Willow's Way

by Sharon Struth

  No water. No power. Filth. She couldn’t sleep here. Finding a place to stay would cut into her funds, but until she got some basic twentieth-century functions restored, what choice did she have?

  But the cab driver had left. Damn.

  She returned to the porch. Inhaling the fresh air didn’t relieve the stinky scent from the refrigerator, but she worked hard to forget about it while using her phone to search the internet for a room. The Clemmens B and B, right here in Bitton and just over a mile away, had a room available.

  Hell, in her slimmer days she used to run five miles as a warmup. She could walk a mile and a half.

  After reserving a room online and paying for it with a credit card, she went back inside and started to list what she’d need to get this place cleaned up. For several hours, she got lost in the details of her cleanup on the main level, leaving the second story and attic for another day.

  When finished, she locked up and briefly inspected the outside. Through the woods, she spotted the white cottage where Jilly had said she lived. How did a child so young deal with the loss of a parent? As she stared at the house, she wondered how long Jilly had lived there, and where she and her dad would live if Willow sold this property.

  For a moment, grief slithered around her, pulling her to a sad place. Mostly for the little girl, but also for her own losses. She blew out a breath, releasing pity and turning to good old common sense to gain perspective. Jilly’s father must’ve known someday the owner might come along and he’d have to move. She’d make sure the lawyer gave them plenty of notice, so they didn’t get stranded without a place to live.

  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the train ride.

  She rushed back to the porch, grabbed her luggage and headed to the end of the long driveway. As she turned onto the main road, all the excitement that had driven her energy upon arrival dwindled with her need to sleep.

  She walked slowly. Around ten minutes into her walk, a passenger van passed her going in the opposite direction. She recognized the driver as the man from the train.

  Funny he’d be here. The address on his van had been in Bath. When he’d asked where she was headed, she hadn’t told him Bitton. Must be a coincidence.

  A minute later, the sound of an engine behind her made her glance over her shoulder. He must’ve turned around, because the van followed her. A coincidence or… Wait? Had he followed her cab here?

  She picked up speed, walked with purpose. Same as she’d have done in the city at night, if someone nearby left her alarmed on a quiet street.

  The engine sound moved closer. And closer. He pulled alongside her, his passenger window already rolled down, and stopped. “Hey there, Rosebud. Remember me?”

  In Manhattan, she’d learned to be street savvy, but the friendly calm of this area could fool anybody into letting their guard down. She slipped her free hand into the pocket of her jacket and wrapped her fingers around her phone.

  She forced a smile. “Yup. Nice to see you again.”

  He looked her up and down, then square in the eyes. “Need a ride?”

  “No, but I appreciate the offer.”

  She glanced around. The area wasn’t remote. There were houses and buildings. Just no people outside. A few years ago, she’d taken a class on self-defense for women. For what it was worth. She’d missed half the classes because work had been busy, but one move vaguely stuck in her head, good to use if someone tried to pull you into—

  “I didn’t expect to see you in Bitton.” He smiled.

  “No?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you follow me here from the train station?”

  His smile slipped. “What? Why on earth would I… Look, Rosebud, I didn’t follow you. I’m just a guy driving home from work.”

  “Could you stop calling me Rosebud, please?”

  His brows lifted and he studied her for a moment. “I’m afraid we didn’t have a proper introduction on the train.”

  Even if he wasn’t a killer, he was kind of pushy, and she didn’t like pushy people.

  He stuck his hand out the window. “I’m Owen—”

  “You know, I’m well versed in self-defense.” The second the comment passed her lips, she wished she’d just shut up. She couldn’t remember how to perform the one maneuver she might need to use, let along be considered well versed.

  “Oh, are you now?” A slow smile crept across his lips.

  She was tired. Hungry. And his smirk pushed the button on her slowly building irritation. She lifted her chin and held up her cell phone. “I don’t want to have to call 9-1-1, but I will. Don’t underestimate me, sir.”

  “Oh, trust me, I don’t.” His rich brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “But a lot of help calling that number will do you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s 9-9-9 here for emergency calls.”

  Her face warmed. If he’d offered the ride with ulterior motives, why would he share such information?

  What an idiot I am.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead. Now she did want to run, mostly out of embarrassment.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” He frowned and did look like he felt bad. “Just teasing you.”

  “I see you’re just being kind with your offer, but I’m fine on my own.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll let you get on your way.”

  She forced a smile, so he didn’t leave here believing all Americans were nuts.

  The van did a three-point turn and he headed back in the direction he’d first been going, giving her a quick wave as he accelerated away. As he did, she remembered how he’d given her a business card on the train, definitely not something an attacker would do.

  Yup, a big idiot. She trudged forward and hoped she never ran into him again.

  * * * *

  Jeesh, women!

  Cute but paranoid.

  He turned off the road and followed the driveway to the fork. For a second, he considered checking in on the house before the owner arrived, but he could do it after supper or tomorrow.

  Swinging to the right, he followed the tree-lined dirt driveway leading to the cottage. A spot on the thatched roof above the white stucco exterior showed damage. Was it new or had he just not noticed it? Maybe he’d call Dad tomorrow, see if he could fit in a quick repair.

