Loving Treasures (8 page)

Watching her detailed inspection, Philip kept his smile at bay. In his opinion, the place was perfect and the price was even better.

When she was finished, she stood for a moment in the center of the room, her eyes scanning the surroundings. Then she focused on him.

As he waited, his chest tightened.

“It’s nice,” she said.

He nodded.

“Do you know how much rent she wants?”

He nodded. “Four hundred a month.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. No hidden costs, except your own telephone.”

“Only a fool would pass this up.”

That’s what he’d thought, but he clamped his mouth shut.

“Thanks. You were thoughtful to bring me here.”

“I was, wasn’t I.”

She gave a quiet chuckle. “I guess I can tap on Jeanette’s door.”

“Guess you can.” She linked her arm in his, and he looked toward heaven with a humble thank-you.

Jemma slid the menu behind the metal napkin holder and shifted her gaze toward Philip. He meddled and he pushed. Sometimes he was impossible. And for once, she didn’t care. Looking at him took her breath away. Though she’d tried not to fall in love, she’d finally admitted to herself that she had done just that. Now all she had to do was get Philip to love her in return.

She suspected he did. He just didn’t know it yet.

Philip eyed her over the menu. “What are you having?”

“Death by Chocolate. I figure if I have to go, it might as well be a memorable experience.”

His face broke into a bright smile. He’d been so tense all evening that Jemma felt guilty.

“I might go for the peanut butter pie. I can hear my arteries screaming as I speak.”

Laughter cured many ills, and Jemma allowed herself to enjoy the moment. “Philip, I’m sorry I was so awful.”

“Awful? Which time?”

An unexpected guffaw slipped from her throat. She gave his arm a playful smack and lowered her head, peeking around, praying that no one had heard her loud laugh. She would have given money for a photograph of his delightful expression.

“Now that we’ve resolved that,” Philip said, “I’m glad you agreed to come with me.”

“Me, too. It’s been…interesting.”

“And productive. By the way, if you need help moving, I’d be glad…” His voice faded as she glowered.

A waitress stepped to the table, took their order and moved away. Alone again, he shook his head as if defeated. “I’m sorry, I seem to step on your toes all the time.”

“I understand. It’s just you. You can’t help the way you are.”

“That sounds dire.”

“It is at times. I don’t know if we’re friends or strangers.”

Sadness washed over his face. “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m my own friend.”

“When I’m with you, like we are right now, you make me laugh and I feel comfortable, but sometimes I’m confused. At the office, you’re my employer so I don’t know how to behave. I don’t know if boss-employee friendships are allowed.”

“We don’t have rules regulating friendships at Bay Breeze. Loving is too small a village for that.” He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table. “Is something bothering you…at the resort?”

Jemma’s chest tightened. Was this the time to tell him her concern? Carrie wasn’t the only one who prodded her with an occasional question or gave her
a curious glance. “I get looks from people sometimes.”

“Looks?” The tenderness vanished and he tensed.

“Questioning looks. It’s probably just me. I worry that everyone assumes you gave me the job because I’m a friend. I wasn’t here long enough for a promotion.”

Philip knotted his fingers together. “Most people don’t realize that you are a…friend, do they?”

“I’ve been discreet, Philip. I’ve told no one.”

His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes. “Even if they know, it’s not anyone’s business but ours. You have the position because you deserve it. You’re creative and dependable.”

His angry defense startled her. “Thank you,” she said, flustered by his compliments.

“From the beginning, I admired how hard you worked. Latrice always keeps me posted on new employees. You deserved the promotion.”

Jemma lowered her eyes, feeling foolish that she’d worried. Why did she assume people were talking about her? From the first day she took the job, everyone had been pleasant. Since her promotion, some asked about her education and acted surprised when she explained she’d never gone to college. But they’d been nothing but kind.

“Jemma.”

Pulling herself back, she refocused on Philip. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Thinking about how confusing I am?”

She shrugged. “Life’s confusing, I guess. I just wonder what you’re thinking. I wonder if I’m deluding myself and if you’re just putting up with me for Claire’s sake.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

“But sometimes you’re so distant, and I don’t understand why. If it’s my job, I’ll find something else. I enjoyed our rela—friendship. I don’t want to lose it.”

Philip was stung by her words. He watched her eyes mist and longed to hold her in his arms, to brush the tears from her eyes. “Please don’t cry.”

He didn’t know what to say. Glancing over his shoulder, Philip hoped customers hadn’t noticed her tears—she would be embarrassed. He was miserable. How could he explain his feelings to her? What could he tell her other than that he wished he were fifteen years younger.

