Loving Treasures (13 page)

When the service ended, Philip knew he would come back to worship, and he understood why Jemma had brought him here—God’s wisdom. Some people moved down the aisle, some exited the church, others came forward to pray.

He followed Jemma outside, feeling alive and spirit-filled. On the sidewalk, Jemma and Claire introduced him to friendly faces, people whose names he didn’t remember and whose words he couldn’t recall. All that clung to his thoughts was that God understood his fears and had spoken to him through the Word.

“What did you think?” Jemma asked when they reached the car.

“Very nice,” he said. “I know why you wanted me to come. Thanks.”

Jemma didn’t ask him to explain, and although he sensed Claire’s eagerness to grill him, she used good sense and remained quiet. When they pulled up at Claire’s, he declined her invitation for coffee. He needed to get back to work, but more, he needed time to think. Time to find the perfect way to confess his dishonesty about Jemma’s position, and tell her how much she’d changed his life.

L
ooking down the leaf-strewn path, Jemma ran ahead of Philip, her laughter sailing behind her. She couldn’t wait to see the overlook that offered a view of the sand dunes and Lake Michigan.

Jemma’s heart swelled as she breathed in the pungent September air. She’d never felt as carefree and as loved as she had during the past few weeks.

“Hurry,” she called, glancing over her shoulder and motioning.

“Wait up,” Philip said. “Give a guy a chance to breathe.”

She dashed away again, her feet dancing through the colorful autumn leaves that covered the path and canopied the sky overhead. Red and gold shimmered with sunlight, contrasting with the spindly evergreens that clung with shallow roots to the sandy floor.

Philip stopped and spread out his arms. “Have mercy,” he said, his laughter punctuated by gasps.

Jemma spun around and raced back, bounding into his embrace and wrapping her eager arms around his neck.

He kissed her nose and chin, then slid her to the ground. “You have to remember a reality, my lady—” along with the nickname he flashed her a sly smile “—seventeen years does have its drawbacks.”

Jemma laughed and tucked her arm around his waist. Lately, he’d been a good sport about the age difference and she tried to be patient. He’d made a positive improvement.

Ahead, Jemma saw the trail open and she pulled away. “Sorry. I can’t wait,” she said, running backward for a moment before she spun around and darted ahead.

The sight was awesome. Rolling dunes stubbled with beach grass, silverweed and beach peas extended down to the bright blue water.

In seconds, Philip reached her side and leaned against the railing. “What do you think?”

“God’s world. When you see raw nature, you wonder how people can question whether or not there’s a God.”

He nodded and slipped his arm around her shoulder. “And the scenery’s almost as perfect and beautiful as you are.”

She started to disagree or give him a playful poke,
but she stopped herself. Sweet words and tenderness were something new to her, something she needed to learn to welcome. She’d never had another man make her feel so cherished.

When she had taken in all she could of the quiet loveliness of the surroundings, she nudged Philip forward, anxious to see more of the park.

Arm in arm, they followed the path in silence. Only the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves or a bird call pierced the hush of the woods.

“This is the best time of year to follow the trails, I think.” She dipped down and gathered a handful of fallen leaves, holding them out in front of her. “When else can you find a full palette of color?”

He grinned, and she sensed he was about to tell her he saw it in her eyes or in her heart. Instead, he nestled her closer and remained silent.

She scattered the leaves along the path until he drew her to a stop.

“What is it?” she asked.

He tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “Forgetful. I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d be my date for the Chamber of Commerce fall icebreaker.”

She looked at his face, trying to read his expression. “Icebreaker? What’s that?”

“It’s just a get-together like an open house, to invite new businesses in the community to get involved with the Chamber of Commerce. It’s casual. No big deal, really.”

His unexpected invitation was a big deal to her. He’d never asked her to be his escort before, and her shoulders tensed.

He must have noticed because he lifted his hands and kneaded the muscles above her shoulder blades.

“You’d do me a favor,” he said. “I’d like you to go with me.”

She spun around and faced him. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this.”

His eyes filled with tenderness. “I know I don’t. I want to. It’s time I introduced the world to the woman I love.”

She drew in a shuddered breath, knowing how difficult this was for him. “I love you, but…” She searched his eyes for the truth. “Yes, I’d love to be your date.”

He pulled her against his chest, then took her hand and they headed off again. After only a few yards, they reached the visitor center and stopped near the building.

