Loving Treasures Read online

  Loving Treasures

  By

  Gail Gaymer Martin

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Help!"

  As Jemma lunged, the ladder slipped sideways, and she clung to the shelving while the metal contraption crashed to the floor.

  A shriek tore from Jemma's throat. With her heart racing, she inched her feet more firmly onto the new display units. From somewhere behind her, a bang and thudding footsteps sounded. "Hurry, Claire. I'm petrified," she called to her mother-in-law.

  The metal clanged below. Then the ladder appeared alongside her. Jemma moved her foot to the nearest rung. Feeling safer, she secured her hands and feet to the metal and hands braced her from behind.

  "Thank you, Claire," Jemma sang.

  "You're welcome," an amused baritone voice rumbled.

  Jemma tensed and pivoted her head, gazing down into a pair of electric blue eyes canopied by a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair.

  Books by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Love Inspired

  Upon a Midnight Clear

  Secrets of the Heart

  A Love for Safekeeping

  Loving Treasures

  GAIL GAYMER MARTIN lives with her real-life hero in Lathrup Village, Michigan. Growing up in nearby Madison Heights, Gail wrote poems and stories as a child and progressed to professional journals, skits and poems for teachers, and programs for her church. When she retired she tried her hand at her dream—writing novels.

  Gail is multipublished in nonfiction and fiction with ten novels and five novellas, and many more to come. Her Steeple Hill Love Inspired romance Upon a Midnight Clear won a Holt Medallion in 2001. Besides writing, Gail enjoys singing, public speaking and presenting writers' workshops. She believes that God's gift of humor gets her through even the darkest moment and praises God for His blessings.

  She loves to hear from her readers. Write to her on the Internet at [email protected] or at P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI 48076.

  ISBN 0-373-87184-8

  LOVING TREASURES

  Copyright © 2002 by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.

  —Ruth 1:16

  To my stepfather, Clayton Riley, who is one of my biggest and proudest fans

  Thanks to Walter A. Lucken III for his sailing expertise, and in memory of Rite (Mémé) who inspired Claire

  Chapter One

  "What was that?"

  Jemma Dupre paused amid the merchandise cartons being readied for display and cocked her ear toward the odd whine coming from the half-filled shelves.

  Moving around a pile of boxes, she heard the sound again—a cat's plaintive "meow." Bodkin. Shaking her head, Jemma followed the mournful grumble to the wall adjacent to the boutique's front display window.

  As she gazed high above her head at one of the new stock racks, Bodkin paced along the top shelf with proud indignation like a spread-tailed peacock, his own gray-striped tail flicking with annoyance.

  "You silly cat. You got yourself up there. Get yourself down," Jemma said, hands on her hips.

  Unmindful, Bodkin only stared at her and released another pitiful cry.

  Jemma called over her shoulder, "Claire, your goofy cat is in trouble." She listened for her mother-in-law's response. Nothing. "Claire?"

  Hearing no response, Jemma stepped toward the back of the boutique, then paused remembering her mother-in-law had said something about running to the hardware store. To Jemma's consternation, Claire seemed determined to single-handedly organize the new boutique in a day…that is, with Jemma's assistance.

  But Jemma was little help. She was too short, too thin and too helpless. On top of that, her mind had clogged with the changes she'd faced the past few months. Because Claire, her deceased husband's mother, was the only family she had, she'd left her small home in Monroe, Michigan, and moved to the village of Loving. Now she wondered if she'd made the right decision.

  Bodkin grumbled again. Irritated by the cat's nagging, Jemma returned to her rescue mission. Scanning the room, she spied the painter's ladder lying nearby on the floor. She edged it against the wall, then stepped back and peered at the contraption and hesitated. Height and Jemma were not best friends.

  As she eyed the metal structure, Jemma's legs trembled at the thought of climbing the thing to chase after Bodkin. If not for the cat's incessant complaining, Jemma would have waited for Claire to return. But it was more than she could bear.

