Welcome Me to Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 2)

by Kate Hewitt

  “I’m fine,” Emily said, a bit more sharply than she’d intended, because Ava couldn’t have pushed them together more obviously than if she’d had a clamp.

  “I’m happy to do it,” Owen replied. “Besides, it’s a shortcut to my place.”

  That seemed to settle the matter, and Emily said her thank yous and goodbyes rather stiffly while Owen waited in the hall. How long were the well-meaning folk of Wychwood going to keep forcing her and Owen together? Were they the only two single people in the village?

  The rain had thankfully stopped as she and Owen headed out into the night, the sky dark and stormy above, the moon hidden by clouds. Emily pulled her coat more tightly around her.

  “You really didn’t have to walk me home,” she said, managing to make it sound more like an accusation than an apology.

  “I know,” Owen answered easily. “But they never would have been satisfied otherwise.”

  “It’s a bit irritating, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” he asked affably, and Emily gave an uncertain laugh.

  “I only mean…well…” She swallowed as she focused on the narrow path winding ahead of them, lit by Owen’s far trustier man-sized torch than her own small one suitable for a handbag.

  “What did you mean?” he asked when she faltered and trailed away to nothing. “Out of interest?”

  Emily was grateful for the darkness that hopefully hid her scorching blush. This conversation was so out of her element. “I only meant that it’s not as if you even like me,” she said a bit defiantly, and then quickened her pace, ducking wet tree branches and muddy puddles with alacrity born of desperation.

  “You said that at dinner,” Owen said as his long strides kept him level with her. “And I really don’t know where you got the idea.”

  “You don’t deny it, then?”

  “I don’t think I know you well enough to say,” he responded as he did his best to walk next to her even though the path really only fit one person.

  Emily wanted to drop the conversation, even as some contrary part of her wanted to push it. “You’ve seemed to have something against me from the start,” she pointed out as reasonably as she could. She was not going to sound hurt, because of course she wasn’t. “Is it because I work for Henry Trent? Or is it just me?”

  “It’s not you. I admit, I have a bit of a thing about the la-di-da types.” He paused. “It’s not entirely fair, I know. I’m sorry.”

  “You think I’m a la-di-da type?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  He gestured to her clothes, clearly meaning to encompass so much more. “You had a privileged upbringing, and you’ve looked down your nose at me since you first walked into my pub. I’m not blaming you for it, and I’m not saying it justifies my response, but there it is.”

  Privileged upbringing? Emily didn’t know whether to burst into laughter or tears. She did neither, just kept walking, longing to get home. Owen Jones didn’t know her at all, and why should he? She’d never given him the chance.

  “Am I wrong?” he persisted as he kept up with her.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged impatiently, ducking so a wet, thorny branch didn’t thwack her in the face. “All I meant was that it’s a bit awkward, being pushed together like this, considering.”

  “Considering what?” The question sounded like a challenge. Emily started to stammer.

  “Well, just…I mean…that you don’t…that we…”

  “Yes?” Owen prompted. He sounded as if he was enjoying her fluster.

  “Oh, look, you know what I mean,” Emily finished a bit lamely. She didn’t even know what she meant.

  Owen took a step closer to her, and for some reason she was standing still, caught in both the proverbial and literal headlights, or at least torchlight. Then Owen lowered the beam so they were both in darkness. By the light of the moon she could only just make out his face and the hooded intent she saw there.

  “But it does matter,” he said quietly. “Because of this.”

  “What…” The word came out in a breath as he put his hands on her shoulders, just as he had that Friday night, and again it was like she’d put her finger in a socket, everything twanging with painful intensity, her whole body electrified and alive. Did he feel it too? Was that why his hands had tightened on her shoulders?

  “I don’t dislike you, you know,” he said, his voice a low thrum, and Emily twitched away from him, or tried to.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You don’t like me, though, do you?” Owen said, a friendly enough challenge, and unwillingly Emily raised her gaze to meet his. Mistake.

  The intensity she’d been feeling dialled up another notch, or three. Her blood beat, her heart pounded, and there were parts of her body that she didn’t think about very much that were now tingling. Her breath hitched. Audibly.

  “Actually,” Owen said, “I don’t think disliking each other is the problem here, is it?”

  Before Emily could reply, not that she would have known what to say, he kissed her.

  She froze underneath his touch, everything rigid with shock even as her body flooded with awareness and pleasure. His lips were soft and warm, his touch achingly gentle…at least at first.

  After that first exploratory hello kiss, he took a breath and so did she, and then he was kissing her again, harder this time, and that was wonderful too—it was all so amazing, as if every single part of her had come alive, and somehow her back was against a tree and her arms had come around him and she was kissing him back in a way she’d never kissed a man before.

  His body was as solid and powerful as she’d thought it would be, and it felt incredible pressed against hers as the kiss went on and on. A proper kiss, not just a buss or a brush, but a life-changing moment. At least for her.

  Then, in the middle of that wonderful and heart-stopping kiss, her phone buzzed in her pocket. There was only one person who would call her at eleven o’clock at night, and Emily twisted away from Owen as she grappled for her phone.