“You’ve already been inside the center.” Philip tucked his hands in his windbreaker. “What do you think? Ready to go?”

She looked overhead at the powder-blue sky. Never. Today was too glorious to sit in her flat or at Philip’s. Nowhere had she seen such an abundance of autumn colors and glorious sunshine. “Must we?”

He chuckled. “No. What do you have in mind?”

His tone left a double-sided question. What did
he
have in mind? Grinning, Jemma tugged from her
pocket a folded brochure that she’d found inside the center and scanned the map.

Philip studied the park layout over her shoulder. “Well, what do you wish?” he asked, whispering the
W
sounds against her neck.

Pressing her jaw to her shoulder to stop the tickle, she giggled, then spun around, her brochure flapping in the breeze. “Let’s go to the picnic area and…do anything. Play catch?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “No ball.” But in a flash, he gave her a thoughtful scowl and headed for the car. He lifted the trunk, reached inside, then turned toward her waving a Frisbee.

“Wonderful.” She left the visitor center sidewalk and crossed the parking lot to his side.

“Someone left this at a Chamber of Commerce picnic a couple years ago. No one claimed ownership, so I tossed it in the trunk. Who’d know it would find a use?”

Playfully, she rolled her eyes. “God.”

Philip knew she was right. He’d finally accepted that God was in charge. With Jemma’s hand tucked in his, they continued down the path toward the picnic area. He found the walk faster along the asphalt road.

In a few minutes they arrived, and Philip peered beyond the scattered couples at picnic benches, looking for a treeless stretch of grass. He wondered if the picnickers were as in love as he felt.

Noticing a spot, he beckoned to Jemma and they
trotted onto the grassy expanse. Jemma took off running backward, creating a distance, and Philip stood still, facing her. She looked like a young girl, sheathed in faded jeans and a pale pink T-shirt. She motioned she was ready, and Philip curled his wrist and let the plastic disk fly through the air.

Jemma leaped and caught it, flinging it back in one smooth motion. He caught the disk and made a good return. Tossing it back and forth like pros, they ran and jumped to make perfect catches. Philip rallied, realizing he was doing pretty well for a man of fifty.

Out of nowhere, a dog’s ferocious bark distracted him. Wary, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a large chocolate Lab darting toward him, followed by a man in pursuit. His back was to Jemma, so the Frisbee sailed past. He flinched, sorry he’d missed, but praying the dog wasn’t as vicious as his bark.

“Sorry,” the fellow called, nabbing the dog’s collar and bending down to capture the plastic disk. He kept his distance. “He’s usually gentle, but he saw a squirrel.” He shrugged apologetically, then lifted the Frisbee. “Should I toss it to you or pitch it back to your daughter?”

Philip’s stomach tumbled, and he swiveled his head, praying Jemma hadn’t heard. She stood too far back and her smile let him know she hadn’t. Philip forced a pleasant expression and extended his arm. “Toss it here. Thanks.”

“I’ll keep this mutt out of your way,” the man
said, clasping the dog’s collar and guiding him back to the table.

Philip stared at the disk, then at the young man—he guessed him to be, at the most, twenty—and wondered if the rest of the world thought he was Jemma’s father.

“What’s wrong?” Jemma called.

Hearing her voice, he turned and beckoned to her. He’d lost his spirit for the game and was struggling to maintain his composure.

She scurried to him. “The dog didn’t bite you, did he?”

Philip gave a lighthearted chuckle. “No, just distracted me.” He glanced around at the young man. “I thought we ought to get going. I’m getting hungry, aren’t you?”

“Now that you mention it, yes.” She wrapped her arm around his and headed across the grass.

He wanted to uncouple his arm from hers, fearing the fellow was watching and wondering why a “father and daughter” looked so cozy. Shame rustled through Philip’s mind. If Jemma wasn’t ashamed, why should he be?

Instead of finding an excuse to free himself, he squeezed her hand and sent up a prayer that God would teach him to be concerned about things of importance and enjoy the love that Jemma offered so openly.

Jemma looked out the window, waiting for Philip. Tonight was the Chamber of Commerce icebreaker,
and her nerve endings knotted with anxiety. For the past couple of days, Philip had been trying to hide something, but Jemma sensed something was wrong.

Their day at the park had been wonderful, but when they stopped to eat, Philip became withdrawn, as if his thoughts were miles away. She’d asked, but as always he denied that he was troubled. He’d wasted his time trying to soothe her with denials. Jemma had gotten to know him better than he knew himself. He wasn’t fooling her at all, and she planned to get to the bottom of his distress. She prayed it wasn’t something she had done.

