“Funny, I’ve never known you to be prone to exaggeration.” He grinned. “Come on. It’s like square dancing in the US. You’ve done that, right?”
“Yes, I have the horror of several gym classes seared in my memory.”
“Don’t be scared, Willow.” Jilly came over and took her hand. “It gets easier. Daddy gave me a lesson last night. I got better the more I practiced.”
“Is that so? Then Dad is a good teacher?” She glanced at Owen, who she swore blushed.
“Yes. Very good. He was…” Jilly drew in her bottom lip then glanced at Bea. “What was the word, Nan?”
“Patient.” Bea nodded to her granddaughter. “Your father is very patient.”
Owen clapped. “Okay. Enough talk about my stellar abilities. Down to business. Jilly, sweetheart, you partner with Nan and I’ll partner with Willow. We’re going to do a line dance.”
Willow listened to the instructions and refrained from further sarcastic commentary. If Jilly could do it, surely she could put on her big-girl panties and give this a whirl.
Owen led her through the six-count step, taking her hand and following at her side. He spoke to her softly, as if she were a timid animal, one step from fleeing at the slightest provocation. It wasn’t his voice that created a distraction, though. More like his guiding hand touching hers and those dark eyes, so kind, so inquisitive…
“Now step.” Owen lifted his voice.
He went left. She went right, and bumped into him.
“Sorry!” She let go of his hand. “See? I’m not good at this.”
“Nonsense.” He tilted his chin to his chest and whispered, “I think you weren’t listening carefully.” Then he winked.
Heat blasted up the back of her neck. “I was listening.” Owen raised a brow. “Well, sort of.”
They tried a few more times alone. She did slightly better, so they squared off with Jilly and Bea. The movements were, indeed, like a square dance. Not that it helped her any. Owen worked the group with patience and it didn’t go unnoticed by Willow that both Bea and Jilly caught on more quickly.
“Now, ladies, stay where you are. Let’s try it with music.”
Owen started a CD that played an upbeat violin jig. He hurried back to his spot. “Ready?”
They all nodded, but a stampede of butterflies cut a path through Willow’s belly.
They began. Willow did the first few moves correctly, her eyes never leaving Owen’s reassuring gaze. But when he turned in a direction she didn’t expect, she overcompensated her adjustment and bumped into Bea, bringing them to a halt.
They all laughed, including Willow, but her shoulders stiffened. Self-consciousness. A lifetime trait due to her size and the very reason she’d avoided overt physical displays. Any day of the week, she could stand at a podium and talk to hundreds of people, but she sure as hell wouldn’t want to dance in front of twenty. Behind a podium she could safely hide, but this dancing left her exposed in the worst way pos—
“Willow? Want to try again.”
She looked into his eyes. “I guess.” What she wanted was a glass of wine to loosen up. Maybe even two or three.
“You’re doing fine.”
“You truly are graceful, Willow.” Jilly kneeled at the dog bed, petting Henry. “Remember when we met? You told me your name meant graceful.”
A perfect teaching moment on irony for young Jilly, but when Willow glanced at the sincerity in the young girl’s eyes, shame nibbled away at her for being so gutless. “I do remember, sweetheart. Maybe I need to try harder.”
Three more times they tried. Three more times, Willow crashed into someone, missed a step, and then, finally, she stepped on Owen’s foot. Any goodwill she’d mustered to try harder evaporated.
Owen glanced at Bea and Jilly. “Do you two mind having a seat while I work with Willow for a moment?”
“How about I get some cookies while you two practice a little more?” Bea extended a hand to Jilly. “Come on, big girl. Help me out.”
They vanished into the kitchen. Willow watched as Owen did something to the music and then he returned to her side and took her hand. He led her to the center of the living room.
He faced her and took her hand. Placing it on his shoulder, he slipped one hand on the center of her back and wove his fingers through her other.