  "How did you get up there?" she asked the cat, who hung over the shelf edge, staring down at her with squinted, chartreuse eyes.

  She shifted the ladder close to the cat's perch and peered up at Bodkin. "If you don't come down, I'll have to climb up there to get you." Her fists clenched at her sides. "So please come down," she pleaded. The tabby peered at her without the flick of a whisker.

  Finally, with rising trepidation, Jemma placed her right foot on the first rung, then lifted her left. Faltering, she climbed one step, paused, then took another, praying the cat would stay within her reach.

  No such blessing. With the floor six rungs below her, Jemma extended her arms, coaxing the retreating tabby. But Bodkin continued backing away.

  Jemma studied the situation. If she shifted the ladder closer, she'd have to climb down, then up again. And Bodkin would probably skitter farther away.

  Frustrated, she drew in a breath and propped her left foot on the new shelving, then stretched her arms, hoping to grab the nervous cat. As she lunged, the ladder slipped sideways, and Jemma clung to the shelving while the metal contraption crashed to the floor.

  A shriek tore from Jemma's throat. With her heart racing, she inched her feet more firmly onto the new display units while desperately hanging onto the top shelf. Bodkin rested beside Jemma's white-knuckled grasp and licked her fingers with a raspy pink tongue.

  "You dumb cat," she breathed. "Claire!" she screamed, in a futile hope that her mother-in-law had returned. Only silence and her fearful gasps filled the air. In desperation, she opened her mouth and bellowed, "Help!"

  From somewhere behind her, a bang and thudding footsteps sounded. Her arms quivered with tension and her chest heaved as she struggled for air from lungs frozen with panic. The strides drew nearer.

  "Hurry, Claire! The ladder slipped. I'm petrified."

  The metal clanged below. Then the ladder appeared alongside her. Jemma moved one foot to the nearest rung and felt Claire's hurried movement climbing the ladder. Feeling safer, she secured her hands and feet to the metal, as Claire's hands braced her from behind.

  "Thank you. Thank you." Jemma sang it like a litany.

  "You're welcome," an amused baritone voice rumbled at her back.

  Jemma tensed and pivoted her head, gazing down into a pair of electric-blue eyes canopied by a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair.

  "Who are you?" she asked as fear shot through her. In a death grip, she clung to the rung with one hand and pushed against his shoulder with the other, realizing that the stranger's hands were wrapped around her waist.

  Laughter rippled from this throat as he backed down, his eyes riveted to hers. "I might ask you the same question," he said. "But I'd guess you're Claire
's new clerk."

  Claire's new clerk. The pathetic words charged through her, and pride ruffled her gratitude. "I'm the owner's daughter-in-law," she said, peering at him.

  "Ah," he said, stepping back from the ladder as she descended, "then, you must be Lyle's wife." His face twisted in an undefined expression.

  Jemma's foot touched the security of the floor and she unclamped her aching hand from the rung. "I was. Lyle died a year ago. I'm Jemma Dupre."

  His face washed with muddied emotion. "Ah yes, Claire told me. I'm very sorry."

  Puzzled by the stranger, Jemma swallowed her mixed emotions. "Thank you."

  A serious expression had replaced his amusement. "So, you're Jemma." Towering above her five foot two inches, impressive in an obviously expensive sport coat, he thrust his hand toward her. "I'm Philip Somerville. Claire's cousin."

  "Philip Somerville." Dismayed at her brusque-ness, she covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm so sorry. I hope I wasn't rude. Claire didn't mention you were coming today."

  "That's because I didn't tell her." He glanced over his shoulder. "Where is she, by the way?"

  "The hardware for—"

  Bodkin's plaintive cry halted her in mid-sentence.

  "Oh-oh, I forgot about you, Mr. Bodkin." She gazed up at the tabby and rubbed the back of her neck. "He'll have to wait until Claire comes back."

