4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Present Day
‘ I don’t need to be here,’ Willow said again. ‘I’m fine.’
Nate ignored her protestations as he had done since he bundled her into the car and drove in excruciating silence across the Moors to the hospital. His eyes remained focused on the miserable Christmas tree in the corner of the A old, dented baubles with chipped paint hung from balding plastic branches which the hastily thrown-on tinsel failed to disguise. The lopsided fairy looked like she needed counselling after all the trauma she had seen in this room. Fake festive wrapped gifts gathered below. Willow knew they were fake; several children and at least one adult had rushed over in delight but left disappointed once the packages were shaken. Her eyes burned under the bright strip lighting, and the incessant noise of the department, the clatter of trollies, clunk of wheelchairs, even the squeak of shoes, made her head throb more. They had been here for hours and she longed for the peace of her flat. Vincent would be sulking; not that he deserved sympathy, it was his fault she was here.
What was he playing at? In the eight years she had him, he had never been one to stray. He was a homebody apart from his daily jaunts around town. Yet he had forced himself into this man’s life for days. Why? What made Vincent do it? It wasn’t this man’s personality; Moody, she decided . Anger and irritation radiated from the stranger, making her own temper bristle. He didn’t have to stay with her. Stubborn . Despite telling him to go, he’d refused unless she contacted someone. With Rosa spending time with Alejo, and Glenn and Amber on their yearly trip to the panto, which she refused to ruin, she had no choice but to rely on him. Sexy. She shut the thought down. No. I refuse to think about it.
Willow concentrated on other people’s dramas instead. An elderly couple argued about the husband’s stupidity in climbing a rickety loft ladder, while he retorted it was her fault for demanding the special tablecloth they always used on Christmas day. He sat in a wheelchair with his swollen foot raised. A father cradled a young angel with her arm in a sling as she sobbed that her wings were crushed, while another child, dressed in a purple cloak bound with golden braid and crown, weaved himself through the chairs, an aeroplane held high in the air. His bruise forming on his head matched Willow’s.
‘If I stand up and play aeroplanes, can I go home?’
Willow hated hospitals. The oppressive atmosphere closed in as raw emotions of the patients’ past and present bombarded her. More than one lone and disorientated spirit had walked by along the corridor. Nurses hurried by, harassed; she was wasting their time. It was just a fall. Willow stood up.
Her reluctant companion whipped round and glared. ‘Sit down.’
Dizziness overwhelmed her, forcing her to comply. She found herself unable to stop staring at him. His eyes were brown and deep like the smoothest chocolate and it was difficult to tell where the pupils began. She wanted to take in every detail of his face and memorise it. The dark curls at the nape of his neck, the shadow of stubble forming. Her fingers twitched, longing to reach out to touch him. Her stomach somersaulted at the recollection of the electricity and warmth she felt when she grasped his hand moments before she fell.
He looked away and concentrated on his phone. Her gaze lowered towards his shoes. Willow cringed as she remembered.
***
Nate’s first thought when he saw the unconscious woman beside him was the song lyrics declaring the witch is dead. These were quickly replaced by that will hurt . Untangling himself from the foliage and lights, he cursed. After discerning she was alive, he carried her into the shop where music continued to bellow and the master of mischief who caused the accident was nowhere to be seen.
‘Bloody cats,’ he muttered. Once Vincent’s identity was revealed, he’d felt betrayed and conned. First by Rebecca and now a cat. Anger had made him traipse around the town, hunting for the witch. Vincent refused to cooperate, forcing Nate to scoop him up and carry him; he was determined to return the cat. The longer it took, the more frustrated he became.
What had happened when he arrived at the store? The entire episode was a blur. One minute, the figure dancing in the shop mesmerised him, making him forget the squirming creature he battled to hold. The next he was falling thanks to that meddling cat, and something else. He lost some balance with Vincent’s sudden leap through the doorway, but he was certain a force stronger than even an over-large Maine Coon was capable of had pushed him. Something from the shop. He shook his head, dismissing the idea except she was a witch. Had she cast a spell on him? And what had happened next? Her laughter aimed at him as if he was the clumsy one rang through the courtyard, flaring his irritation, but then she held out her hand. He grasped it only to see her recoil with horror and tumble to the ground. Why did she let go?