“This is regular dancing. I thought we were—”
“Shh. No talking, Rosebud. My God. If you were a twig, you’d snap in half. Relax. Get out of your head.”
“I’m not in my…”
Owen leaned back, watching her with that heart-melting grin that always seemed ready for use.
“Okay. Maybe I am. A little.”
Trumpets suddenly played, followed by Frank Sinatra’s smooth croon. Gershwin. She loved this music.
“Deep breath,” Owen said, his tone comforting. “I’ll do the driving.”
It took a minute to shake off the tension and do as he asked, but when she finally sank into his arms and relinquished control, he guided her like she was a marionette and he the puppeteer.
“What’s distracting you?” His low, husky tone fell close to her ear while his hand pressed more firmly to her back.
Right now? Your touch. Your intense eyes. “Nothing.”
“Do you really hate dancing that much?”
“I don’t know.” Yet a truth too embarrassing to share settled in her bones. She’d never felt totally comfortable in her own skin. But the roots were deeply embedded and hard to pull away from. So why? Why would this strange feeling still bother her?
She shut her eyes while he guided her. All the discomfort possessing her when they’d started wasn’t new. It developed over a lifetime, worsening in high school.
Then a bomb dropped in Willow’s mind out of nowhere.
A sliver in time, stored in the stockpile of small pains she’d accumulated in bits and pieces. Her friend’s sweet sixteen party. That day, Willow had worn a black velvet and chiffon dress. She’d never felt prettier. While waiting in the foyer to leave, she’d heard her mother talking in the upstairs hallway.
“Be nice for once, Charlie.”
“What?” He’d huffed a laugh. “I only said it’s too bad she can’t wear a dress a few sizes smaller. Jesus, it’s not like I said it to her face.”
But unwittingly, he had. And it still stung, all these years later….
“What do you think, Willow?” Owen tipped his head back and the painful memory returned to storage, where it could haunt her anytime she started to feel good about herself or her body. “Do you want to stop, forget the lesson?”
“No.” It was now or never. Charlie be damned. “Sorry for the attitude. I’m just kind of self-conscious. That’s all.”
“No need to be sorry. Do you like this music?”
“I love Gershwin.” The lyrics to “I’ve Got a Crush On You” wound around them, as fluid as the way he moved her.
Owen drew her close and whispered, “Get lost in the music with me.”
Willow closed her eyes, concentrating on the sweet caress of Sinatra’s voice and Owen’s unwavering yet gentle hand. The more she gave in, the easier moving became. Owen’s voice vibrated against her as he hummed the tune, leaving her unguarded, giving in, but not lost.
When the song stopped, he held her close for several long seconds. Then he leaned back and his dark eyes bore into hers. “See? You can dance, Willow.”
A warm feeling started, found in the way he’d said her name and the depth in his gaze as he studied her, making her entire body burn with a desire to dance in Owen’s arms all night. Weightless, happy, and supported. His lips parted, their eyes met, and she wanted to kiss him more than she’d ever wanted to kiss any man before. His hand slid along her spine, to the back of her head and she parted her lips as he leaned close—
“
Here are some cookies, Daddy.” Jilly burst in the room, her voice intrusive as an explosion. She carried a plate of cookies, her grandmother right behind her. “Nan said we could have two different kinds.”
They quickly stepped apart, but it didn’t stop Bea from offering a slight smile at them.
Bea took the plate from Jilly, put it on the coffee table, and took her granddaughter’s hand. “Come to the kitchen for a glass of milk, too, Jilly.”
As they returned to the kitchen, Owen left Willow’s side and shut off the music. The magic spell cast over them broken, Willow excused herself to go get a glass of water, but she wished that moment between them had gone on just a little longer.
Chapter 15
“You okay?”
Startled by Owen’s voice, Willow jerked her head around to look at him in the van’s driver seat. “Yes. I am. I’m glad Hettie agreed to see us today. How far are we from Bristol?”
