Rocky Mountain Memories

“It’s sad news, actually.” He licked his lips and then pressed them together. “You were married, Gem. To Kurt Andrews. You eloped about eight months ago.”

The way he said it, in short staccato bursts, revealed his distress in telling her. But she didn’t feel distressed. She felt...empty? The yawning unknown threatened to overwhelm her until she looked at Jake, and some part of her brain calmed. He was a nice guy who bought water heaters for needy women. He’d probably been pressed into duty on her behalf, though he obviously wasn’t comfortable with explaining this. She touched his arm.

“Just tell me,” she murmured. “Then I can deal with it.”

“Kurt was killed in the earthquake.” Jake huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry, Gem. I don’t have any details. Celia only told me that the embassy is certain he did not survive.”

“Oh.” Gemma frowned. It didn’t feel as if they were talking about anyone she knew, let alone a husband. What did it mean? “Does his family know? Will I have to tell them?”

“You are his family, Gem. His parents died in a car accident just after you were married.” Free of the crush of traffic and now on the divided highway, Jake accelerated.

“No siblings?” Gemma mused, struggling to sort through her building questions.

“You are Kurt’s only remaining family.” Jake frowned when she didn’t immediately respond. “Are you all right?”

“Actually, no.” Gemma couldn’t control her burst of irritation. “I was married less than a year to a man I loved?” She glanced at Jake, relieved to see his firm nod. “I was his wife, yet I feel blank. I’m sad that he died, of course, but it doesn’t feel personal. Isn’t that shameful?”

“No. It’s part of your injury. Truthfully, I’m sort of relieved you don’t remember him yet,” Jake said, a hint of sternness coloring his voice. He looked embarrassed by his admission.

“You are? Why?” Gemma’s curiosity about this unusual man grew.

“Because you’re going to need your strength to deal with your living family,” he told her, his voice very gentle. “Mourning will come later.”

“Did you know Kurt?” Gemma sensed something in Jake’s responses that didn’t jibe with her impression of him as open and honest. It felt like he was hiding something.

“I knew Kurt the same length of time as I’ve known you. He was a local, born and raised in Chokecherry Hollow, that’s the town near your foster aunts’ home.” He shrugged. “I liked him a lot and I know he loved you very much.”

“Oh.” There were a hundred questions roiling inside her head, but suddenly Gemma didn’t want to ask them. She needed time to absorb the fact that she had been a wife—and was now a widow.

To escape the miasma of her whirling brain, she retrieved her backpack. She knew her passport was tucked into the exterior zippered pocket because she’d put it there. She saw Celia’s card there, too. But she’d been too tired and too muddled to open the pack that had been handed to her right before she’d left the hospital.

Now curious about what might lie inside, she unzipped the main cavity and began withdrawing the contents. A wallet of soft white leather came first. A driver’s license tucked under clear plastic revealed her own face staring back at her. She looked so happy. Behind it was a small snapshot of her and a blond-haired, blue-eyed man.

“Is this Kurt?” She held the photo so Jake could see.

“Yes.” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “He’s—he was very attractive. You two looked good together.”

Gemma didn’t respond. She was too busy staring at another photo that was partially stuck to the back of Kurt’s, as if the wallet and pictures had been damp. A little girl, also blonde, also blue-eyed, gazed back at her. She wore a fancy dress like children wear at Christmas or on their birthdays. Perhaps four or five, she appeared happy as she clutched a small brown teddy bear and grinned at the camera as if it was her best friend.

“Do you know who this is?” She held up the photo.

“No. I’ve never seen her before.” Jake glanced at her before suggesting, “A foster child you adopted maybe? You used to support several.”

It was a good guess, but it didn’t feel right to Gemma. Since she had no idea why, she set the photo on the console between them while she checked out the rest of the contents in her backpack, including a metal tag with her name embossed on it. Gemma Andrews, Tour Director, WorldWide Tours. It bore deep scratches.

“I think I was wearing this when they found me,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the marks. “I have a bruise this shape near my shoulder...”

A memory flickered on the fringes of her subconscious. People gathered around her, laughing as she told them a story, but she couldn’t quite recall the entire memory.

“That tag is probably how they identified you. Anything else that’s interesting in there?” Jake asked.

“A sweater.” She drew out the lime-green cardigan and fingered the soft wool. “Alpaca. I’m guessing I got this at Arequipa. That’s where you find the best alpaca garments.” The words spilled out spontaneously, shocking her.

“Did you often take your tour groups there?” Jake’s question shook off her surprise.

“Usually. They always gave our guests these wonderful gift packs of Peruvian coffee” Gemma stared at him. “Hey, I remembered that and I didn’t even try.”

“Perhaps that’s the way it’s going to be,” Jake murmured. “The less you strive to think about it, the more relaxed your brain will be, and you’ll recover quickly.”

“Maybe.” It sounded good, but Gemma couldn’t shake an ominous sense that things were going to get a lot tougher. She replaced everything in the pack, except the sweater which she pulled on, and the picture. The little girl’s joyful face gazed back at her. “She looks so happy, as if she loves whomever she’s looking at.” A wave of wistfulness swamped her.

