Loving Treasures Read online

  When Philip turned the key in the ignition, Jemma focused outside the window, struggling with her anxiety. She closed her eyes, imagining the wind in the sails and Philips strong hands at the wheel.

  Jemma leaned against the seat cushions, enjoying the sun warming her arms while the breeze ruffled her hair. The boat glided over the waves like a bird on the wind, smooth and gentle. Looking over the edge, she watched the lake split at the bow and roll along the side of the boat in billows of white foam. She'd never imagined how it might feel to sail on a summer afternoon.

  Philip stood at the helm, looking like a true sailor in his cap, and his navy polo shirt with a white anchor on the pocket, circled by the words Grand Haven Yacht Club. While he faced the bow, Jemma watched him, unnoticed, admiring his muscular arms as he guided the boat over the lake.

  Philip told her it was a thirty-five-foot sloop. Whatever it was, she enjoyed every minute of it. Earlier, as they had approached the boat at the peer, she'd been curious about the name printed on the hull. My Lady. Later, if she had the nerve, she would ask him what it meant. Had he referred to his wife as "my lady?" She pulled her thoughts away from his wife. She'd died too young, just as Lyle had done.

  Occasionally, Philip glanced her way, sending her a smile as warm and stirring as the breeze. When he beckoned, she rose on shaky legs and, holding the railing, moved to his side.

  "Would you like to take the wheel?" he asked.

  "Me?" In a panic, she shook her head. "I can't."

  "Sure you can." He guided her by the elbow and moved her into place.

  She gripped the wheel, feeling the power of the vessel gliding over the rolling waves.

  "Just keep your eye on the flag." He pointed to the small ensign at the top of the mast, flapping in the wind. "See the way the wind's blowing? Just keep the boat at a forty-five-degree angle to the wind. Use that as your guide."

  As her guide? She didn't know exactly what he meant, but Philip seemed confident. She struggled to relax the tension in her back. With an occasional glance at the flag, she looked ahead at a stretch of glistening blue water.

  Philip disappeared into the cabin, and Jemma's tension returned. She prayed he wouldn't be long, and felt relieved when he reappeared a moment later. She watched him at the rigging mast, raising a third sail. He was preoccupied, but at least he was back on deck.

  Enjoying and yet nervous about her turn at the wheel, Jemma kept her sight aimed at the horizon until she sensed Philip behind her.

  "How am I doing?" she asked over the wind.

  A low chuckle brushed against her ear. "Do you see the sails flapping all over the place? We're sailing too close to the wind."

  "Too close to the wind?" How could she be too close? Wind was wind. She eyed him over her shoulder to see if he was teasing.

  He nodded, his face as serious as a surgeon's. He moved in beside her, taking the wheel with one hand and wrapping the other around her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "It takes practice. You'll learn."

  Was he hinting that he would take her sailing again? She'd learn? What did he mean?

  Jemma knew she would remember this wonderful afternoon as one of the best days of her life.

  She gave him a feeble smile and worked her way to the safety of the bench. Looking across the vast expanse of blue and green extending to the horizon, she lifted her gaze to the bright, cloudless sky and perceived God's presence. Mountains, ravines, forests, oceans. God created and ruled all nature. He could move mountains. And so could she if she had faith.

  Faith? She winced, thinking of her weak conviction. The Bible promised so much, but she wondered if those promises were only for martyrs and prophets, the people of the Bible—people who walked on water and split the sea in two for others to walk on dry land. Reality told her she could never do that.

  But Jemma didn't want to work miracles. She only wanted a life that felt complete. A life that had purpose and fulfillment. Was that asking for a miracle?

  She leaned back and pondered if the moment was right to question Philip. Or would it ruin their after-noon? She took a deep breath. "May I ask you a couple of personal questions?"

  Unmoving, he eyed her. "What do you mean?"

  "Just things I've wondered about," she said, realizing that she may have made a mistake.

  He sat as if transfixed, then raised his head. "Try me."

  Troubled by his reaction, she shuffled her questions, starting with one she hoped was the safest. "Why is the boat named My Lady?"