  "Let me," Philip said, grasping the ladder and moving up the rungs with the confidence of a fireman. "Come here, my furry friend," he said, nabbing the cat by the collar and nestling it against his chest.

  When he placed the tabby on the floor, Bodkin arched his back, aimed an evil "hiss" at Philip, then strode off as if he'd been offended.

  "He has an attitude," Jemma said, apologizing for the cat's ungrateful behavior.

  Philip smiled. "No problem. I've learned to take customers' complaints in stride."

  Jemma pulled data from her memory bank. "Right," she said, pleased that she remembered. "You own a resort on Lake Michigan."

  "Guilty," he said, sending her a humble grin. Turning in a full circle, he peered around the room. "I hope Claire is pleased with the shop. I made the best deal for her that I could."

  "Oh, she's thrilled, and with the apartment upstairs, it's perfect."

  "It's rather small, but I figured it would do for now. When you two find something larger and more permanent, you can rent out the space overhead."

  When you two find something larger. Jemma's mind bogged. She had no plans to stay forever with Claire. She'd depended on her mother-in-law too much already. As soon as she got herself together and helped Claire set up the shop, she'd find her own place…and a job. "It'll do fine." She pushed her thoughts aside, not willing to share them.

  "Whatever you decide," he said, amusement swimming in his eyes.

  Jemma clutched at the neck of her T-shirt. His distracting grin and blue eyes sent uncomfortable jitters up her back.

  "You'll work here, I hope," he said, filling in the silence.

  She tried to come up with something evasive, but nothing came to mind. She had to be honest. "Only to help Claire open the shop."

  He tilted his head with a quizzical look.

  "I doubt if a new boutique will support two women," Jemma continued. "I'll need to find my own job once things are settled."

  His pensive face brightened. "Let me know when you're ready to make a move. I'm sure I can find a spot for you at the resort."

  Jemma faltered. She'd had enough charity to last her a lifetime, but she couldn't explain that to a virtual stranger. "Thanks." She dismissed his offer. "I'm—"

  "Philip!"

  Claire's vibrant deep voice hit her ears, and Jemma pivoted in her mother-in-law's direction.

  The older woman bounded across the room, looking impulsive and exotic in her ankle-length Indian-print dress and her long, auburn, windblown hair.

  "Claire," Philip said, taking her in his arms with a warm hug. "You look well." His gaze traveled the length of her solid, large-boned frame. "In fact, unbelievable."

  "Thank you, Philip. It's so good to see you finally. I'd hoped you'd stop by." She beckoned him to follow. "Come into the back."

  Jemma peered at Philip as he strode alongside Claire, wondering if his "unbelievable" was a cover for his shock at Claire's outlandish getup.

  When she'd first met her mother-in-law, Jemma had blinked in amazement at the older woman's reddish, flyaway hair and her eccentric costume—zebra-striped spandex pants with a black gauze peasant blouse. But Jemma soon learned that Claire's heart was as lavish and generous as her flamboyant clothing. The elderly woman was giving, good-natured, and easy to love.

  Waiting until they passed through the workroom doorway, Jemma gathered her thoughts before following. When she joined them in the back room, Philip was seated at the large worktable, while Claire stood with her back to them beside the microwave, heating water.

  "Sorry it's taken me so long to come by," Philip said.

  "Don't fret. I appreciate everything you did for me, Philip, but I wanted to thank you in person. The shop's perfect." She spun around, dangling a tea bag from her fingers. "I know it wasn't easy with my meager savings, and—"

  "To be honest, Claire," Philip said, "speaking of your savings, I had to add a little backing to yours to make this deal come about. But please don't worry, I know I'll get it back."

  Claire's face sagged, and she lowered her head for a moment before lifting her misted eyes. "That was too kind, Philip. You've already done so much for me."