Jemma brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and straightened her back. “I don’t expect you to take care of us anymore. Claire’s doing well with the store. Since the tourists arrived, she’s busy. I even have to help her sometimes in the evenings.”

“I’m glad. Really.”

“I just want us to be natural, Philip. Not like two strangers talking at a bus stop. Since I’ve moved to Loving, I haven’t made a lot of friends, and the few I have are precious.”

Precious!
The word lit the sky. She’d compressed the reason for his struggle into that one word. She
was the most precious thing in his life. From the day they’d met she’d dragged his emotions out of hiding. Her smile sent his pulse on a chase, made his limbs weak. But he stifled the sensation.

“I treasure your friendship, Jemma. I do.” Philip struggled to keep himself from saying more.

She lifted her misted eyes, but before she could respond, the waitress arrived with their coffee and Jemma’s Death by Chocolate, saving him from digging his own grave.

“W
hat do you think?” Philip asked.

Ian shifted in the chair, apparently weighing the idea. “You’re the boss. But…”

“But what?” Philip rose from his chair, came around his desk and propped a hip on its polished surface.

“I don’t understand your strategy. It would help if I saw the need for all of this.”

Philip understood his strategy but he couldn’t explain it to Ian. “I think you should pick Jemma’s brain. Maybe the two of you could scout out some of the other resorts and see what they’re doing to draw in guests. That seems clear to me.”

Ian frowned and stared at the floor. As if in thought, he propped an ankle across his knee and tugged at his navy-blue dress sock. “I know she has some interesting ideas…but we don’t
need
to bring
in more guests, do we?” He lifted curious eyes to Philip’s. “We have a full house most of the time.”

“Most of the time, yes. How about the winter months? We want to grow, Ian, not stand still…and that’s what we’re doing.”

Philip could see from Ian’s expression that he didn’t agree, but being a good employee he pushed his opinion aside.

“Like I said, you’re the boss.” Ian lifted his hand and, in his characteristic gesture, adjusted his eyeglass frames. “So then, what is it you want me to do?” He leaned forward. “Don’t get me wrong, Philip. I don’t mind spending time with her. She’s a good-looking woman…. That is—” he looked pointedly at Philip “—if you’re not interested.”

The words hit Philip like an arrow, and he reminded himself of his reason for continuing with his plan to make a match between Jemma and Ian. “Look at me.” Philip touched his more-salt-than-pepper hair. “What would a young woman want with an old codger like me?”

“Codger? Don’t be ridiculous You’re in your prime. You need to get away from this place more often. Have you ever looked at the women around you? And their come-hither eyes? You’re a good catch—nice-looking, respected and wealthy. What more could they want?”

Philip knew what more they wanted, and it wasn’t a man like him. “Nice try, Ian.” He swung back
around his desk and sank into the chair. “Now, let’s talk about the Fourth of July.”

“The Fourth of July?”

“Right. I’m working out details now, and I’ve decided to have Jim Mason on as manager so you’re free to help with my party upstairs. You and Jemma, that is.”

Ian frowned. “Why Jemma?”

“Why not? I figured you could meet guests at the door. You know, help me out. That’s why I have assistants.”

With a look of resignation, Ian shrugged. “Sure if that’s what you want. I’d rather spend the night looking at her face than my own.”

Philip felt the same, but he wouldn’t let it happen. “Okay, that’s settled. Now, let’s get back to visiting the resorts.”

Ian opened his notepad, scribbling the instructions as Phillip reviewed what needed to be done. When he finished, Ian closed the folder, rose and headed toward the door. “Are you talking with Jemma about this or should I?”

A weight fell against Philip’s chest. “You can go over things with her. I’m counting on both of you.”

Ian gave him a thumbs-up, opened the door and exited, leaving Philip feeling very much alone.

Pivoting in his desk chair, Philip faced the dark water outside his window. What was he doing? Pushing two people together who he thought were good for each other. He was playing God and he knew it.

He closed his eyes, hearing Ian’s words ricochet through his mind.
You’re a good catch—handsome, respected and wealthy.
He eyed his vague reflection in the night-shrouded window. He wasn’t confident about the good-looking part, but two out of three wasn’t bad. Ian was correct. Philip guessed a few women out there didn’t care about companionship and children as long as the man was respected and wealthy.

