conversation. It made for pleasant evenings of slow-cooked chicken paprikash and boiled spätzle with cheese, full of unexpected camaraderie, and Cain felt grateful for the opportunity to get to know his father again, to see him through a new lens.
Since returning home, Cain hadn’t been down to the Glenn River Distillery a hell of a lot either, though a couple of his old friends had stopped by to invite him to join them for a night of drinking. The contrast in their lives was startling. Cain had sailed the world, learned how to protect an aircraft carrier from all manner of fire, taken control of his life, and developed pride in his service, while most of them had lingered around Apple Valley for the past three years, mooching off their parents, getting fucked-up at the distillery, and holding down shit jobs. He just didn’t feel like he had much in common with them anymore, and besides, he was anxious to show his father, and everyone else in Apple Valley, that Cain Wolfram could be more than troublemaking white trash.
A few of the girls he’d “dated” had stopped by, too, and Cain had to admit, they were still looking pretty fine. Point in fact, after he drove Woodman to the fire department tomorrow, he had a date with Mary-Louise Walker to get reacquainted at her place. And by reacquainted, he intended to fuck her five ways from Sunday and watch those epic tits rock and roll all over her apartment until dawn. His mouth watered just thinking about it.
“What are you doin’ here?” demanded a saucy voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up to find Ginger, hands on her hips, standing on old Mrs. McHuid’s little front porch.
“Why are you livin’ here?” asked Cain, gesturing to the manor house with his chin before looking back at her. “Castle not to your likin’, princess?”
She rolled her eyes, flicking a glance to his toolbox. “Klaus sent you to fix my sink?”
“Always wanted to get a look at your plumbin’, Gin.”
Her lips parted in surprise before she huffed in annoyance, turning her back to Cain as she stomped back into the cottage. But one, he could have sworn he saw her lips tilt up before her show of pique, and two, she left the door open.
Chuckling softly—because, Lord, the woman knew how to hold a grudge—he followed her inside, noting that she stood in the far, far corner of the tiny room—as far away from sink as possible. She gestured to it with an open palm. “It’s clogged.”
Setting his father’s toolbox down on the floor, he took a moment—stole a short moment—to look at her.
She wasn’t very tall, maybe five-foot-five inches, just tall enough for her head to nestle perfectly under his chin. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail again, but she wasn’t wearing her glasses from Monday night. She didn’t wear makeup either, not that she needed any: naturally she was, hands down, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of what the world had to offer. Her yellow T-shirt was scoop-necked and hugged her perfect size B tits like a fucking dream, and her jeans, standard Levi’s, cupped her rounded ass like they’d been custom-made. Her waist was trim, hips narrow, and Cain knew her legs were probably even more toned now