  A deep chuckle flew from his chest. "That's the personal question?"

  "One of them." She didn't understand his reaction. The question didn't seem at all funny to her.

  "Oh, Jemma, I was prepared for something far more… intimate."

  Jemma swallowed the gasp that had lodged in her throat. "Intimate? You were?"

  "I meant something more private." He looked at the flag high on the mast, then lowered his eyes. "So you've been wondering about My Lady. I suppose I figured that after Susan's death the sailboat would be the only other woman in my life."

  She hadn't known what to expect, but Jemma had expected something more. "You mean that's it?"

  "What did you think?"

  She shrugged. "I thought maybe that was a pet name you called your wife. You know, like she's 'my lady'."

  "Sorry if I disappointed you."

  But he hadn't. "My Lady" would be a special name for a special woman. Jemma didn't want to think about Philip with any woman…only her. "And my next question—how did Susan die?"

  "In surgery. An aneurysm."

  "I'm sorry. I know she was young." Without expecting it, Jemma did feel sorry for this unknown woman whose life had been taken so early.

  "Susan was only a little older than you are. Life cheated her."

  Did he mean life? Or God? If ever a time seemed right, it was now. As the question filled her mind, Jemma held her breath.

  "Philip, do you believe in God?"

  Chapter Five

  Do you believe in God? Philip looked at her, wondering how this fit into their conversation. "That's a strange question."

  "Not really. You said that life cheated Susan. I wondered if you meant…God."

  He thought back to the moment before he had spoken. Maybe that was what he had meant. Once he'd felt that way. He studied Jemma's anxious expression. "No, I think I meant life."

  "Oh," she said with a look of disappointment.

  He wondered how she might have reacted if he'd said yes, he meant God. "Isn't life what we make it?"

  This time she looked puzzled. "Sure…I guess so."

  "We make choices. We have free will to use our lives or put one foot in a rut and go nowhere."

  "Is that me? One foot in a rut?"

  Philip laughed. "No, Jemma, that would never be you." But it was him. He'd become like Susan. No zeal to live. No hope for the future. One foot in his job and the other…

  "But I was like that once," Jemma said, "before I came to Loving. I was a widow. Nothing more, nothing less. Lyle's poor wife. I'll always be grateful to Claire for insisting we take a giant step and move here."

  "So will I."

  She looked at him with questioning eyes.

  Philip knew he'd said too much. If he looked at her gentle face much longer or the soft shapely flesh above her knee, he'd be in trouble.

  Unexpectedly, she gave him a silly grin. "I get it. You're pleased because Claire needs your help…and that gives you purpose."

  Jolted by her comment, he forced a brief chuckle, then looked ahead at the shoreline on the horizon. She'd hit too close to the truth.

  Jemma realized Philip was heading toward shore, and disappointment settled over her. She hated that their lovely day was coming to an end. Back on land, she would have to think about an apartment…and worse, a job.

  As the vessel neared the shore, the landscape looked unfamiliar. Jemma leaned forward, scanning the shoreline. The resort was nowhere in sight.

  "Where are
we?" she asked, moving toward him while forcing her voice to pierce the thud of waves and the flap of sails.

  "Muskegon," he said. "I thought we'd tie up at the marina and have dinner."

  "But I'm not dressed for—"

  An amused grin settled on Philip's face. "No one dresses for dinner here. You look lovely. Windblown and sun kissed."

  His sweet words sent tendrils of yearning down her limbs. No man had ever said such beautiful things to her. Not even Lyle.

  With careful steps, she returned to the bench and opened her compact shoulder bag. She pulled out a small oval mirror and eyed herself. Though her hair was a mess, the sun had definitely brightened her cheeks. With a quick dash of her comb, she would have to make the best of it.

  As the boat drew closer to shore, Philip lowered the sails while Jemma made a second attempt at aiming the sloop toward shore. With the visual to guide her, she stood bravely at the helm.

  Once the sails were stowed, Philip started the motor and steered into the marina.

  Jemma watched Philip with admiration as he tied the boat to the pier. He worked with precision, knotting the lines to the moorings. When the vessel was secured, Jemma grabbed her shoulder bag before Philip helped her step to the broad wooden planks. She hesitated a moment, willing her trembling legs to relax.