After Susan died, he’d pretty much dismissed romance from his life. First because of grief, and later, self-pity, and now… He shrugged. He should look for an older woman who’d raised her children and now wanted some of life’s luxuries. Maybe he’d enjoy a woman’s company.

Maybe? He chided himself. He’d enjoyed Jemma’s companionship more than he could admit. Sailing, talking over dinner, laughing at anything. And longing to kiss her. He’d rethought that night a thousand times. The image showered him with pleasure and pain. His hand tingled with the memory of her silky skin and the affection in her eyes. But most often he was nailed by pain and guilt. He knew better than to tempt himself. He had to get his floundering emotions under control.

The time had come. He had to push himself to socialize again. Philip’s mind trudged through the past years, older women he knew—women who made it clear more than once that they would enjoy spending time with him. If he spent time with a
woman his age, perhaps Jemma would fade from his thoughts. His Fourth of July was an annual highlight of the summer. He’d ask someone to be his guest. But who? He had no idea.

He’d never ask Jemma. She deserved more. He didn’t know much about her life with Lyle. But he knew Lyle. A smooth operator. He was like a sleight-of-hand artist. Now you see it, now you don’t. Philip was sure Lyle had Jemma under his spell and married before she realized that it was all tricks.

How did Claire birth such a son? She was eccentric but a good woman. A Christian woman. Sluggish in her faith perhaps, but he could remember her speaking about her beliefs, and he knew she prayed. Lyle Senior had to be the flawed genetic factor. Not Claire.

Sadness filled him, thinking of sweet, innocent Jemma in a bad marriage with a man who tried to do magic with flawed props. He had failed. And Jemma? She was left with nothing. No husband, no children, no home—but a whole truckload of distrust and insecurity. And a tremendous drive to be free and independent. Philip couldn’t blame her for wanting to stand on her own.

So why did he continue to manipulate her life? He rubbed the back of his neck, tensed by his own guilt. Because he had as strong a drive to make up for his past—to prove he could be generous, to prove he could take care of someone…and to prove he could
care for someone—
love
someone—as much as he loved himself.

But who was he trying to convince? Himself or God?

Jemma hung her robe on the hook inside her closet and closed the door. She gazed around her cozy bedroom, at home for the first time in too long. Though she wished Philip would learn not to manipulate her life, she was pleased that he’d found the flat for her. A comfortable feeling warmed Jemma. Philip cared about her, no matter what he said.

In the mirror, she eyed her coordinated outfit and smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt, deciding she looked fine for church. She cringed as she wondered about Claire. When she had lived at the apartment, she had been able to suggest that Claire wear something less dramatic, but today, she asked the Lord to put a message in the woman’s ear, suggesting a little decorum.

Jemma grinned, thinking about God wasting time worrying about Claire’s wardrobe. She locked her door and hurried down the stairs. At the bottom, she glanced at Jeanette’s closed door. The woman seemed the perfect landlady—quiet, yet there if Jemma needed her. Outside, Jemma slid inside her car and aimed the vehicle toward the boutique.

She loved Sunday mornings, and spending quality time with the Lord. And she often had Sunday off. Sometimes she wondered if that was a gift from
Philip just like so many things in her life seemed to be.

Today the streets were empty, the shops closed until noon and most people asleep—a relief during the busy summer season. Jemma smiled at the bright July sky, willing to admit that she needed to refocus on her goals and on the Lord.

She had begun to revitalize her faith. She’d grown tired of the more solemn church she’d attended when she first came to Loving. Certainly God’s Word was preached there, but the congregation was as stiff as their suits and dresses, and as formal as their Sunday celebration.

A few weeks ago, she’d spotted a sign outside the Fellowship Church only a short distance away from the boutique. It read “If you can’t find the spirit, look here.” She had, and the sign had been correct. Powerful sermons, songs of praise and a friendly congregation. That’s what she needed.

Her other issue was not as easy to solve. Her goal. While she struggled for independence, her heart kept leading her down a different path. A path that led to Philip. She needed to talk with the Lord on that one.

Before Jemma could toot the horn, Claire came through the side door of the shop, and Jemma released a thankful sigh. Claire wore a navy dress with matching pumps. The only color in her outfit was a multi-hued silk scarf fluttering behind her that she’d wrapped around her throat.

“Good morning,” Claire said, yanking open the
passenger door. “Be honest. Do I look all right? Everything I wanted to wear needs cleaning.” She tugged at the skirt of her dress. “I had to drag out this old rag. I think I wore it once to a funeral.”

