Loving Treasures (6 page)

And worse, he considered her a child—a lovely, charming, innocent child.

Would he ever recognize that she was a woman? A woman who could love him if he would only let her.

When Philip heard the tap on his office door, he lifted his head.

Ian rested against the doorjamb, watching him. “Do you have a minute?”

Philip beckoned him in. “Sure, sit down.” He moved the stack of letters to the side and rested his back against the chair. “What’s up?”

“Bob Campbell from Rooms Division mentioned something about a new employee with some interesting ideas.” He slid into a chair across from Philip. “I guess Latrice told him. I didn’t want to proceed without asking your opinion.”

“Interesting ideas? What, for example?”

“I’m not sure. Bob said room amenities. He
thought she had some good concepts.” He shrugged. “He didn’t go into detail.”

Philip folded his hands across his belly and stretched his legs under his desk. “Room amenities, huh? Sounds like a budget consideration.” He dragged a fading list from his memory bank. Terry robes, coffeemakers, ironing boards, hair dryers. What other amenities did they need? “Who is she?”

“The new housekeeper, you mean?” Ian asked.

Philip’s chest tightened. Could he be referring to Jemma? “Right, the woman with the ideas.”

He settled his glasses more firmly on his nose. “Jenna somebody, I think.”

“Jemma,” Philip corrected. “She’s my cousin’s daughter-in-law.” He straightened his back. “She and my cousin had dinner with me here a while ago. You might remember.” Philip remembered—the night of Andrew’s surprising telephone call.

“Not really,” Ian said with a shrug. But in an eye-blink, a knowing expression settled on his face. “Wait a minute. Is she blond? Really pretty?”

Philip nodded. Anyone who saw Jemma would remember her wispy, almost intangible, loveliness. Like a rare butterfly.

“Yes, I remember now. I was curious who she was. She sat beside you the night I interrupted you so often.” He swung his arm in the direction of the hotel lobby. “I thought I saw her here the other day.”

“That’s her. Jemma Dupre. She moved to Loving
a while back with my cousin who’s a widow. The one who opened that boutique over on Washington. Jemma lost her husband, too.”

“She’s single, then,” Ian said. “Maybe it’s time for you to find someone and settle down again, Philip. Good for you.”

Philip tensed. “Good for me? Good for
nothing.
I’m old enough to be her father.”

As he made the statement, Ian’s younger age sent envy rising up Philip’s back. Philip felt like a has-been king of the jungle, no longer able to compete with the forceful new males who stalked into the pride to lay claim to the lionesses. Philip had long passed that stage. And Jemma was a free woman. A woman who needed a virile young man—like Ian.

Looking puzzled, Ian rose. “Would you like me to talk with her, then?”

“Why not,” Philip said, longing to talk with her himself. But he’d been doing his best to stay away. “Let me know if she suggests anything worth looking into.”

“Sure thing.” Ian turned and strode from the room.

Philip unknotted his fingers and rested his face in his hands. No matter what he said or how hard he pushed, Jemma haunted his thoughts. Obviously he had to take action or he’d be lost. Since meeting Jemma, Philip had realized he needed a woman, and Jemma needed a man to give her all the love she deserved. But they weren’t right for each other.

He couldn’t let himself fall in love. It wasn’t fair to Jemma. She needed companionship and children, and Philip couldn’t offer her either one. He was too busy to be good company and too old to be a father.

A man like Ian Barry was what she needed. Single. Good job. Money. Dependable. The thought stuck him like an ice pick, and a cold ache shivered through him.

“Oh, Jemma,” he murmured. “Why can’t you stay out of my thoughts?” His real fear pressed against his chest. Why couldn’t she stay out of his heart.

Jemma fluffed the pillows she’d covered with fresh pillowcases, placed them back on the bed and covered both with the bedspread. After gathering the soiled linen, she stepped into the hall and disposed of it all at the cart. Then she returned to the room and switched on the vacuum cleaner.

With the roar of the machine in her ears, Jemma didn’t hear the man enter. She jumped when a hand tapped her shoulder, and she swung around to face Ian Barry. Lifting her toe, she tapped the off button. The vacuum cleaner’s drone died to silence.

“Sorry,” he said. “I frightened you.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t hear you with that thing roaring.” She scanned his face, wondering if she’d done something to displease him or if possibly he’d returned to ask more about her suggestions.

A week earlier when he called her into his office,
she’d given him a brief rundown of ideas. But instead of being pleased at his interest, she’d felt disappointed that Philip hadn’t asked to see her. He’d sent his assistant to speak with her. Now she was sure that Philip was avoiding her.