  “Emily…” He looked both dazed and bemused, but she barely took in his flushed cheeks or rumpled hair as she swiped to take the call.

  “Mum?”

  “Is this Emily David?”

  The officious-sounding voice had her blinking in surprise. “Yes…”

  “I’m calling from St Pancras Hospital. You were listed as the next of kin for Naomi Rawlings?”

  Emily swallowed dryly, her hand clenching the phone, everything in her tightening. “Yes…is she all right?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say over the telephone, but I think, if possible, you should come to the hospital as soon as you can.” Dear heaven. Emily closed her eyes as she tasted bile. “Miss David?”

  “I’m here.” Her voice sounded thready. “I’ll come right away.”

  “Come to the Ruby Ward, in the Huntley Centre. It’s a locked ward, but if you give your name, they’ll let you through.”

  “Ruby Ward,” Emily repeated numbly. “All right. Thank you.” She ended the call, staring into space vacantly for a few seconds. It had started to rain, and she felt the dampness on her cheeks like tears.

  “Emily?” Owen touched her shoulder, his tone now one of gentle concern. “What’s happened?”

  “My mother’s in the hospital.” The words felt thick and awkward in her mouth. “I need to go straight away.”

  “I’m so sorry—”

  She nodded mechanically, already walking ahead, desperate to get back to her cottage now. She’d pack a bag, call a cab…

  “Where is she? Which hospital?” Owen asked as he hurried to keep up with her.

  “St Pancras, in London.”

  “There won’t be any trains to London until the morning,” Owen said as they emerged from the wood onto the lane that led to Willoughby Close. “Do you have to go now?”


  “Yes.” The word came out savagely, like an accusation, but Owen took it in his stride.

  “Then let me drive you,” he said calmly. Emily whirled around to face him.

  “You don’t…”

  “I haven’t had anything to drink tonight, I’m fine to drive. And there are no trains at this time of night,” he reminded her in that same calm, even tone. “Not from Wychwood.”

  “I’ll get a cab to Oxford—”

  “Do you really want to spend fifty quid on cab fare, and then be on a train with dodgy drunks late on a Sunday night?” He smiled at her, a compassionate curving of his lips that made Emily want to cry. She felt far, far too fragile right now. “Let me drive you.”

  “But you have work—”

  “I don’t open the pub until noon, and I can get someone else to do it anyway. Why are you resisting so much, Emily?”

  Because no one ever did nice things for her, and he’d just kissed her, besides. She had no idea how she felt about him, about anything.

  “All right,” she finally relented, because with every second that passed, she was delaying getting to her mother. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll go get my van and pick you up at Willoughby Close.”

  “All right. Thank you.” He nodded, and then he was jogging off towards the village, and Emily was walking blindly towards number one, everything in her pulsing with panic. Her mother in hospital. A locked ward. What had happened? How much danger was she in?

  Back in her cottage, a little meow greeted her as her newly acquired kitten wound its tiny body around her legs.

  “Oh, goodness, I’d forgotten about you.” She scooped the kitten up and pressed her cheek against its soft fur as it purred in pleasure. “I really need to give you a name.” Would the kitten be all right overnight? Guilt and worry racked her. She wasn’t fit to have care even of a kitten.

  And as for her mother…

  You didn’t take care of her, either.

  Tears pricked Emily’s eyes and she blinked them back. She filled the kitten’s food and water bowls and then threw some clothes into a holdall. She’d text Alice, asking her to look in on the kitten while she was gone. Emily knew she’d be more than happy to help.

  She’d just shrugged on her coat when a light knock sounded on the door, and she opened it to see Owen ready and waiting, his car, a beat-up van, idling in the courtyard.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Her fingers trembled as she locked up and then followed Owen to the van. It was the classic nondescript white van used by builders and plumbers the country over. Owen opened the passenger door for her, and took her elbow to help her up.

  “Sorry, it’s a bit of a tip.”

  A bit? Jace’s truck had been spotless in comparison. Yet for once Emily was too rattled and anxious to care about the mess of disposable coffee cups and newspapers on the floor, or the thick dust coating the dashboard.

  The van had a bench seat, so there were only a few inches of space separating her and Owen as she reached for her seat belt and he climbed into the driver’s side.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Emily said rather stiltedly as they headed out into the dark, rain-washed night. Wychwood was silent, the village green cloaked in darkness, the only lights coming from The Drowned Sailor, which clearly still had some custom.

  “You’re sure you don’t need to be at the pub?”

  “I had the shifts covered tonight anyway, because of the dinner. It’s fine.”

  She nodded, trying to keep her teeth from chattering with cold and fear, but Owen noticed and reached to turn up the heating.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A bit.” But more than that, she was scared. She had no idea what she’d find when they got to St Pancras, what state her mother would be in. Would it be like last time? Would it be worse?

  “Do you know what’s happened to your mum?” Owen asked after a few moments, when they’d left the village behind and were heading towards the A40.

  “No.” She wasn’t about to go into her mother’s history, the medication she must not have been taking, after all. She swiped the screen on her phone and typed Ruby Ward St Pancras into the search engine. The result came up instantly—a women’s psychiatric intensive care unit. Emily quickly swiped off the screen and looked out the window instead. She could feel each painful thud of her heart.