Jemma glanced down at her outfit, tan slacks and jacket with a black silk tunic. It would do. Casual yet dressy. She hoped Philip approved. As always, a few wispy curls had escaped as she pulled back her hair with a black scrunchee.

Hearing Philip’s car pull into the driveway, she grabbed her shoulder bag and headed down the stairs, eager to begin the evening.

When she opened the front door, Philip met her on the porch. He stepped back, a pleased look brightening his face. “You look great.” He touched her shoulder and ran his finger along the collar of her jacket, then caught an unruly curl and tucked it be hind her ear.

She stepped back, brushing her hands down the jacket to the trousers. “Are you sure this is okay? I
didn’t know how casual was casual…if you know what I mean.”

His sweet smile sent her pulse jumping.

“Perfect. Casual, but elegant. You always look good to me,” he said.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” He looked perfect to her in his navy-blue slacks and a mock turtleneck under his carmel-colored sport coat.

“Thanks. I accept all compliments.” His warm smile burrowed through her chest while he slid his arm around her waist and guided her to the car.

As they drove across town, Jemma longed to ask him about his problem—what was it that troubled him, but the time didn’t seem right. Instead, she talked about Claire’s latest antics and the wonderful comments she’d received from guests since launching the morning baskets.

He listened and offered brief comments, but she knew he was distracted. Tonight would be stressful for Philip. The party was her debut on his arm. She was his date. His younger woman.

She wanted to say she didn’t care what people thought, but she did. Anything that wounded Philip tore at her, too. When his face flinched with concern and his tender eyes filled with hurt, the same emotions surged through Jemma, as if they were connected by a thin cord of shared emotions. She’d seen her own fear and despair in Philip’s eyes too often not to acknowledge the phenomenon.

In the parking lot, Philip turned off the motor, and
Jemma stepped from the car with her most charming smile, prepared for the worst. Leers and snide comments she hoped she could handle.
Sticks and stones can break my bones
—the childhood rhyme bounced through her mind. But could she handle Philip’s stress tonight?

When he opened the hall door and she stepped inside, determination pushed Jemma forward. With a smile plastered on her face, she captured Philip’s arm and marched into the room.

Philip paused for a moment, then gave a wave and moved forward, nodding to individuals as he passed. “Don,” Philip said, extended his hand, “it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been too long,” the man said, his eyes focused on Jemma. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“This is my friend, Jemma Dupre.”

“Don Bratten,” he said, shaking Jemma’s hand. “It’s nice you could come. You have a new business in town?”

His question ruffled Jemma. “No, Philip and I are friends.”

“Ooh.” He flashed Philip a devious smile. “My wife couldn’t make it. She’s the president of the PTA.” He shrugged. “Their meeting is tonight.”

“You have children, then,” Jemma said, trying to think of something to shift the conversation.

“Two kids. Son and daughter. Elementary school. And you?” Don asked.

“None.” She wanted to say
none yet,
but the comment was too presumptuous and far too intimate.

“Someday, I hope,” he said, his gaze shifting from Jemma to Philip. He grabbed Philip’s arm, giving it a good-old-boy shake. “You look great, Philip. What have you been up to?” He shifted his focus again to Jemma and back to Philip.

Jemma wanted to crawl away. Had she heard an innuendo in his tone, or was it her imagination? She moved back a couple of steps and braced herself against an empty chair.

Philip glanced her way before answering Don. “Listen, I need to take care of the lady here. We’ll talk later.” He gripped the man’s shoulder and turned to Jemma.

“Let’s get a drink, and I’ll introduce you to some of the others.”

Jemma followed, but wanted to run out the door and save him the emotional trauma of introductions. No matter how she took Don’s comments and looks, she felt on display. And she was sure Philip felt more miserable than she.

At the bar, she asked for a tonic with lime, and took a sip while Philip ordered his drink. When they walked away, she caught his sleeve. “Listen, I could say I’m ill and we can leave. I don’t want to put you through this.”

Philip saw the reeling emotions on her face—panic, hurt, confusion—and his frustration rose. He had been as guilty as Don. Why hadn’t he said,
“This is my lady friend?”
My lady.
She was his lady not his “lady friend,” and he wasn’t going to let a stranger in the park or an associate with his mind in the sewer ruin a relationship that he’d nearly destroyed himself.