  He raised his hand to quiet her. "Don't say a word. Please. Sharing my good fortune with family is no problem." A distant longing flashed in his eyes before he turned to Jemma. "In fact, I've offered…"

  Jemma's inner voice cried "no" as she struggled to keep the grimace from distorting her expression.

  Apparently noting her panic, Philip's words trailed off. "I'm really glad that you came back home, Claire."

  Grateful that he had altered his comment, Jemma unknotted her fingers. She was sure Philip had been about to refer to his job offer, and she had yet to tell Claire that she planned to strike out on her own as soon as things were settled.

  The microwave sounded. Claire opened the door and plunged a tea bag into the mug of hot water, gave it to Philip, then made another and handed it to Jemma.

  With the steaming cup clutched in her hand, Jemma slid into a seat at the table, listening to Claire's vision of the shop and her hope for success.

  Jemma prayed for her mother-in-law's well-being. Life had not been easy for Claire, either. Like father, like son. Both men had squandered money and left their widows close to penniless except for a small insurance policy. Claire had sold her home for the bulk of her investment money. Without Philip's kindness, what would they have done?

  Filled with questions, Jemma studied the handsome, graying man. Was he another type-A personality that lived for his work with no time for God? Between her father-in-law and Lyle, she'd had her fill of men like that. She had one conciliatory thought. Philip had not squandered his money. He seemed to be a wealthy man.

  Jemma brought her mind back to the present, as Claire slid a bag of rock-hard sugar cookies on the table, then whirled back toward the microwave to extract her mug. Instead of joining them at the table, she leaned against the counter.

  "The sign painters are coming tomorrow. I've named the shop Loving Treasures. What do you think?"

  Though she directed the question to Philip, Jemma answered. "I like it." Jemma had tossed the name around in her thoughts for the past couple of days and decided Loving Treasures had a ring to it. Focusing on Philip, she waited for his response.

  Instead his silent gaze shifted from one to the other.

  Seeming undisturbed by his silence, Claire swept toward them and plopped into a chair. "So much to do. I'd like to open next week." She grabbed a sugar cookie from the package and clamped it between her teeth, but with a grunt and scowl she plucked it from her mouth and dropped it
to the table. "I need to find a dentist," she said, rubbing the upper gum line. "I have a sore spot. Dentures, you know."

  To Jemma's discomfort, Claire put her hand up to her mouth as if to remove them, then thought better, and halted.

  "Back in a minute," Claire said, hurrying from the room.

  Jemma shifted her uneasy gaze toward Phillip, but his focus was on the doorway.

  In a moment, Claire returned, patting the pocket of her exotic print dress. "There," she said, "I feel better already."

  Amusement flickered across Philip's lips before his expression faded to a concerned scowl. "You need to take care of those teeth. Boyd Barrow's office is right up the street about a block. He's a good dentist and a friend. Give him a call."

  "Barrow, huh?" Claire repeated. "Thanks, suppose I should." She recaptured the abandoned cookie, gnawed at it with her gums, and chattered on about the shop while flashing him an occasional toothless grin as if she had a million-dollar smile.

  Mortified, Jemma stared off in space. She'd heard the plans many times, so her thoughts drifted easily to Philip. With curiosity, she tried to guess his age. His graying hair contradicted his youthful demeanor. Only a splay of crow's feet at the corner of his striking eyes added a dash of seasoned charm to his good looks.

  He wore his hair trim, yet long enough to comb back into a full sweep of waves. A hint of five-o'clock shadow outlined Philip's jaw and drew her focus to his full pleasant mouth. His easy smile warmed her. Generous and kind is how she imagined him—and thoughtful.

  Occasionally Philip's gaze drifted to Jemma. His look made her uncomfortable. She wondered if she had crumbs on her cheek, or maybe he was just sizing her up for his job offer. If he could read her mind, he'd know she'd do anything rather than accept any more humbling kindness from anyone. She needed to build confidence by taking care of herself.