Willow's Way

by Sharon Struth

  As he walked past her, she said, “Mr. Cooke? May I speak with you for a moment?”

  He stopped and gave her a friendly smile. “Hello. What can I do for you, young lady?”

  Willow froze, suddenly at a loss for words.

  Chapter 22

  The bartender delivered a frothy pilsner glass to their table and set it in front of Sean, who smiled. “Thanks, Mac.” His gaze drifted back to Willow. “You’re from the States, you say, with family in Bitton?”

  She nodded, still stunned to sit across from the man she’d been wondering about for not only these past weeks, but for her whole life.

  “Did you spend much time in Bitton?”

  “Yes, I’ve been staying at the Clemmens Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Oh? Nice to hear the B and B is still in operation. I haven’t been to town in years.” He scrutinized her face and his forehead wrinkled, almost like a question had formed in his head. “And what mutual friends do we have there?”

  “My grandparents lived there most of their lives.”

  Just then, Mac the bartender delivered Willow’s burger.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Mac glanced between them.

  “No, thanks,” they said at the same time.

  When she returned her gaze to Sean, his smile had vanished. “And who are your grandparents?”

  Her heart beat so hard it echoed to her ears. “Derrick and Sarah Armstrong.”

  His brows furrowed and his gaze skipped around her face. His mouth slowly opened. He squinted. “Are you…? Oh my God. You’re Chloe’s daughter?”

  Willow nodded while keeping in mind her mother had hidden the pregnancy from him. “I am.”

  “Of course. I can see a resemblance.”

  “Yes. Only slight.” Shit. How did she tell this man everything she knew?

  He wrapped his hand around the base of his glass. “My goodness. I haven’t thought about Chloe in a long time.” He snorted a little laugh while staring out the window. “Your mum and I used to have to sneak around to date after our fathers had a huge fight over politics.” He shook his head and looked at her. “Two stubborn men. A bit like your mum, too. How is Chloe? Still in America, is she?”

  “She was. Unfortunately, I lost my mother in a car accident years ago.”

  The nostalgic gleam in his eyes slipped away. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.” His eyes watered. “She was a special one. Knew how to make everyone comfortable around her, always happy. Losing her must’ve been hard for you and your father.”

  Willow’s mouth went dry. She nodded. Of course. He talked with the ease of a man who’d just met the daughter of a woman he once dated, because that’s all she was to him.

  “My grandparents’ house has been left to me. While cleaning, I found something you might remember.” She reached into her rucksack and removed the photo Owen had found in the kitchen.

  She handed it to Sean. He studied it, his mouth lifting in a smile, his eyes shining in a way that needed no words. He sighed and handed it back to her. “For years, I couldn’t get past your mother’s leaving. How did you figure out that was me in the photo?”

  “Oh, long story. But she did write about you in a diary I found in her childhood bedroom.”

  “Did she?” He frowned. “I’m surprised. When she ran off, I figured she didn’t love me like she’d said.” He laughed, his gaze drifting toward the bar and a distant look of reminiscing in his eyes. “When she didn’t show up for our afternoon plans the day after New Year’s, I went to the house. My gut told me something was wrong. Mr. Armstrong answered. One look on his face confirmed my worries.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He invited me in. Said he’d found Chloe’s diary and knew what we’d been up to. He patiently listened to my rant about how much I loved his daughter and no longer wanted to hide my feelings for her. That’s when he told me she’d run off to London. I didn’t believe him, accused him of trying to keep us apart. Then he…” Sean paused. “Never mind.”

  “What? Please, Mr. Cooke.”

  “Young lady, I don’t want to tell tales. You should remember all good things about your mother. What happened with us, well, it was so long ago.”

  “But the whole reason I searched for you is because my mother kept so much from me. I’d hoped you might help fill in the blanks.”

  He pursed his lips. “Blanks?”

  She drew in a breath, exhaled. “I never knew my father. Mom told me he was from the States, but based on some things I learned since arriving here, I suspect my mother got pregnant before she left England.”

  Sean jerked his head back, his graying brows rising to his thin, sweeping bangs. “And you think—” He glanced around the bar, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “You think I might be your father?”

  She stared into his eyes, wishing she saw something besides shock. “Based on the timing, yes. In my mother’s diary, her last entry wrote about leaving. It even wrote she wasn’t going to tell you about the baby. About me.”

  He shook his head. “That’s impossible. Chloe would’ve told me. I’m sure she would’ve—” He drew his lips into a thin line and a shadow of anger flashed in his eyes. “Or maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands, choosing to stare at them for a long moment. Slowly, he lifted his head. “What I didn’t want to share with you a moment ago…well, it’s possible I’m not your father.”

  “Why?”

  He dropped his chin, gaze focused on the rustic table as he shifted in his seat.

  “Mr. Cooke, please.”

  “Just call me Sean. Anyway, it seems Chloe’s dad had caught her in her bedroom with Elliot Williams, an older boy who lived in their neighborhood.”

  “Caught doing what?”

  His cheeks turned pink and his gaze drifted toward the window. “Nothing a man my age should be talking about to a young woman like you.”