What was it like to feel so loved? To love someone and know they loved you? Frustrated by her inability to recall anything personal, Gemma tucked the photo into her pocket while she searched for a topic of conversation. Jake beat her to it.

“You must be wondering why I came to get you instead of your family. Your aunts intended to come, as if anything could have stopped them.”

“They’re not here and you are, so something must have,” she pointed out.

“True, though I would have driven them anyway because Margaret—well, let’s say city driving’s not her thing.” He chuckled.

“So they changed their minds.” Gemma shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, they didn’t change their minds. Tillie woke up with a sore throat and a fever.” Jake paused to ask if she wanted to stop for anything. When Gemma declined, he continued. “Margaret intended to come until a guest showed up unexpectedly, a military man she’d been corresponding with for some months. He was desperate to speak to her and she was worried about his mental state. She sends her apologies.”

“Oh.” Gemma didn’t understand what he was talking about. Jake must have realized that because he explained.

“For years your aunts have conducted a letter-writing campaign to our overseas military troops to offer them encouragement, prayers and someone to talk to. The ladies have a huge list of correspondents.” He shrugged. “When they get leave, those folks frequently come to The Haven for a visit, to talk to the ladies personally.”

“I see.” So her aunts had several ministries. Which didn’t explain why one of her foster sisters hadn’t come in their place. Gemma had no sooner had the thought than Jake addressed it.

“Your sisters wanted to be here, too,” he told her.

“But?” Was it wrong to feel disappointed that her family had sent their handyman to get her, even though Jake seemed a very nice man?

“Victoria’s going through a difficult pregnancy. She struggles to deal with anything before eleven o’clock in the morning.” Jake grimaced. “Best for her to be sick at home. Adele offered to take Margaret’s place until she got an emergency request to foster two orphaned infants who’d just lost their parents. Olivia’s in hospital because yesterday she gave birth to a brand-new baby daughter. So you’re stuck with me.”

“Not stuck,” Gemma protested. “It’s very kind of you to sacrifice your time—say, what exactly is it that you do at The Haven, Jake?” It felt strange to say those words, as if she should know. But Gemma couldn’t form a mental picture of her family’s home or his work.

“I do whatever your aunts need me to do.” A muscle twitched in Jake’s jaw. “I owe them big-time for saving my life, so fulfilling their needs is my job and my pleasure.”

Saving his life.

Gemma was about to ask about that when she realized they were taking an exit off the highway. And his phone was ringing again.

“Sounds like somebody else needs you,” she said.

“Apparently.” He checked the number before letting it go to voice mail. “I don’t think it’s serious, but I’ll get some coffee and call them back. I was up very early,” he said, obviously aware of her curiosity. “How about you?”

“I don’t mind stopping.” She knew it was an excuse so he wouldn’t have to say more about his past, but that didn’t mean she intended to let the subject go.

Gemma was stymied by her reactions to him. Why did she feel so comfortable with him? What was with this keen interest in Jake? And why did she feel compelled to discover why this strong, competent man would need two elderly women to save his life?

It was natural that she had a lot of questions about herself, important knowledge like who she was, where she’d grown up, her childhood, her foster aunts and sisters, especially her husband. She couldn’t remember any of that. What kind of a woman forgot her own wedding?

But now Gemma also had growing questions about Jake Elliot. A good-looking man, he was tall, solidly built and radiated an empathetic aura of strength and confidence. Rather like a young John Wayne in a very old movie, though this handyman was definitely not old. He was probably close to her age, which was twenty-three according to her passport. He seemed perfectly comfortable in his well-fitting jeans, cotton shirt, cowboy boots and battered leather jacket, while his mussed brown hair and piercing blue eyes made him seem vibrantly alive, unlike the dull blankness that hung over her mind.

Besides all that, Jake was apparently the go-to guy for the community’s needy folks.

A strange combination to be sure, though why he should intrigue her so was a puzzle Gemma couldn’t fathom. The only thing she did know was that Jake wasn’t like her. He knew exactly who he was, where he was going and, unlike her, exactly where he belonged.

It might take time, but she was determined to discover exactly who this poised, handsome handyman was behind the friendly, self-effacing smile.

And somehow she intended to learn why he had needed saving.

Chapter Two

Spurning an offer of coffee, Gemma elected to stretch her legs while Jake returned his calls. Tactfully, he deferred the concerns of each person, assuring them he’d handle their needs when he returned. By the time Gemma reappeared at the car, he’d come up with solutions to each problem presented. The outreaches he did were mostly busy work for his brain, but they helped suppress the barely buried memories of his past. That was exactly why he’d taken on the role of community problem-solver.

“Everything okay?” Gemma asked as she fastened her seat belt.

“Yep. Next stop, The Haven.”

While he drove, Gemma slept. Every so often she would call out or startle and waken herself. Then her long, lush lashes would droop, and she’d doze again.

