Loving Treasures (7 page)

When she dug into her vague memories, regret evaded her. Lyle had never stirred her heart as it had been stirred tonight. His passion had been selfish and fleeting. Though she had always honored her duty as a wife, she’d felt unfulfilled.

Tonight in Philip’s company, she had felt like a woman—loved and needed. But now that he’d nearly kissed her, things would be different. How could she see him at Bay Breeze and not remember that moment when she’d been cooled by the wind yet warmed by desire?

She studied his profile, silhouetted by the passing streetlights—his eyes staring straight ahead, his jaw tense. What would happen now?

Instead of feeling hope, Jemma was washed by despair.
Dear Lord, please don’t let this dream of happiness become a nightmare.

J
emma hadn’t slept well. Every few minutes during the night, she had stared at the illuminated clock hands and wondered where her life was headed.

Caught up in the romantic moment, she’d allowed her good sense to vanish. No matter how kind and tender Philip was when they were together, it changed nothing. He was a workaholic, and, for all she knew, a non-believer.

She thought back over their conversations and tried to recall if he’d ever spoken about God’s saving grace. Her question sat uneasily in her mind. Had she ever talked with Philip about her own faith? If having a relationship with the Lord was truly important to her, she’d not been a good example. Her faith was hanging by a weak thread most of the time.

Still, she wanted to know. How could she announce that she was unwilling to form a lasting re
lationship with a man who didn’t live according to God’s rules? She’d sound like a fool. Philip had never claimed he wanted anything more than a friendship.

Jemma knew from experience that she wanted a Christian husband. Shame lodged in her heart when she thought about Lyle’s wasted money and misguided adventures. He’d lead others astray with his advice and take their money for ill-conceived investments. And Jemma had been aware of it, but hadn’t known what to do. How could she turn her back on her husband, when God’s law opposed divorce?

The church said that marriage was for better or worse—and yet, what did a woman do when the
worse
went against God? She’d been caught in the middle. How could a wife win in that situation? Still, she should have spoken out and warned Lyle’s unsuspecting friends of his recklessness.

After tossing throughout the night, Jemma woke with heavy eyes and swung her legs over the edge of her small bed in Claire’s apartment. Rather than worry about things that didn’t affect her—things from her past and hopeless dreams of the future—she had to take action. She wanted her own place, and she needed to unleash herself from Philip. Somehow, along the way, she’d forgotten her goal.

Independence.

Slipping on her robe, Jemma made her way to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, then dumped ce
real into a bowl. After filling her cup, she sank into the chair and faced her breakfast.

Noise came from the hall, and Claire came through the doorway. “I’m following my nose,” she said, heading straight for the liquid energy. She poured a cup and sank into a chair.

“Not feeling well?” Claire asked, looking concerned. “I hope you’re not catching a cold. I imagine it cooled off last night and you didn’t have a coat.”

“I was fine.” With Philip’s arms around her. “I’m just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well.”

“That’s too bad. Did you enjoy the fountain? I haven’t seen it in years, but I can remember how pretty it is.”

“It was lovely.”

“Good,” Claire said. “Then, you had a nice time.”

Jemma lifted the cup and took a slow, thoughtful sip. She had had more than a nice time. It had been wonderful…until reality set in.

“Philip’s a good man, Jemma. He’s a little older than you, but he has a lot to offer a woman. You should give that some—”

“Claire, don’t plan my life, please.” Jemma slammed her cup onto the table, and coffee sloshed over the edge. “Look, I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s okay,” Claire said with hurt in her eyes. She bit her lip and looked at the splotch of coffee.

Filled with remorse, Jemma wadded her paper napkin and daubed at the spill. Claire was good to
her, and all she’d done was cause Claire extra work and worry.

“You don’t need me adding stress to your life,” Jemma said, patting Claire’s tensed hand. “I need to look for my own place one of these days. Instead of worrying about me, you should be taking care of yourself. What about a man for you?”

“Me?” Claire’s eyebrows arched above her widened eyes. “I’ve been alone for years…and like it. But you’re young, Jemma. You should have children and a husband who’ll take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.” Her voice rang with confidence—but could she? She’d muddled things too often.

“I know you
can,
but wouldn’t it be lovely to find someone who could take care of you?”