“About ten minutes.”
Ten minutes until she’d face someone who might have all the answers her mother had hidden. Willow took a cleansing breath, but it did little to calm the whirlwind bouncing off the walls of her stomach. Much as she wanted answers, a slow reality that they might not be what she wanted to hear sank in.
Owen gave her a short smile then turned back to the road, not an ounce of tension visible anywhere on his body. But he was quieter than usual since he’d picked her up. Was he aware of the elephant in the car, thanks to a near-hit of their lips last night?
Sinatra had set the mood, but it was all Owen’s doing that her dance tension slipped away and she’d melted into his arms. Yup, all his doing. Had she imagined the attraction between them last night? Been mistaken that they’d been about to kiss?
“You seem quiet,” she blurted out, unable to stand one more second of not knowing. “Anything wrong?”
“No.” He glanced her way and smiled, but it didn’t have his usual sparkle. “Are you anxious about talking to Hettie?”
“Hell yeah. You know the expression ‘Be careful what you ask for’?”
He chuckled. “Let’s hope this works out better than that.”
Hope. It was all she had left.
Soon they parked along the street in front of the retirement home, a weatherworn, three-story brick building with mature shrubbery near the entrance. Once inside, they were directed to a cheery lobby with tangerine sofas holding lime-green pillows and light beechwood tables. They sat side by side on the sofa.
After a few seconds, Owen stood. “Come on. Let’s square off and practice our dance steps again.”
“You’re joking.”
“Dead serious.” He offered his hand.
“I guess we can.” She slipped her hand into his and stood. “They probably have good medical care here, in case I break one of your toes.”
He shook his head but the corners of his lips lifted. “We’ll use imaginary dancers in our foursome.”
“And you don’t think that’ll be more of a challenge?”
“Confidence, Rosebud. Confidence.”
He reminded her of the count and they started to dance. The music came à la Owen as he hummed the instrumental they’d used last night.
“Has anyone told you that you have a good voice?”
He stopped humming and placed a finger on her lips. “No talking. Dance.”
With a twinkle in his eyes, he resumed the tune and they performed the steps. Several staff members and residents gathered round to watch. The audience made her self-conscious, but Owen hammed it up for them and his attitude somehow made her relax. The steps came easier today, and she even made it through without a mistake. When they finished, he took her hand and they bowed to the lobby audience.
“Look at you.” He squeezed her hand. “You did it.”
As their eyes met, Owen’s had that same heated glow she’d seen last night. His voice dropped. “I’m so proud of you.”
Had she just seen pride, or something more?
“Excuse us.” A voice behind them snapped the magic in half.
Owen dropped her hand and turned around.
“Are you Owen Hughes?” A young male staff member stood behind the wheelchair of a white-haired woman wearing a plaid skirt and button-down sweater.
“Yes. Mrs. McBride! I’d recognize you anywhere. You look wonderful.”
“Oh, Owen. Still the same. Now, please call me Hettie. I caught the end of your dance number. Quite good.”
“Thank you. This is Willow.”
She smiled at Willow. “Hello, Willow. Are you the young lady related to Sarah and Derrick?”
She took a step closer to the chair. “Yes, I am.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“I wasn’t sure I understood everything Ronnie told me about why you needed to speak to me.”
Owen glanced around and asked, “Do you mind if we sit over there and talk?” He motioned to a table with four chairs.
“Not at all.”
The orderly left, telling them to contact him when they were through. Owen moved Hettie’s chair near a table while they sat around it.
Hettie and Owen talked about old times. Willow listened politely, but her head ran amok with how to raise the issues she came here to discuss.
Hettie finally turned to Willow. “So how can I help you, young lady?”
She took a deep breath and said, “Sarah and Derrick were my grandparents.”
Hettie’s white brows furrowed as she scrutinized Willow carefully. “Grandparents? They didn’t have any…” She studied Willow’s face again and her eyes opened wide. “Oh my goodness. Are you Chloe’s daughter?”