He looked down at the woman he cradled against his chest. When George told him about the witch of Whitby, he laughed. An absurd idea yet a clever business plan, a gimmick the tourists would love. She wasn’t what he expected. No green skin, black hat, or matching black cat. A vague fragrance of apple shampoo drifted up. With high cheekbones and flawless skin, she was beautiful in ways different to Rebecca. She wore only a hint of make-up and the short-cropped hair gave her the appearance of an elegant elf. Her eyes fluttered, and she snuggled closer into his chest. He shivered, walking through a blast of cold air. The sudden drop in temperature brought her round. Her eyes opened wide.
‘Put me down,’ she screeched, kicking her legs.
Swearing, he strode into the back room and put her on the sofa harder than he should. She winced with pain, making him feel guilty, but he was only doing as she wanted. Rows of shelves, full of stock, filled most of the room except for the corner he stood. The small sofa and comfy chair, and a place to make drinks, made it into an improvised staffroom. An ancient coke burner added the much-needed heat. Herbs hung drying from a rack above her desk where melted candles stood in candlesticks, along with paperwork and a crystal ball. Crystals and pot plants lined the windowsill, and a broom stood near the door. There was no doubt he was in a witch’s lair. Despite not believing in the supernatural, he felt disarmed and uncomfortable.
The sooner he could leave, the better.
‘You need ice on that. Then I’ll take you to the hospital.’
‘No, I’m fine.’
Nate studied her closely. ‘You’ve had a nasty bump on the head. It needs checking. I’ve had enough concussions from rugby to know. Either I take you or you phone someone else to.’
He passed her the phone. Standing up to her full height, she looked at him directly. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve some salve to reduce swelling.’ She continued to list other reasons she would be okay. His conviction wavered. She’d nearly convinced him to walk away, leaving her with her cat, when she paled further with a tinge of green. Before either could react, she vomited on his shoes.
***
‘Willow Anderson?’
A nurse pulled the curtain open, walked in, and smiled at Nate scrunched up on a hard plastic chair. He smiled in return. His eyes sparkled as she reiterated what the doctor had previously told him, and he nodded. Willow longed to cough and declare she was the patient, but fatigue and apathy overwhelmed her. She wanted to go home and if it was quicker to let them believe they were together, it was a price worth paying.
‘Okay, so we’ll discharge you as long as you have someone with you for at least twenty-four hours, preferably forty-eight. I assume that is not a problem?’
Silence hung in the cubicle as both the nurse and the man waited for her response.
‘No, that’s fine.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. At this hour, Rosa would be asleep after an eventful evening with Alejo, and she refused to disturb Glenn and Amber on their traditional panto trip. Besides, she wouldn’t be alone. Vincent would be there and the ghosts. No one was ever completely alone at the Enchanted Emporium.
‘Great. I’m sure your man will spoil you, especially so close to Christmas. It’s important to rest. So put your feet up and allow yourself to be pampered.’ The nurse turned to him. ‘With all head injuries, even slight concussion, it’s important to keep an eye out for any new symptoms, including personality changes.’
‘We’ve not known each other long, but I am assured she is always this grumpy,’ he said. The nurse laughed, thinking he was joking. Willow’s head throbbed when she scowled at him. Who does he think he is?
‘Have a lovely Christmas, dears.’ The nurse left with a cheery wave before going to her next patient.
‘So then, Miss Willow Anderson.’ His attention turned to her, and she hated the fact her heart fluttered despite her anger towards him. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘What?’
‘You heard the nurse. You need to be with someone for twenty-four hours and unless you phone someone, I guess that person has to be me. Vincent doesn’t count. And don’t say you’ll be fine. I have proof to say you lie where that is concerned.’ He waggled his stained shoes. Mortified and reprimanded, all she could say was, ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Nate, you can call me Nate.’