  A good time to mention he needed part-time work. Sure, he’d have to eat humble pie. His past responses when Dad had tried to convince him to help carry on the business hadn’t always been polite. Like one whooper he’d said at the cocky age of twenty-one. Hell will have to freeze over before I’ll become a roof thatcher.

  Owen cringed and wished he could do that moment over again. Back then, he’d been young, cocky, and rude to a man who worked hard to take care of his family. Despite the way his father constantly put down the things Owen enjoyed, the man didn’t deserve that kind of snarky comment from his kid.

  He parked and gathered his things. Henry trotted out from around the side of the house and, spotting the van, bellowed a war cry worthy of a Viking. Seconds later, Jilly appeared. Where one went, the other followed.

  He kicked the van door shut with his foot. “How’s my favorite girl and favorite dog?”

  Jilly approached. “We’re good, Daddy.”

  Henry let out a low “wooooooooo,” a very PBGV greeting.

  Owen had never heard of the unusual hound breed until he’d met up with Tracey one night at Rory’s Pub during a break in his European tour schedule. They’d dated in high school for a while, going their separate ways after graduation. That night, some sixteen years later, he’d learned that Tracey’s life had literally gone to the dogs. She not only raised this hound breed but also ran a successful grooming business and showed dogs for other owners at prestigious shows.

  Henry reached Owen first. He patted the wire-haired dog on the head
then swooped Jilly into his arms. At six, she was getting big for swooping. Still, he didn’t care.

  “Did you bring me anything?” She watched him seriously, her large chestnut eyes making him incapable of ever getting upset with her.

  He lowered her to the ground. “Now why would I do that?” He reached inside his jacket pocket, slowly removing the other candy bar he’d purchased. He held it toward her. “You wouldn’t want this, would you?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “My favorite!” She squealed as she swiped the bar from his hand.

  His heart lifted with a surge of love for his daughter, the joy on her face always a gift. Especially after what happened to her mother. “But wait and eat it after dinner.”

  “Did you get anything for Henry?” Jilly put a hand on her hip and waited. He’d swear she was six going on sixteen.

  Henry wagged his tail and watched Owen with the same expectant expression.

  “Nothing for Henry today. And don’t give him candy. He could get sick. How about we stop and buy him a bone at the butcher on our way to dance class later?”

  “Okay.” She patted the dog’s head. “Sound okay, Henry?”

  More tail wags from the most agreeable animal on the planet. Tracey had called them “the happy breed.” Henry proved her right.

  They walked to the house, Jilly chatting away about her day.

  He’d never take a moment like this for granted. After Tracey died, Jilly had cried herself to sleep every night. Once she’d been assured they could stay here, she’d been better. Worry over the latest news caused Owen’s gut to flip-flop.

  He reached for the solid door and turned the knob. “Nan inside?”

  She nodded, and he noted the pigtails he’d so carefully tied for her this morning were still in decent shape. “Can I play on the swings until dinner?”

  “Sure.” He glanced down, happy to see she wore sneakers, like she’d said when he’d called her from the train. Last week she’d tripped running in sandals. Proper footwear fit under things a father wouldn’t think about, but a mother would. “Yes. Don’t go far. We’re eating soon.”

  She took off, the dog at her heels.

  He entered the cottage. “I’m back.”

  A delicious scent captured his attention. The sound of the oven door opening led him to the kitchen, where he found his ex–mother-in-law leaning over the stove, basting a chicken with her back to him. “Hi, Bea.”

  “How’d it go for this morning’s meeting?”

  “Good. Got a new client.” He stole a cherry tomato from a salad on the counter. “Thanks for getting dinner started.”

  She shut the oven door and straightened. “It’s no problem.” She wiped her hands on an apron tied at her waist. “Glad to hear you drummed up some new business.”

  “Sorry again about the change in my workday.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Please, Owen. I don’t ever mind.” A quick flash of pain showed in her eyes. Tracey’s suicide seemed to be a part of every conversation, without anybody bringing it up. “Being here for both of you is the least I can do.”

  “Well, it doesn’t mean I can’t say thanks.” He smiled, wishing he could erase her pain. Erase Jilly’s pain. Hell, they all shared the same ache, just in different forms. “I got an email from the lawyer who handles this land. After all these years, the owner plans to claim the place.”

  “Oh my.” Bea frowned, age lines on her thin face deepening. “So you’ll need to find a new place to live?”

  “Eventually. Hopefully they’ll take their time getting here. The owner lives in America. That should give me a little time.”

  She glanced out the window facing the swing set, her deep-set frown no doubt demonstrating the same concern for Jilly as Owen. “I wonder if that would explain something Jilly told me.”

  He took a long drink of the beer. “What’s that?”

  She turned to Owen while untying the back of the apron. “She ran into someone at the house this afternoon. An American woman.”

  Owen shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the kitchen chair. The blonde he’d met walking down the road and on the train took on a new light. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “What else did Jilly say?”