  “Is she in critical condition?” Owen asked quietly, and Emily just shrugged.

  “I really don’t know. They just said I should come as soon as I could.”

  “I’m sorry.” To her shock he reached over and briefly put his large, warm hand over hers; it was just for a second, but the touch felt even more intimate than their kiss.

  Their kiss…no, she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t think about anything. She just needed to keep her mind blank and numb, at least until she knew what had happened. What she was dealing with.

  Owen must have gauged her mood correctly because he lapsed into a silence that was only broken when they’d reached the outskirts of London, and he asked her to navigate to the hospital by the sat nav on her phone. Housed in a former workhouse, the hospital had an impressive Victorian air, but as Owen drove towards the Huntley Centre, neither of them missed the sign for psychiatric care.

  “You can just drop me off in front,” Emily said rather brusquely, and Owen looked at her in surprise.

  “Let me at least come in with you. You’re in no state to face this on your own.”

  “I’m fine,” Emily protested, and once again Owen reached for her hand. She wished he’d stop doing that, even as she wanted him to never stop.

  “Emily, you haven’t been able to stay still since we got into this van.”

  “I have—” And yet even as she spoke, she knew he was right. She’d been jiggling her foot and picking at the skin around her nails for the last hour, feeling like no more than a tight ball of nerves.

  “I’ll just walk in with you,” Owen continued in that steady voice she realised she could get used to. Could like, or even crave. “And I’ll stay in the waiting room or wherever. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry.”

  But he already knew too much. Tears crowded her eyes and formed a lump in her throat but she forced it all down. “All right,” she relented rather ungraciously. Then she turned and looked out the window, because she didn’t think she could bear the sympathetic look on his face for a second longer.

  Owen parked the car—the car park was near-empty at this hour—and then they made their way into the Huntley Centre. There were some plastic chairs in the foyer, and thankfully he told her he’d stay there while Emily headed for the Ruby Ward—and whatever waited for her there.

  *

  Owen sipped a cup of wretched coffee as he waited for Emily to return. He’d been sitting on a hard plastic chair in the entrance of the Huntley Centre for the better part of an hour, and his eyes felt gritty with fatigue. Whatever he was feeling, though, he knew Emily had to feel worse.

  He wasn’t an idiot, and it was obvious that this was a psychiatric facility, and that Emily didn’t seem at all surprised to be there. It explained her hurry to answer the phone, and the panicked way she’d answered. Owen had been feeling a bit bemused, that she’d broken their kiss to take a phone call, but it was certainly starting to make sense now.

  And yet nothing made sense. Emily’s mother in a psychiatric unit? And where was her father? What about that oh-so-privileged upbringing? Owen was starting to suspect he might have got the entirely wrong end of the stick when it came to Emily David, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

  But then that was something he didn’t need to think about now. Right now he just needed to think about Emily, and what was best for her. That protective instinct he’d been fighting against had kicked in big-time when she’d taken that call, and he’d realised how frightened she was. Unfortunately, that protective instinct hadn’t helped him—or anyone else—in the past.

&n
bsp; With a sigh and then a wince, Owen drained the rest of his lukewarm, mud-coloured coffee. It was two in the morning, and he had no idea how long he’d be sitting here, or what would happen when Emily came back.

  And then there she was, walking down the corridor on stiff legs, her expression stony and closed. Owen rose from his chair, crumpling the paper cup in one hand.

  “How is your mum?”

  Emily’s shoulders twitched in what Owen thought was meant to be a shrug.

  “She’s sleeping now. They said I should come back in the morning.”

  “Then you need a place to sleep tonight.” She stared at him blankly, and Owen thought she had to be in shock. “Do you have friends…?” he prompted, thinking she could call someone and kip on their sofa. She’d lived in London until a week ago, after all. But Emily let out a strange huff of laughter.

  “No.”

  Owen decided not to press. “Then you need a hotel room.” He reached for his phone and started to search. “There’s a Premier Inn just around the corner. I’ll take you there.” Emily didn’t reply. She still had that blank look in her eyes, and so Owen took her by the elbow, steering her gently towards the door.

  She came unresistingly, as meek as a child, silent and accepting. Her docility frightened him, and it felt like a punch in the gut. He’d seen Emily David reserved, and annoyed, and flushed with passion, but he’d never seen her like this, almost as if she were a husk of a person, unaware of him or her surroundings as he led her back to the van.

  They drove in silence, Emily staring blankly ahead, to the Premier Inn a short distance away. Emily waited in the van while Owen went to check if there were rooms.

  “Just one room, sir?” the attendant asked, as alertly as if it were not three in the morning.

  Owen hesitated. He knew instinctively that Emily would want her own room, just as he knew she shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. “One room with twin beds,” he said firmly.

  Back in the van he told Emily they had a room, and she lifted her dazed gaze for the first time. “Are you staying…?”

  “Yes.”

  Something flickered across her face and was gone. Owen couldn’t tell if she was pleased or not, but he was decided. He wasn’t going to leave her like this.