She focused on Ian. “Can I do something for you?” Waiting for his response, she tried to calm her anxiety.

“Yes,” he said, adjusting his eyeglass frames. “Mr. Somerville would like to see you before you leave today.”

“Mr. Somerville?”

“Philip,” he said. “In his office.”

“Did I—”

“It’s about your ideas…the things we talked about last week.”

From his response, Jemma realized her expression had shown concern. Her telling face was always like an open book.

“All right. Should I see him now…or after work?” Her pulse sprinted with her longing to run to him.

“Finish your rooms first,” Ian answered.

She gave him a bright smile, praying her expression didn’t show her disappointment. “Okay.”

When she finished the vacuuming, she shoved the cart along the hall, flying from room to room in anticipation of her meeting. Her thoughts flew as quickly as her hands.

But Jemma’s desires were a paradox. She wanted
her freedom, yet she longed for love. She wanted Philip, but she didn’t want his help. She would only marry a Christian, but she wouldn’t let the Lord guide her.

Why hadn’t she given her troubles to God? Jesus stood with wide open arms, waiting for her to lay her burdens down. Instead, she swung from one emotion to the other, never understanding what she wanted, never listening to God’s direction.

And what about Philip? When she’d finally asked about his faith, his answer had seemed evasive.

With her mind preoccupied, Jemma completed her day’s work. She returned to the housekeeping storage room, stowed the cart and pulled her shoulder bag from the locker.

Looking into a small mirror, Jemma ran a comb through her unruly curls, then pulled them back with a clasp. She ran a pale-orange gloss on her lips, then slipped off her Bay Breeze smock and smoothed her knit top. When she finished, she drew in a lengthy breath. Courage was what she needed.

Waiting by the bank of elevators, Jemma tried to imagine what Philip would say to her. Would he apologize for his absence? Would he say he had missed her? The
ding
of the arriving car scattered her thoughts and she chided herself for her foolishness.

At the first floor, Jemma darted from the elevator, then held her eager steps to a brisk pace as she followed the hallway to the executive offices. The sec
retary wasn’t at her desk, but Philip’s door sat open. She peeked inside.

With his forehead braced in his hand, Philip bent over his work, a manila folder spread open in front of him. Jemma inched forward, but before she could tap, Philip lifted his head and noticed her. He rose.

“Come in, Jemma.”

“You asked to see me,” she said, willing her frazzled nerves to calm.

“Yes, I did.” He gestured toward the easy chairs away from his desk. “Sit there. It’s more comfortable.”

She followed his direction and walked to the sitting area, pausing long enough to admire the lush brocade chair covering before sinking into its deep cushion.

Philip had not followed, but moved to a sideboard and pulled cups from a storage area. “Coffee?”

She nodded. “With a little cream, please.”

He didn’t look her way as he filled the cups. She waited, feeling like a stranger attending a business meeting. What had happened to the warm friendship that they’d shared? It’s absence darkened her hopefulness.

Avoiding Philip’s scrutiny, Jemma stared at the rug—an oriental one in the deepest shades of blue and red—rich and elegant…unlike Jemma, who today felt plain and poor in Philip’s presence.

Philip’s shadow fell across her arm, and she forced her eyes upward. He extended the coffee cup, which
sent up an aroma of rich creamy hazelnut. She held the saucer against her lap and waited for him to sit.

He did, and when he looked at her he gave her a puzzled frown. “Is something wrong? I hoped that you’d like your work here.”

“No, my job’s fine.”

“I’m glad.” He lifted his cup and took a sip, eyeing her over the rim. When he lowered it, he kept his gaze riveted to her. “You look so concerned, Jemma. I asked you to see me because I’ve heard that you have some rather innovative ideas. I wanted to discuss them with you.”

“Mr. Barry told me.”

“Right.”

His eyes glazed over, and she sensed he had drifted away from her, had dropped a barricade between them.

Two could play the game—if that’s what he was doing. If he wanted to be distant and talk business, she could be as businesslike as anyone. She lifted her cup and sipped the hot brew, letting the flavor play on her tongue before swallowing.

Silence.

As if he had returned from his imaginary journey, he refocused on her. “Why not tell me about your ideas?”

Stiffening her resolve, she reviewed the same concepts she’d told Ian Barry, telling him how she’d gathered information from co-workers and pointing
out the difference between everyday amenities and something unique.

“Chocolates on the pillow are commonplace, but hot chocolate and tea in the room aren’t.”

“You’re right.”

