that! Do you know how depressed he was? Do you know how badly that injury fucked with his head? You didn’t see him. You weren’t there. He wanted to die, Ginger. He wanted to fuckin’ die! The thought of you—of comin’ home to you—was the only thing that kept him hangin’ on most days. You think I’d take that away from him? You think there’s any way in hell I’d hurt him like that? You think I’d let you hurt him like that? Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter if you love me. Fuck, it wouldn’t even matter if I loved you, Ginger, because I sure as fuck don’t hate him enough to destroy him!”
His words were furious and final, a sucker punch to her gut, that forced the breath from her body in one exhausted, painful whoosh. She sagged against the barn wall in defeat as tears streamed down her face. Cain made a small grunting sound as he stared at her, then swiped at his eyes before dropping his gaze to the floor.
He had rejected her advances completely, and something in her heart—something naive and childish that probably should have died a long time ago—splintered into a million jagged pieces.
“This conversation is over,” he said without looking up at her. “Go home.”
She blinked her eyes so that the last of her tears for him would roll down her cheeks and slip away. Then she lifted her chin and waited until he looked up and met her eyes.
“I know you love me, Cain. I can see it. I can feel it. I know it’s true,” she said, her voice broken and small as the words poured from the shattered place inside her. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. This is the last time you will ever reject and humiliate me. I promise you. The last time.”
Then, with all the dignity she could muster, she pushed away from the wall and walked past him, out of the barn, out of his life.
For good.
Chapter 13
~ Woodman ~
Sunday supper at the McHuids’ was not a new occurrence in Woodman’s life—he and his parents had been invited about once a month since he was a child, and he’d always put up with his mother’s and Miz Magnolia’s good-natured teasing, and shared uncomfortable looks with Ginger as their parents pretended to plan their wedding and name their imaginary grandchildren. But this time, he had to admit, their mothers were taking it a little far.
“Woodman,” said Miz Magnolia, waving away the server who paused beside her with a platter filled with sliced ham, “what are your plans now that you’re home? Steady employment? Lovely home? Blushin’ bride?”
“Momma, please,” said Ginger softly, her voice small and tired.
“Well, I’m just thinkin’ how stunnin’ it is here at McHuid Farm in June. Perfect place for a weddin’.”
She giggled, and Woodman’s mother swatted at her playfully. “Magnolia Lee, you are so baaaaad!”
But Miz Magnolia preened, winking at Sophie before fixing her eyes on Ginger. “You’ve been waitin’ for Woodman to come on home now, haven’t you, Virginia? Well, here he is. What’re you goin’ to do about it?”
Ginger’s cheeks flushed as she stared down at her full plate. She’d barely eaten a bite, and she seemed especially fragile tonight. It made him feel worried, and he was anxious for dinner to be over so he could speak to her alone.
“You are lookin’ just fine, Woodman, bum foot notwithstandin’,” boomed Ranger McHuid from the opposite side of the table.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Damn proud of you for servin’ like you did,” Ranger continued, helping himself to a third and fourth scoop of mashed potatoes.
“It was my honor to serve, sir.”
“Chip off the old block, eh, Howard?”
Woodman’s father nodded, taking a serving of ham and reaching for the saucer of honey on the table. “That’s right. Woodmans are naval men. Josiah carried on a fine tradition.”
Sophie smiled at her son indulgently, then flicked her eyes to a despondent Ginger. “Magnolia, your Ginger here arrived at my house last Monday in the sweetest little violet outfit.”
Ginger’s mother cut her eyes to her daughter with disapproval. “You did not wear your scruffs to Miz Sophie’s house!”
“Scrubs, Momma,” said Ginger quietly, by rote.
“Tsk! My God, I don’t understand this fascination with bedpans and old people. It’s just so unpleasant, daughter.”
“It’s your life, not theirs,” Ginger said in a broken, faraway voice.
Woodman kicked her lightly under the table with his good foot, warning her not to engage. It would only make it worse.