  “Not much.” Bea chuckled. “Only that the woman took ballet and tap lessons when she was Jilly’s age and she definitely liked Henry.”

  “Well, who doesn’t?” They both laughed, then Owen said, “I doubt it’s the home owner. The lawyer said he’d just spoken to the US attorney a few days ago.”

  “Then it wouldn’t seem so.” She tossed the apron on the counter and smoothed her knit top at the hips so it flattened to her jeans. “We worried this day would come. Gerard and I could make some room for you in our apartment, but…” She drew in a long breath. “Long term, two more people and a dog could be an issue in our small place.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.” For only a split second, he let himself imagine Jilly without Tracey’s favorite dog, who’d attached himself to Jilly since her mum died.

  Bea turned to him and he forced a smile. No sense in worrying her.

  She motioned to the stove. “Fifteen minutes, the timer’ll ring. Take out the chicken. Don’t forget about dance class tonight. I’ve got to get home. Gerard and I are going out with friends for dinner.”

  “Have a good time.”

  Bea grabbed her purse and a sweater off the kitchen table. “Tomorrow I’ll get Jilly from school and come over here. Take your time with the tour—if it gets late, I’ll tuck Henry safely in your house with his dinner and feed Jilly at my place.”

  She turned and walked toward the door and he followed. “You’re an angel, Bea. I couldn’t do it without you.”

  She pulled open the door, and glanced over her shoulder, watching him with glistening eyes. “Anything for you two.”

  She smiled weakly and left as he called Jilly inside. Henry ran to Owen ahead of her, glancing back to make certain Jilly was close behind. What if he did have to get rid of Henry in order for them to find a new rental in their price range? Could he do it?

  The weight of the thought nearly smothered him. Nope, it would be like her mother dying all over again.

  Once the owner of the house showed up, he’d think about what he could do to delay a move. Anything was worth a shot for his daughter’s happiness.

  Chapter 5

  Willow turned down the gravel driveway, where a white sign with painted flowers in each corner read Clemmens Bed and Breakfast. She approached the two-story building with a plain white stucco exterior and clay tiled roof.

  Her feet ached, her bladder screamed for release, and her stomach rumbled like an approaching storm. She should’ve taken that ride from...What was his name? Her mind had been preoccupied when he’d said it, and now she couldn’t even recall what letter it started with.

  At the bed and breakfast’s rustic, wood-stained door, a sign read Entrance, so she walked inside. Across the room was a mahogany desk surround holding a check-in plaque. She went over, taking note of the lobby’s comfortable sofa, creamy walls, and homey decorations. Very Hallmark-store.

  “Hello?” she called.

  A pleasant-sounding woman sang from another room. “Be right there! I’m just trying… Hold on.”

  Seconds later, a short, slightly plump woman came out of a doorway behind the reception desk. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  “Yes. I have a reservation.”

  She frowned. “Oh? We weren’t expecting anyone this afternoon. I wonder if Eddie—”

  “I just made it online. Not long ago.”

  “Ah, I see. I thought maybe my husband took it and didn’t tell me. He does that sometimes.” She exhaled loudly and brushed a strand of light-brown-and-gray hair escaping her bu
n near her temple. “I’m exhausted. I’ve been in back doing some cleaning. Online you say?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned to the computer. “Eddie usually does these reservations, but he stepped out. Now let me see…”

  She slowly tapped the keyboard with her index fingers.

  Willow waited patiently, then leaned forward and saw her last name on the screen. “There I am. Willow Armstrong.” She smiled, hoping she wasn’t being too pushy, but her physical needs beckoned.

  “Oh, thank you, dear.” She tapped a few more buttons, then glanced up. “I’m Edna Clemmens, by the way. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  “I hate all this technology.” Edna’s forehead crinkled as she stared at the computer screen for a moment, then poked at the keyboard again. “My Eddie, he loves it. Got us all set up with this system, but I miss the days when the phone would ring and I could talk to whoever wanted to book a room.” She looked up. “Do you know what I mean?”

  Willow’s bladder screamed, “Hurry up,” and she crossed her legs. “Yes. Things sure have changed. So my reservation is okay?”

  “It is, dear. I see you paid when you booked.”

  A door opened somewhere in the house and a man yelled. “I’m back!”

  “In the lobby. We have a guest checking in.”

  “Yup. I saw it online. Got the back room upstairs ready.”

  “Shall I get Eddie to take your bag?” Edna turned around and took a metal key off the rack hanging on the wall.

  “No need. I can handle it.”

  “Then off we go.”

  They followed a hallway with cream-colored walls, each lined with wooden plaques with sayings such as, “Families are like fudge; mostly sweet with a few nuts,” and “Find Joy in the Journey.”

  The first door they passed held a hand-painted sign identifying it as the Daffodil Room, with a bright yellow flower of the same name. Willow’s stomach growled. “Is there a restaurant nearby?”

  “In town, there’s Rory’s Tavern. A lovely pub. We just finished afternoon tea, but I can make you a little plate of food and something to drink if you want a snack before dinner.”