A chuckle sputtered from Jemma’s chest. “I’m not laughing at you. When you walked through the door, I thought how nice you looked.”

“I’ll chalk your comment up to tact,” Claire said, patting Jemma’s knee.

Claire chattered as Jemma drove the short way to church. Inside, pre-service music filled the air, and Jemma guided them to seats somewhere in the middle. She glanced through the newsy program, reading the special announcements and long list of scheduled activities. Her attention was drawn to the choir’s summer concert, a nice event to draw in the tourists. If Jemma had more time, she’d enjoy singing with the choir.

When the service began, the air hummed with praise and joy. If a weak Christian couldn’t sense the Lord in this place, he was hopeless. Jemma thought of Philip. Was that his problem? Maybe he’d been lulled to sleep by his conservative faith and needed a little shot of the Holy Spirit.

Jemma wished she could tell Claire her real feelings. But the older woman had a way of meddling that made Jemma clench her teeth in frustration.

Shifting closer to Claire, she pointed to the notice. “I was thinking we might enjoy this concert.”

Claire scanned the paragraph. “Sounds good to
me,” Claire whispered, “if I could get the shop door closed on time. I could use a little midweek uplifting.”

Jemma steadied herself. “So could Philip. He’s too tied to that resort.”

“That man does work too hard. He needs to relax. I ought to give him a call.”

Jemma was relieved. She should have known she could count on Claire…and the Heavenly Father. She lifted her gaze to the stained-glass window—a cross between the descending dove and the eye of God.

Jemma stood near Ian at Philip’s front entrance, awed by the lovely setting and the guests who swarmed into the penthouse apartment. She’d never been in Philip’s rooms before, though she’d seen the elevator marked Private that took him to his own quarters in the resort.

Sometimes she wondered why he’d never shown her his quarters, but then she answered her own question. Philip was very private and protective of their relationship.

Protective? Or embarrassed?

In Philip’s company, Jemma often forgot that she was the “poor relation.” She forgot she lacked education and social polish. God had given her creative ideas and a flair for survival, and she was making her way. But Philip had shown her a life she had never experienced. A life with sailboats, fine dining and cashmere clothes.

Scanning the room, Jemma searched for Philip. Well-dressed women stood around the large room clinging to the arms of equally polished men. The ladies wore designer dresses meant to look casual and unpretentious, but the labels could have been on the outside. These women weren’t fooling anyone.

Jemma glanced down at her plain print sheath adorned with a gold-plated necklace and button earrings. On her wrist hung a thin gold bracelet that she wore with pride. She eyed the lush, expensive jewelry weighting the necks and fingers of the other guests, and understood Philip’s discomfort with her. How could he ever have Jemma on his arm?

She stiffened as feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed her. Stunned, Jemma spotted Philip with an attractive woman gripping his sleeve. The woman smiled into his face with a possessiveness that knifed Jemma’s heart.

Just as she’d seen him do downstairs, Philip ambled among his guests, the perfect host. Occasionally, he paused to introduce the woman at this side. The couples shook her hand, gazing at her with admiration. After a polite moment, she and Philip moved on again, while Jemma’s ache grew deeper.

Jemma turned away. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she should rejoice for Philip. He’d been alone a long time. Companionship and love were God’s gifts. Philip, who was so filled with compassion and thoughtfulness, deserved good things.

Planting a smile on her face, Jemma bandaged her
wound with determination. She’d prayed for guidance. She had to accept that this was God’s will. Other couples arrived, and Jemma directed them to the hors d’oeuvres table before sinking back into her thoughts.

Had she misread Philip? She’d assumed he didn’t have a special woman in his life. Any woman, for that matter. When she really thought about it, she’d misjudged his faith, too. He’d shown her and Claire every gift of the spirit, every loving kindness. Maybe Philip didn’t attend church every week, but he knew what God expected and he acted on it. Better than she ever had.

“Would you like to mingle?” Ian said, stepping to her side. “You look like you could use a break.”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Jemma tried to send him a sincere smile.

“At least get a plate of hors d’oeuvres. The crab is wonderful.”

She saw no sense in arguing. How could she explain?

With a forced thank-you, she headed across the room to the large table spread with delicacies. Caviar, fruit and cheese, finger foods of every description. Though the assortment looked tempting, her appetite was fading as quickly as her hope.

Jemma forced herself to lift a crystal plate and move along studying the array. Knowing she would look foolish holding an empty dish, she speared a
piece of crab and a slab of melon—then froze when a familiar hand touched her arm.