She could see his mind sorting and resorting her ideas. Struck by a new idea, she added, “Coffee mugs with the Bay Breeze logo would make a nice souvenir…with a minimal price tag.”

“You have more ideas than I can comprehend, Jemma.” He sent her the familiar smile that melted her heart. “I’ll tell you what. Let me think about all you’ve said, and we’ll meet again in a few days. I’ll have a chance to hash out some details. How’s that?”

“That’s fine, but don’t think you have to say they’re good ideas just to make me happy.”

“You don’t need me to make you happy. I’m sure happiness finds you.”

An odd look skidded across his face. She couldn’t believe the man was that dense. If he didn’t realize that he made her happier than anything on earth, Jemma decided, Philip Somerville must be a fool.

J
emma leaped from her car and raced through the parking lot to the boutique door with her news. She hadn’t been able to keep the smile off her face since she’d heard.

When she opened the door, the bell jingled, catching Claire’s attention. Jemma sent her an excited grin.

“Jemma,” Claire called from the counter. “Something’s happened. I can see that telltale glow.”

Laughter rumbled from Claire’s chest, and her customer, Sissy Hartmann, gave Jemma a cheery wave as she hurried through the shop to join them.

“Do you have good news?” Sissy asked in her familiar confidential tone, leaning toward Jemma.

“I do.” Jemma pressed her palms together and closed her eyes. Was it really true? She released a
sigh, acknowledging that God had blessed her again. “I got a promotion.”

“Promotion.” Both women repeated the word and gasped at the same time.

Claire darted around the display counter and drew Jemma into a generous bear hug.

“Tell us,” Sissy said, waiting with wide eyes.

When Claire released her, Jemma drew back and sputtered the rest of her story. “Philip called me into his office and said that my ideas were so impressive he was offering me the position of Specialties Director. It’s part of Rooms Division.”

“Oh my.” Sissy’s face drooped with concern.

“What?” Claire snapped. “It’s a promotion.”

“But what happened to the other director—?”

“He left the resort,” Jemma said. “Don’t worry Sissy, he wasn’t fired.”

Claire’s expression changed to one of seeming relief.

Jemma rested her hand on Sissy’s shoulder. “Philip said they were just ready to post the opening. And…” She waited for their full attention. “I’ll get a raise.”

“Oh, that’s so nice,” Sissy said, reaching to her shoulder where Jemma’s hand rested and patting it. “I’m happy for you, my dear.

Jemma dropped her hand noting the petite woman seemed as nervous as a bird. “I’m just so excited.”

“And you should be,” Sissy said.

Claire lifted her hands in proclamation. “We should celebrate.”

Jemma grinned and twirled in a full circle, stopping to face her mother-in-law. “And we are, Claire. Tonight Philip’s taking us to dinner.”

“Dinner. Fantastic,” Claire said. “I hope I have something to wear.”

Hearing Claire’s concern, Jemma controlled a laugh. She couldn’t think of a single time when Claire didn’t have something unique to wear.

“Philip Somerville is a gem,” Sissy said with a wispy, romantic sigh. “You’re so blessed.”

“I am.” Jemma grinned, knowing she truly was.

Sissy shifted her attention to a leather purse, and Claire retraced her steps behind the counter. From the snatches of conversation, Jemma speculated the purchase would be a gift for Abby Hartman’s birthday.

Wandering away from the handbag decision, Jemma stopped at the scarf table and organized the colorful silk accessories, placing them in neat rows. Her thoughts drifted back to her meeting that afternoon with Philip, when she’d first seen the delighted expression on his face. She’d had no doubt that the news he was about to tell her was extraordinary.

The promotion was a dream come true, but what stood out in Jemma’s mind was how wonderfully natural Philip had been when he spoke to her that afternoon. Not businesslike as he’d acted during previous meetings, but the way he behaved at dinner or
on the boat—like a friend. She prayed he would always treat her that way.

Whenever she sensed Philip shrinking away as he’d done recently, Jemma felt an ache deep in her chest. An emptiness as if someone had ripped out her heart. She pushed the awful thought away.

The shop bell tinkled, and Jemma turned toward the sound, surprised to see one of her co-workers enter the shop.

“Carrie.” Jemma waved and left the scarves to greet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve listened to you talk about the shop so often, I thought I’d stop by and take a look for myself,” she said with a smile. “Besides, I need a birthday gift for my sister-in-law.”