  “So my mother hadn’t only been involved with you. She’d been with another man at the same time?”

  He nodded and lifted the pilsner glass to his lips, still avoiding her eyes.

  Had her mother been having sex with two men? The diary read that she couldn’t tell Sean about the baby, but maybe if Willow had read all the entries instead of hopping ahead to those final days she wrote in it, she’d have learned a fuller picture of her mother’s life.

  He slapped his hands on the table, making her jump. Tension balled in his jaw. “God damn her. For cheating. For lying.”

  Willow couldn’t budge or agree with his anger. Her heart ached, bruised and battered by the unimaginable. Two men. Two possible fathers. Were there more?

  The joy she’d expected upon catching up with her father nose-dived down a dark hole. Each and every deception by her mother had grown into an ugly beast.

  She sat quietly, her body numb as one thought pounded in her head, over and over and over…The one person who’d claimed to love her was a fake.

  Thickness blocked her throat. She turned her head and stared out the window, trying to grapple with the reason her mother insisted on having her instead of giving her up for adoption or having an abortion. Instead, she gave birth to a child conceived from deceit and raised with a lifetime of lies. Her existence was a joke.

  “I’m sorry, Willow.” Sean spoke quietly.

  She slowly lifted her head and found him watching her. “Is there a chance you could be my father?”

  “It’s possible. But…” He shrugged, folded his hands onto the table and dropped his gaze to them, not an ounce of curiosity in his face.

  But she wanted answers. “There are tests. We could find out for certain.”

  Sean glanced up and frowned. “After Chloe left, it took me a while to move on. Now I have a family. What would this do to them?” He pin
ched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Good God, my wife, she’d be so upset.”

  “I’m sure it would be a shock,” she said gently, so he’d hear her sympathy for his dilemma. “But, it’s not as if you knew what my mother had done.”

  “No, my wife, she’s a good woman but… This would upset our family, Willow. She can be jealous, and we have grandchildren now. I just don’t want to upset the family with this old news.”

  “Please, just think about it. You might feel different in a few days.”

  He silently watched her for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t think I will.”

  His words hit like a door slammed in her face, escalating her disbelief over what she’d uncovered at this stop.

  She pushed back her chair and it scraped the floor. “Sorry to take up your time. I’d better get going.” She dug into her pocket, removing a twenty-pound note and tossing it on the table. “I need to get back on the trail.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, I’m walking the Cotswold Way and need to get somewhere before dark.”

  Sean stood. “Willow. I’m sorry. I have a good life and don’t want to jeopardize it.”

  She grabbed her rucksack, swallowed hard to stop tears. “No. It’s okay. I understand, Sean. Really. Thank you for your time.”

  Hoisting the rucksack on her shoulders, she rushed out the door.

  * * * *

  Where the hell is she?

  Owen tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat of the van and bit back his frustration. Three hours ago, Willow should’ve checked into her hotel in Stroud. Since then, every text or call he’d made had gone unanswered.

  He pulled up in front of Bea’s house and turned toward the back seat, where Jilly sat dressed in her pajamas. “Here we are, pumpkin. Nan’s excited to have you for the night.”

  “Me, too. Henry loves sleeping over here.”

  The dog stood on the back seat next to Jilly, wagging his tail in agreement.

  Owen helped her out and to the front door, where Bea waited. After a good night hug, he hurried back to the van. Next stop, Stroud. The GPS said he’d arrive in forty-eight minutes. He’d worry every single second of it.

  Willow had had plenty of time to arrive there, especially given her text showing her arrival in Painswick. Things may have gone well with Sean and she’d possibly joined him for dinner. But why wouldn’t she have answered one of his three texts or answered any of his calls?

  Images of her on the trail with a twisted ankle, passed out from exhaustion, or meeting some unsavory characters—all right, a little far-fetched—forced him to press harder on the accelerator.

  He arrived at the Prince of Wales Inn three minutes earlier than the GPS estimated. He ran inside to the reception desk and learned she still hadn’t checked in. The room had been paid for in advance and they assured him it would be available for her when she did.

  He left his van in the hotel lot and hurried along the street toward town, a place she’d have passed through once off the footpath. At each local restaurant, he stopped to ask if anyone fitting Willow’s description had been there.

  By the time he reached the edge of the commercial area, no pub or restaurant claimed to have seen her. He jogged toward the trail. Away from the other businesses and closer to the trail entrance, he ran past a white, thatched-roof building with a sign near the door reading Red Lion Pub. He stopped and peeked inside the window, though he held little hope he’d find her.

  Inside the smoky bar area, a group of men in a far corner tossed darts. Several more sat crowded at the bar, laughing and having fun. His heart jolted when he spotted Willow on a stool not far from them.

  He rushed inside just as Willow tipped a short glass to her lips containing a tawny-colored liquid. Probably whiskey.

  As she lowered it, she squeezed her eyes, scrunched her nose, and swallowed. She opened her eyes and turned to the brawly man sitting closest to her. “You’re right, Leo. This is strong…very strong. But I kind of liked it.” She raised her brows and laughed. “What should I try next?”