  When she was ready, Philip led the way to the restaurant. After they had placed their orders, Jemma drew in a calming breath, overwhelmed by the day.

  "I'm totally at a loss for words," she said, gazing at Philip's sensitive face. "How do I thank you for showing me a world I might never have known?"

  "You don't have to Jemma. You're a unique, lovely woman, and it was my pleasure to enjoy your company."

  His gentle look sent her heart aflutter. Love. Unique. Lovely. Words so foreign to her. Words that captured her imagination and sent her soaring.

  "Out there on the lake," he said, "your face beamed with excitement…like a child's."

  Her winging spirit took a nosedive. Is that what he thought? She was a child to be entertained? He could take her to the circus. Buy her balloons and cotton candy. Was that all she was to him? Another outlet for his compulsive philanthropy?

  Philip's face twisted and he fixed his palm against her forearm. "Jemma, please. I didn't say that you are a child. By no means. You're a woman. A delightful woman. Charming…and so young. You have so much life ahead of you."

  Lovely, charming…and young. That final word destroyed the thoughts that had sent her flying. How could she tell Philip that age meant nothing to her? Lyle had been her age and she'd been miserable. Age had nothing to do with relationships. In Jemma's eyes, Philip was handsome, captivating…and young at heart. That's what counted.

  She suppressed her frustration. "Philip, why do you insist on making yourself out to be Methuselah? You're only fifty."

  He lowered his eyes and stared at his fingers clasped on the table in a tight knot. "I am fifty, Jemma…and I only meant that there's a wonderful world you've never experienced. I'm pleased to share a little of it with you."

  A little of it? Jemma shifted her eyes toward the wide lake-view window, her focus drawn to the darkening horizon. She should be grateful to share a little, but at this moment, she would be grateful to share a lifetime with him.

  Hearing Jemma's hesitant voice, Philip clenched the telephone to his ear. "What did you say?"

  She cleared her throat. "I said that, uh—well, Claire wants me to ask if the job offer is still…"

  Her voice faded, followed by a clatter of the receiver.

  "Philip?" Claire's voice piped through the line.

  "Yes, I'm here."

  "She'll take forever at the rate she's going," Claire said, barreling through his response. "Jemma and I had a long talk this afternoon, and she's decided to take you up on your offer if you still have an opening at the resort."

  "Sure, Claire," Philip said, discerning that Claire had decided, not Jemma. "We can always use help." The distorted truth sailed from his mouth. At the moment, as far as Philip knew, he had a full staff—but Jemma wanted his help and he had to do something. "Claire, put Jemma back on."

  He heard Claire's muffled instructions, and finally, Jemma's soft voice reached him. "I'm back, Philip."

  "Listen, Jemma, right now it's probable that we only have an opening in Housekeeping, but I'm sure—"

  "Don't apologize, please," she said. "Housekeeping is fine. I don't have skills for much of anything else anyway."

  The ache in her voice cut through him, and he reined his rising emotion. "I'll call Personnel and tell them you're coming in. They'll be expecting you."

  "Thank you," she said in a tentative voice. "I'll be there this afternoon."

  When she disconnected, Philip fell back in his chair. Why hadn't she called a couple of weeks earlier? He could have offered her more options—a job she might have enjoyed and one that carried a higher salary.

  Thinking, he tapped his fingers against the mahogany desktop. Maybe he could figure out a way to pay her a better salary…if he could keep it under wraps. No, too many people talked, and Jemma would be furious if she thought he'd given her preferential treatment.

  He grabbed the telephone and punched in the Personnel extension. "Judy," he said when he heard her greeting, "a young woman will drop by this afternoon for a job. Jemma Dupre. She's a good friend…of the family. Is anything open besides Housekeeping?"

  He listened to Judy tell him what he already knew.

  "We have a full staff, Mr. Somerville, but we might have an opening in Laundry," Judy said.