A tidal wave of relief rushed over Willow. “Yes! Then you knew my mom was pregnant?”
“Sarah told me.” Hettie frowned. “She remained close-lipped about it with others, but we’d been friends since childhood. Chloe’s last year at their house, she’d changed. Then she left…” She looked toward the window staring out into a courtyard, but her eyes glistened. “A very sad time for my friends. Very sad.”
A sad time. Sure, it wasn’t personal. Yet it reminded Willow she hadn’t been wanted from the start.
Hettie reached out and laid her frail hand over Willows. “I’m sorry, dear. If Sarah and Derrick met you, I’m sure they’d have put aside their worries about Chloe’s out-of-wedlock pregnancy. They were just so, well, traditional. Things were so different back then.”
Willow patted her hand. “I’m sure their daughter’s ordeal was very hard on them. Do you remember exactly when Chloe left home?”
“Strangely enough, I’ll never forget because we’d celebrated my sister’s fortieth birthday the day before. Two days after Christmas in”—she shut her eyes briefly—“1975.”
The calendar marked with an L on a date after Christmas, confirming everything Willow suspected. “Any idea where my mother went?”
“At first Sarah and Derrick suspected foul play and reported her missing to the constable. A few days later, one of Chloe’s friends told them she’d run away from home. To London, of all places. They worried so much about her alone in that big city.”
“She must’ve left London before the summer. I was born in July in Manhattan.”
Hettie nodded. “Years later, Sarah learned from another friend of Chloe’s that she stayed in London a month. She’d gone off to America with a man she met in London. How she found money to cross the pond and ended up in the States they never knew.” Hettie closed her eyes and swallowed while shaking her head.
Willow placed a hand over her forearm and slowly rubbed. “It sounds like you were very close to my grandparents. They were lucky to have a friend they could trust.”
Her eyes opened slowly but her sadness lingered. “They were good people. They deserved better from Chloe.”
An
ger swelled inside Willow. Her mother. A woman who cared so little about her own parents she’d denied them a granddaughter. Who didn’t care enough to grant her daughter a life knowing them, too.
Since the car accident that took her mother’s life, Willow had conveniently forgotten all the selfish and self-absorbed traits her mother possessed. Beauty had gifted her a certain kind of power. Even Willow wanted to be in the path of her popularity. Mom didn’t think much about others. If she had, she might not have let Charlie’s verbal abuses continue toward Willow’s appearance.
She took Hettie’s frail hand. “I wish more than anything I could have known them, too. Being at their house, I’m seeing the things they loved and did. I know they knew I existed, or I wouldn’t have been in the will, but what I wouldn’t give to spend a day with them.”
“I’m sorry you are going through this. Knowing my friends, Sarah wanted to reconcile their differences with Chloe, but that Derrick made a mule look agreeable.”
“Well, it’s history now.”
Hettie’s eyes brightened. “Did you find Derrick’s paintings and Sarah’s collectibles?”
“I did. I’ve packed some to take back to the US with me.”
“They’d be happy you did.”
“I’m hoping you might know a few people my mother kept photographs of.” Willow reached into her purse and removed the small stack.
She laid a picture in front of Hettie. “Do you recognize the girl with my mom?”
Hettie took the photo with her age-spotted hand. A smile crossed her face. “Oh yes. That’s her cousin.”
“Cousin?” Willow’s heart leapt. A tremor of excitement pulsed through her veins. “Do you remember the cousin’s name, or where she lived?”
Hettie pulled in her lips and didn’t answer right away. “She’s Derrick’s brother’s daughter. Right now I can’t recall her name, but they lived in Kent. The family visited here frequently.”
“So I have an uncle?”
Hettie shook her head. “I’m afraid his brother passed before Derrick.”
Disappointment wound through her. “But I still have my mother’s cousin. My second cousin.”
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