After getting a better idea what Carrie was looking for, Jemma guided her toward the items. At a leather goods display, Carrie examined the features of a clutch bag. When she was satisfied, she shifted her attention to Jemma. “So tell me about your meeting with Mr. Somerville. Is he really considering your ideas?”

Jemma nodded, unable to cover her glee. “He is—and guess what.”

The woman shrugged.

“I’m so excited. He’s made me the new Specialties Director.”

A puzzled look settled on Carrie’s face. “What’s that?”

Jemma shrugged. “It’s part of Rooms Division.”
Carrie’s expression gave Jemma a distressed feeling. “I’ll put the new ideas into practice and make Bay Breeze a resort that people won’t forget.”

“You sound like a commercial.” Carrie deepened her voice and mimicked a televison announcer. “Visit Bay Breeze, a resort you won’t forget.”

Laughing with her, Jemma clapped her hands. “That could be the new motto.”

The questioning look returned to Carrie’s face. “But I think this must be a new position, Jemma. I’ve been at Bay Breeze a long time and never heard of a Specialties Director…except for setting up conferences and banquets, maybe. I’m thinking it’s part of the Food and Beverage Department.”

Jemma shook her head. “No, Phi—Mr. Somerville said Rooms Division.”

Carrie shrugged. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter. You got a promotion. I’m so happy for you.”

Jemma rang up the clutch bag, but after Carrie paid for her purchase and departed, Jemma felt unsettled. She sensed her friend was jealous of the promotion, and Jemma didn’t like the way that made
her
feel. Would others react as Carrie had and think that Jemma had received special treatment? Most of her co-workers had no idea she and Philip knew each other. She’d been very careful about that.

Was it possible Carrie knew? Her reaction had the definite ring of jealousy.

Philip held the door for Claire and Jemma as they exited the Porte Bello Restaurant on the first floor of
Harborfront Place. He’d wanted to kick himself—erase the moment he’d made the offer to celebrate. What kind of a fool was he? Recently, he’d begun concocting a scheme to push Jemma and Ian together, hoping they’d fall in love—but at the same time, he was setting himself up for grief. And when Jemma glowed after he told her about the position, and he couldn’t hold back his own excitement.

“That was a treat,” Claire said. “The food was delicious, and my new dentures feel wonderful.” Stepping from the air-conditioning into the warmer outside air, she pulled the purple shawl from her shoulders.

“I’m glad you took care of that,” Philip said, pleased that he’d cautioned Bill Barrow to give her a low price.

Philip was also pleased that Claire had worn one of her more subdued outfits that evening—an ankle-length, purple print dress. The most outlandish part of her costume was a large silk orchid she’d pinned behind her ear.

Jemma paused on the walk, looking toward the Grand River across the street. “What’s that grandstand for?” She pointed to the weathered structure on the waterfront.

“Musical Fountain,” Philip said. “The show doesn’t begin until after dark.”

She turned toward him, a scowl wrinkling her forehead. “Musical fountain? What’s it do?”

As he’d done so often, Philip ignored his common sense and looked at his wristwatch. “Would you like to stick around and see?”

“I’d love to, if it’s all right with everyone.” She shifted her focus to Claire.

Her mother-in-law gave a deep yawn. “It’ll be nearly ten before it starts, don’t you think, Philip?”

“Probably,” he agreed. “Is that too late, Claire?”

She gave him a one-shoulder shrug. “The shop opens early. Would it be too much trouble to give me a ride home first?”

He knew he should offer a rain check, but he’d already muzzled his good sense. “Not at all, Claire if you’re sure.”

“No, please.” Jemma held up her hand, waving away his words. “Don’t go through all that trouble for me. Some other time would be fine.”

“No, you two enjoy yourselves,” Claire said.

With Claire helping the decision, Philip led them back to the car and headed toward Loving, calculating that he had plenty of time to return before show time.

When they pulled in behind the boutique, Jemma again protested going back, but Claire stifled her argument. After saying good-night to Claire, Philip watched her safely into the apartment, then drove the few miles back to the waterfront stands.

A small crowd had gathered on the boardwalk, while others had selected seats in the bleachers. Philip noticed some had jackets and a few carried car
blankets. Since the sun had set, a cooler breeze drifted off the river, and he eyed Jemma’s short sleeves.

“Will you be too cold?”

“No, it’s pleasant.” She turned to him, her face stressed. “But I still feel badly that you came all the way back here just for me.”

“I haven’t seen the fountain show in years, and I’ll enjoy it as much as you.” He supported her elbow as she took the steps into the bleachers and settled on a plank seat.