Jemma understood what she meant, but she didn’t agree. Yet she saw no sense in disagreeing with Claire. “If I ever fall in love again, I want a man who loves the Lord as much as he loves me.”

Claire’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Jemma figured that perhaps for the first time in Claire’s life she’d been rendered speechless.

“Lyle went to church once in a while,” Jemma continued, “but he didn’t know the Lord. Not really. This time I want a man who’s walking the same path I’m walking.” She shook her head. “The same path I’m
trying
to walk. I know I’m a failure, but at least I know what God expects…and I feel remorse when I break the commandments.”

Claire’s face sagged with her own grief. “I know, Jemma. You didn’t have a chance with Lyle. He was too much like his father.”

Rising, Claire brought the coffeepot to the table and filled their nearly empty cups. Finished, she returned the pot to the counter, her words tumbling out. “Philip went to church years ago, I recall. His mother was a good Christian woman. Maybe some rubbed off.”

Jemma didn’t comment, and when Claire returned to the table, Jemma explained her concern. “I don’t think Philip goes to church, and he’s never talked about his faith to me.”

“Men don’t much. They probably think it’s weak to lean on anyone. Even the Lord. But I’d guess he knows Jesus more deeply than you suspect.”

“Maybe,” Jemma said, wondering if Claire was right. And if she faced the truth, how much did Jemma lean on her own faith? She needed to get back to church more regularly…to lean on God for guidance. Heaven knows she didn’t have the answers. Not a one.

Philip parked behind the boutique and sat for a moment. He’d come so close to alienating Jemma. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He cared for her…loved her. If he were a younger man, he’d offer her his love and every good thing that he could. But it was impossible.

He’d learned an important lesson in his marriage
to Susan. She’d expected so much of him, and Philip had been unable to be the husband she wanted. He had watched her spirit sag as illness took over. By then it was too late to change. Too late to make up for the hours of loneliness and longing she’d endured in silence.

Silence. A smile came to his lips, tugging him from his reverie. Jemma would never be silent. That’s one thing no man would have to fear. She’d speak her mind whether a husband cared to hear it or not. She’d pull and push until she got what she wanted. Along with her innocent charm, Jemma had been given the gift of spirit…and determination. She was a fighter in her own modest way.

Philip pushed open the car door and swung his legs to the ground. The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he shoved the door closed and drew in a deep breath. Whether Jemma wanted his aid or not, he planned to help her in every way he could.

Yesterday, he’d gotten the lead on an apartment that he wanted her to see, and then he hoped to play cupid. Jemma and Ian. Jemma deserved a good man who could give her a good life. If Philip couldn’t be that man, he’d see to it that he found her one. His annual Fourth of July party was an opportunity for him to play matchmaker. He prayed Ian and Jemma would hit it off. The prayer punctured his heart like a dagger. But that’s how it had to be.

Philip entered the side door and, hearing voices, passed the workroom as he headed for the boutique.
When he stepped inside, Claire caught his eye with a wave. He looked around the shop, searching for Jemma. She wasn’t there, but he spied Bodkin strutting toward him. He assumed Jemma was getting ready.

He wandered through the rows of displays, the cat at his heels, noticing the new merchandise—silk T-shirts, shawls and attractive knit sweaters. Claire’s personal taste might be considered over the top, but her inventory had class.

With her bright smile and chatter, Claire moved from customer to customer with an eccentric cheeriness that mesmerized the patrons. Their conversation was punctuated by laughter and an animation that gave him a sense all was well with Claire’s business.

“Philip,” she said, waving a breezy goodbye to the last customer. “I hear you’re taking Jemma out this evening.”

Her arched eyebrow triggered his concern. He should set Claire straight, but his words would be repeated in Jemma’s ear, so he could only agree. “Nothing special. I have something to show her.” Seeing Claire’s inquiring look, he added, “It’s a surprise.”

“Ah. But it’s good to see you and Jemma together. She’s a lovely woman, and a man like you has a lot to offer…if you know what I mean.”

He’d be stupid if he didn’t. He shook his head and chuckled. “Claire, subtlety is not your forte.” And
looking at her latest 1920s getup, his comment had a double meaning. He grinned at her dress covered in bright-red fringe and her tousled hair escaping from beneath a cloche hat.

At his comment, she gave her throaty laugh and swung out from behind the counter, nabbed Bodkin in her arms and sashayed to the new display. There she dropped her furry friend. She unfurled a white cashmere shawl, seeded with fresh-water pearls. “What do you think?”