  Laundry? Sweltering, backbreaking work. Not Jemma. "Hire her for housekeeping, anyway. Judy. Someone will quit one of these days, and we'll have the extra help. Can you work something out?"

  "Whatever you say. I'll shuffle the schedule."

  Hearing her response, Philip ended the conversation and replaced the receiver. He could count on Judy to be subtle. Personnel was like that. She knew the employees' strengths and weaknesses, heard about their problems and sorrows. He could trust Judy to handle the situation.

  But could he trust himself? Philip released a stream of air from his lungs. Since the day on the sailboat, his thoughts were filled with Jemma. He pictured her glowing face turned toward the sun, her golden hair tossed by the wind, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

  Though she resented his comment, Jemma experienced life with a child's faith. Not immature, but innocent and expectant like a youngster at Christmas. Jemma touched his heart.

  But the thought made him stop cold. She had so much life to live, and he had so little to offer her. Between his responsibilities at the resort and his advanced age, he felt like a doddering grandfather fantasizing over a movie starlet. If Jemma was going to be underfoot day in and day out, Philip had to find a way to control his growing emotions. He needed God's help.

  Jemma parked her new used car in the staff lot and strode into the resort. Though she'd accepted Philip's offer halfheartedly, each day she grew to love her work more. The staff was friendly, and the job paid very well compared to the job she'd had back in Monroe.

  Giving a wave to one of her co-workers, Jemma headed for Housekeeping. Each day, she watched for Philip and though she saw him occasionally, he seemed to be only a fleeting image. He'd give her a quick wave and head in his own direction. But what did she expect?

  He owned the resort. She cleaned the rooms.

  Still, polishing the attractive furniture and burying her nose in the sweet-smelling percale sheets gave her pleasure. She'd lived with threadbare linens for too long not to appreciate quality bedclothes and thick towels.

  "Jemma?"

  Jemma turned and recognized her supervisor's pleasant sienna-toned face. '"Good morning."

  Latrice beckoned her into the linen room. "Carrie said you wanted to talk with me." She shifted closer and lowered her voice. "I hope nothin's wrong."

  Jemma shook her head. "No, not at all. I just had some ideas and wondered if you'd be
willing to hear them."

  Latrice tilted her head, eyeing her. "Ideas? What do you mean?"

  Though she'd been filled with confidence when she reviewed her proposals, Jemma now became strangely nervous. Would Latrice think she was too forward, wanting to change the world after only two weeks on the job?

  "I've been talking to a few people who've worked at other resorts and—"

  Latrice frowned. "They're not happy here?"

  "No, that's not it. I've asked about some of the other resorts' conveniences—things that appeal to customers."

  Though Latrice looked straight into her eyes, Jemma sensed the woman was puzzled.

  "Well…I was thinking that this area has so many resorts, but what could make Bay Breeze different… and so I…" She studied Latrice's puzzled expression. "Should I go on?"

  "You better, girl, 'cause I have no idea where you're headed." She loosed a piping chuckle.

  "I'm talking about amenities," Jemma said. "You know, special things that are added to the room. Things people talk about when they leave. It's good public relations and good advertising copy."

  "Like those big ol' terry-cloth robes," Latrice said. "Our suites have those."

  "Yes, but I was thinking about something less expensive," Jemma said.

  "Chocolates on the pillows?"

  "Sure, that would be nice—but how about fresh flowers in each room, hot chocolate and tea to go along with the in-room coffeemakers?" Jemma watched a grin creep to Latrice's face.

  "Girlfriend, you have some pretty fancy ideas."

  "Maybe, but this is a pretty fancy resort, isn't it?" Jemma countered.

  "You have me there," Latrice said, slapping her leg. "Let me talk to someone in Rooms Division. They'd be the first ones to listen to new ideas."

  "Thanks," Jemma said. She took a step backward, wondering if Latrice was finished. "Then, I'd better get to work."

  "You can say that again."

  She handed Jemma a list of vacated rooms to be cleaned, and Jemma headed for the housekeeping supplies room on the second floor. She wasn't assigned the elegant suites, just nice rooms with balconies and king-size beds. Decorated in mauve and green, they reminded her of fresh spring flowers.