Alerted by a cool breeze that fluttered across his back, Philip again eyed Jemma’s bare arms. “Wait here, and I’ll run back and—”

“I’m not a child, Philip.” She shook her head, teasing him and yet making a point. “It’s summer. I won’t freeze.”

Her playful smile sparked a trail of warmth to his belly. Philip closed his mouth. Why press the issue? Jemma was not a child. She was pure woman. That was his problem.

Thinking back, Philip remembered his first meeting with Jemma. He’d enjoyed her inexperience and freshness. At the time, he’d thought she was like a child. But he’d been totally wrong. Now he was suffering the consequences of giving his emotions free rein. He had to be more watchful.

At dinner that evening, Philip had let down his guard and unsettled himself by the thoughts that lingered in his mind—no matter how much he fought
them. Now, he pictured her at Porte Bello, poring over the menu, wisps of her upswept hair trailing on her neck. He had yearned to run his fingers through her natural curls, to hold her in his arms and feel her lips against his.

Gooseflesh rose on his arms. How long had it been since he’d kissed a woman? How would her mouth feel pressed against his? Would Jemma part her lips for him while he reveled in the pliant softness of her mouth?

After dinner when she sneaked her lipstick from her bag and subtly drew it across her lips, he’d been captivated, unable to look away. Even the remembrance produced a longing deep inside him.

As a cold gust flapped the hem of Philip’s suit jacket, lights rose along the river’s distant bank and a solitary geyser shot into the air. The water spray ascended as a bright-red glow, and a voice pierced the darkness, announcing the start of the performance.

While the fountain-voice offered statistics to the viewing audience, another puff of wind passed them, and Jemma shivered. Without asking, Philip tugged his arm from his jacket, slid it off the other, and wrapped it over Jemma’s shoulders.

She sent him a frown. “No, Philip.”

“I’m not going to let you freeze.”

She swung the jacket from her shoulders and held it on one finger. “Put this back on or I’ll drop it.”

He’d never met such a stubborn woman. He eyed
the darkness below the bleacher seats and nabbed his coat before she let it fall. He slipped his arm into one side and tried to put the other shoulder around her for warmth.

“Put your jacket on,” she demanded.

Her voice triggered his own determination. “All right, but let me put my arm around you, then.”

She didn’t argue about that, and when he’d donned the coat, he nestled her against him and covered her arm with his. He felt her burrow into his side, and a part of him was pleased that she’d insisted on remaining coatless.

Music filled the air, and with the rise and fall of the melody, the water sprays dipped and swirled washed in varied colors. Jemma oohed and aahed at the display, vocalizing appreciative utterances in the night.

Jemma’s sweet scent swept passed him on the breeze, and Philip buried his cheek in her hair and drew in the intoxicating aroma. For once, Jemma didn’t inch away, but seemed happy in his arms.

Philip allowed his hand to explore the satiny texture of her skin, the soft down of her arm prickling upward with the cooler air. Garnering courage, he rested his palm over her hand and wrapped her chilled fingers in his. His reward was Jemma’s delicate squeeze, seeming to let him know his boldness was approved.

How much would this cold night unloose their restraints? A love song filled the night sky, accompa
nied by the muted greens and blues of the water’s spray, and Jemma’s body pulsed to the music’s rhythm. As the passion of the melody swelled, the hues danced on the water like red and orange flames.

As the song faded, Jemma tilted her head upward, and Philip was lost in her shadowed gaze. He slid his hand up the silk of her arm and lifted her chin. He longed to kiss her, but drew away.

Jemma’s surprised, expectant eyes caught his, and he felt like a high school boy sitting on the bleachers, trying to sneak his first kiss.

He opened his mouth to apologize, to tell her he would never try to kiss her again, but he swallowed the words. He would not say he was sorry. No promises. In his heart, he knew apologies and promises might someday be broken.

Disappointment swirled in Jemma’s mind. Confused, she directed her eyes to the fountain for the finale. After the last melody ended, they made their way down the bleacher stairs.

Philip had withdrawn as he so often did. When they reached the car, he opened the door for her, then headed for the driver’s side and climbed in. She sensed he wanted to speak, but only his eyes seemed to reflect the words her heart longed to hear.

Why had he drawn back? He’d been so sweet and caring. She’d been positive that he’d wanted to kiss her. Her own heart yearned to have his lips against hers. But something had stopped him.

Now in the driver’s seat, Philip kept his hands on
the wheel, his eyes focused on the highway. In the quiet, Jemma relived the gentle touch of his hands and the longing look in his eyes. She realized how long it had been since she’d felt such emotion.