  “Willow.” Owen went to her side, both relieved and annoyed to find her so casually enjoying herself.

  She slowly turned to him. Her eyes went wide before she smiled brightly. “Owen!” She opened her arms and leaned forward, her body teetering. He rushed forward and slipped his arms around her waist, letting go when she seemed securely on the stool.

  Willow laughed loudly, sending a gust of whiskey-scented breath his way. “You saved me, Owen. I almost fell. You always save me. You’re a real hero.” She leaned closer, swaying on the stool. “A reaaaal hero.”

  He put his arms around her waist and kept her steady. “What’s going on, Willow?”

  She frowned, so over-exaggerated it reminded him of Jilly when she didn’t get her way. “What? No more Rosebud?” She grinned while her gaze took on a sultry shimmer and she dropped her voice. “I like when you call me that.”

  Yup. She was bloody pissed and hanging out with strange men in a bar. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Me? Why you were…” She threw back her head and laughed. “Why were you worried about lil’ ol’ me?” The words blended into one. She abruptly turned to the men sitting nearby and yelled, “Hear that fellas? He was worried about me.”

  A couple of them laughed. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  “Listen, Rosebud. How about I get you to the hotel?”

  Her eyes hooded, desire he’d seen before, and she cupped his face in her warm hands. “So you want to get me to a hotel?” She pressed her lips to his, softly at first. Drawing herself closer, she covered his mouth with hers, kissing him deeply and giving him a sample of the strong whiskey she’d been drinking.

  The men nearby whistled and even clapped.

  She pulled back and in a husky voice said, “God, I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.” Over her shoulder, he could see the men at the bar watching them with smirks on their faces. He could only imagine what had been going on before he’d arrived. “You were supposed to be at your hotel hours ago.”

  She narrowed her gaze and drew back. “How do you know? Are you following me?”

  “No. I…I just know. You sent me a text today remember?”

  Her face saddened. “Yes. From Painswick.” She shut her eyes and a tear rolled along her cheek. She slowly opened them and they glistened from the overhead lights. “Why are you reminding me?”

  The bartender came out from the back room and went straight to Owen. “Listen, mate. She got here a few hours ago and seemed pretty upset about something. She’s been drinking up a storm. I’m glad you got here. I wasn’t sure where to send her and she wouldn’t offer anything.”

  “What’s she owe you?”

  The bartender told him and Owen paid the tab. He couldn’t be sure what happened when she met Sean Cooke in Painswick, but based on her current state, it couldn’t be good.

  “Listen, gorgeous, how about we split this place?” He slipped an arm around her waist. “Get a bite to eat and then get to bed.”

  “Get to bed.” Her knees buckled as he guided her off the stool, but he held her up. “Now you’re talking, handsome.”

  As he swiped the rucksack leaning against the bar, he avoided the eyes of the other patrons and guided her to the door.

  “Bye-bye, fellas,” she yelled.

  “Bye, Willow,” they hollered back, mixed with their laughter.

  Owen guided her along the pavement, his arm around her waist as she leaned into his armpit. Every so often, she’d pull away to look in a shop window or wave at passing cars. The attention span of a child. He almost laughed a few times, but worried more about how she’d feel in the morning.

  Once at the hotel, they went to the front desk. He found her money and passport packed away in her
rucksack, feeling damn lucky that in her condition nobody had taken them. As they walked to the room, she got quieter and once inside, she took her bag from him and headed for the toilet.

  When she finally came out, she’d removed her clothes and wore an oversized red T-shirt with her company logo, the edge of her pink panties peeking out from beneath. She’d scrubbed her face clean and brushed out her hair, pushed away from her face in a headband. Never had she looked sexier.

  She plopped down beside him on the bed. “Guess what?”

  “What?” He took her hand.

  “My damn mother had been sleeping with two men. Two!” Her voice rose as she shook her head. “Poor Sean. He loved her. He—didn’t even know about me until, until…”

  Willow dropped her head to the pillow and started to cry. In a matter of seconds, her body shook as tears turned into sobs.

  She lifted her head, took a deep breath. “My grandfather, he found out…” Willow let out a sad, low wail. “His dau-daug-daughter was messin’ around with two men.”

  “So there’s someone besides Sean?”

  She nodded then grabbed a pillow. Drawing it to her chest, she rolled away from him and curled into a fetal position while continuing to cry. He stretched out next to her, wrapped her in his arms, and held her. As her tears subsided, he scooted her over and lifted the blankets. “Come on, get under these.”

  She did as he asked and her eyes closed the second her head hit the pillow. He drew the blanket to her shoulders and waited at her bedside until her chest slowly rose and fell, assuring him she’d fallen asleep.

  He called Bea to let her know he’d found Willow then got undressed and crawled in beside her. Immediately, she rolled toward him and rested her cheek near his shoulder.

  “Night, Owen,” she said in a soft, sleepy voice. “Thank you for finding me.” She snuggled closer, her warm breath cascading onto his neck. Then her voice drifted off as she said, almost in a whisper, “I love you.”

  Before he could respond, she began to gently snore.

  He wrapped his head around her words and the way it felt so right to cradle her in his hold. Love. Where did that come from?