Loving Treasures Page 7

  She bounced as she walked toward the elevator, knowing that her life had taken a positive turn. Ask and you shall receive. She hadn't thought God had time for her small problems. But she sensed her good fortune was a blessing, and today she felt spurred to send the Lord a thank-you.

  Although she'd moved back with Claire for the present, her new older-model car gave her independence. In a few weeks the next big step would be finding an apartment.

  And somehow she'd been inspired with these creative ideas. Today, telling them to Latrice had a second purpose. Jemma needed to prove herself. Philip had shown his usual charity by giving her a job at Bay Breeze. In fact, looking around at the number of housekeepers coming and going, Jemma even wondered if they were overstaffed.

  No matter. Philip had given her a chance, and she wanted to prove her worth. If she could find new ways to make the resort even better, it would benefit Philip, prove her resourcefulness and offer him a kindness in return.

  When she reached Housekeeping, Jemma put her shoulder bag in a locker and loaded the supply cart. Though she tried to concentrate on her tasks, her mind inevitably returned to sailing across the rolling blue water, watching Philip's capable hands at the helm.

  Jemma didn't know why she'd become so fixated on Philip, but lately, she wished she were free of the growing desire that addled her mind. She'd experienced a marriage with a man tied to his work and personal interests while she longed for a happy home and family. She'd never wanted wealth. Jemma would have been content to live with frayed upholstery and nicked tables as long as she had a man by her side who loved her and cherished her company. Lyle hadn't been that man.

  So why did she let Philip affect her so? His lifestyle alone should deter her feelings. Like Lyle, he spent long hours at the resort, burdened with the responsibilities of the vast complex of buildings and grounds. He held the reins alone. She sometimes sensed he preferred to be alone.

  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 sh
e 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 secretary 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.

  Chapter Six

  Jemma 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 th
at 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."