“Very nice, Claire…and obviously expensive.”

She gave him a knowing grin and refolded the cloth, just as the door tinkled and two women swept into the shop.

“I’d better find Jemma,” Philip said, turning toward the doorway. But he faltered when Jemma stepped into the room. Dressed in blue and white, she looked so fresh and appealing. Confusion shivered through him.

“I’m ready,” she said. “I already grabbed a bite to eat.”

Her comment checked his plan to take her to dinner. Maybe he would stop for coffee later so they could talk. “I parked in back.”

She turned toward the side door, and he followed.

Once on the road, he alerted Jemma that he needed to make a stop, without offering an explanation. She didn’t ask. He followed the highway that led to the resort, but before reaching the sprawling complex he turned onto a residential street.

Jemma remained quiet. She kept her head turned away from him, looking out the passenger window. He suspected she was annoyed with his stop, but she didn’t make a comment until he pulled in front of a two-story house.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“This is the stop I mentioned.” He jumped out, rounded the car and opened her door.

She gave him a questioning look.

“Come with me. We’re expected.”

Her eyes narrowed, sending him the signal that she was irritated. He waited for the worst but was pleasantly surprised. Jemma slid from the car and followed him.

When the door opened, an elderly woman beamed a smile and pushed open the screen door for them to enter. Philip stepped into a narrow foyer with stairs leading to the second floor.

The woman pulled her door closed. “Here we go,” the woman said, flagging Jemma to follow and climbing the stairs in front of them. “I’m Jeanette Luddy.”

“Philip Somerville,” he said, trying not to sound out of breath as he trudged up the stairs. At the top, he gestured. “This is Jemma Dupre. She’s the one looking for a place.”

Jemma only gave a slight nod.

“How do you do?” the woman said, selecting a key from a small ring. “Here, we go.” She turned
the key in the lock and pushed open the door, stepping aside to allow them entrance.

Jemma lingered in the hallway, her face tight with displeasure.

“Come. Come,” the woman said, motioning her inside.

With her hands jammed into her sweater pockets, Jemma stepped into the room. When she was inside, her frown nailed Philip to the spot.

“Take your time,” Jeanette said, “and when you’re ready, just tap on my door.” She grabbed the knob and pulled the door closed as she backed out of the room.

Jemma just stood there.

“I heard about this place and thought it would be perfect. It comes furnished,” Philip said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I know you’ve been looking and—”

“And you had to help. You can’t learn to let people make their own decisions, can you. I’m not your child, Philip. I have a brain. I can find my own place.”

He stepped toward her, wanting to calm her, but her expression warned him off. He backed up a step. “I’m sorry, Jemma. I thought you might like the place.”

“It has nothing to do with liking or disliking. It has to do with making my own decisions—solving my problems.”

He ached for her and for himself. When would he
learn that Jemma didn’t want his help. She hated it. “I know you can make your own decisions. I’m not trying—”

“You know?” Her voice reeked with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

“A big mistake,” she said.

He tucked his hands in his pants pockets to shackle the longing to take her in his arms. “Listen if you want to leave, we can. But we’re here, so why not look at the place. It’s close to work. You could walk if you wanted.”

For the first time since they’d entered the flat, Jemma’s face softened, and she focused on something other than him. She scanned the room—a large furnished sitting area and a small alcove with a table and four chairs.

She wandered across the room and entered the kitchen. He followed and stood at the door. The kitchen was small but useful. When she turned around, she brushed past him and headed for the opposite doorway. He didn’t follow but leaned against the doorjamb and waited.

She took her time. He could hear her open the closet door, then the linen closet, then her heels tapping on bathroom floor tile. When she returned, she paused in the doorway. “It’s very clean. Pretty wall-paper in the bedroom. I’m surprised.”

He wanted to ask her why she was surprised, but he figured he’d done enough damage, so remained quiet. She reminded him of Andrew in a way. His
brother didn’t want anyone’s help, either. He struck out on his own…and failed. But at least he’d had his independence. Jemma wouldn’t fail. In that way, she was different.

Jemma headed toward him, and he stepped out of her way. She returned to the kitchen. This time, she looked through the cabinets, tested the stove, ran water in the sink and sniffed the refrigerator like a bloodhound.