Jake had a thousand questions. Had she been happy with Kurt? Had marriage lived up to her expectations? Did she regret not having a big, fancy wedding? In the past she’d have told him all of that without his asking. He yearned to rebuild the old camaraderie they’d shared.

He was thinking about her too much. He needed to adjust his thoughts.

In six years of living at The Haven, this was one of a handful of times that Jake had left the place. Was that why he felt so antsy? At The Haven he could bury himself in other people’s issues because there was little about the place to remind him of Lily or of the reason for her death. The folks at The Haven and in Chokecherry Hollow had become a bandage over the pain of his loss.

As Gemma now was?

I promise, Lily. I will never love another as I did you. I will never risk another woman’s life through my selfishness. Never again. I promise.

He was Gemma’s friend and he’d do whatever he could for her, but friendship was all they could ever share.

Jake switched on the radio for distraction, glad when he turned off the highway that Gemma would arrive home in daylight. It wasn’t the Andes in autumn, but springtime in the Canadian Rockies was pretty spectacular.

“Time to wake up,” he said when there were only a few minutes left in their trip. “You need to see this, Gem.”

“I haven’t done a thing and yet all I do is sleep.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes, wincing when her fingers brushed the injury on her forehead. She yawned and stretched her neck, twisting and turning to get a good look at her surroundings. “Spectacular,” she breathed.

“It is,” Jake said with smug satisfaction, as if the land was his own. “We’ll soon be home. Then you can climb into bed and really rest, if you want.”

He wanted to ease her transition, but how could you help someone who couldn’t remember anything about their past? Maybe he should have let her sleep.

“I’ve always loved the snowcaps on these mountains.” She paused. “I mean, I think I have.”

“You don’t have to monitor every word. Just take it as it comes, Gem. And I know exactly how you feel.” The serenity of the vast forest surrounding The Haven filled Jake’s soul. He loved it here. This was his haven and he never wanted to leave, though technically it wasn’t his home. He’d lost that the day—

Jake shoved away the guilt and drove uphill toward the big stone house where the aunts lived.

“Jake?” Gemma’s voice came soft, breathless.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her. Worried by her pallor, he pulled to the side of the road. “Feel sick?”

“Yes. What if I don’t ever remember them?” She grabbed his arm and clung to it. “What if this never feels like home? I’m so scared.”

“Don’t be.” He wrapped her icy fingers in his and held on to them, trying to ease her discomfort the way a movie hero would simply because Gemma—the old Gemma—had always admired white-knight heroes. “Everything is going to be fine. There’s no rush about remembering. You’ll do it when you’re ready. No one will pressure you. Everyone will understand. All they care about is that you’re home and unhurt—well, mostly unhurt,” he corrected with a smile, wishing she’d lose that terrified expression.

“But—but—”

“Gem.” He gave in to his longing to comfort her and slid his palm against her cheek for just a second. “You used to have a special verse you’d recite whenever you needed to encourage yourself. Do you remember it? It starts, ‘God is our refuge and our strength.’” He removed his hand and waited for her to finish it.

‘“A tested help in times of trouble.’” Eyes wide, she nodded. “I do remember that.”

“Now think about the words,” he suggested while his brain called him a hypocrite. God hasn’t been your refuge or strength, Jake. Not for years.

She remained silent for a few moments before huffing a sigh.

“Okay. Guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Atta girl.” He shifted into gear. “The Haven’s gorgeous, isn’t it? All that stonework with those towers and—” One glance at Gem’s face and Jake cut off his commentary, sensing that she needed silence to gather her pluck for the reunion ahead.

He sent up a prayer for her, for strength and a calm spirit, and then wondered at himself. He didn’t talk to God anymore. Hadn’t since... Anyway, Gemma Andrews wasn’t his responsibility.

Yet from the first day he’d arrived at The Haven, Jake had felt protective of her, as if he had to be there in case she needed him.

“There are so many of them!” Gemma gasped, drawing his attention to the house and the folks assembled on the driveway.

“Those aren’t all your relatives,” he sputtered, amused by her shocked expression. “I’m guessing your family arranged for whatever kids’ group is visiting The Haven to form a welcoming committee. Relax,” he chided as her fingers tightened around her seat belt. He parked, turned off the car and waited a moment before asking, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she whispered. She lifted her hand to open her door, pausing when Jake shook his head.

“Wait.” He climbed out, strode to her side and offered a hand to help her exit the car. Her hair had loosened from the topknot she’d tied it in earlier and now tumbled past her waist. Her face was strained and the jeans she wore had seen better days.

But Jake thought she had never looked lovelier.

“Welcome home, Gemma,” he said softly, and then he drew her forward to meet her family.

* * *

Gemma licked her lips as she mentally reminded herself, They’re my family. My family.

She didn’t feel like she belonged with them.

“Our dear, dear girl.” One of the elderly women, an auntie perhaps, wrapped her in a gentle, fragrant embrace. She brushed a kiss against Gemma’s brow before holding her back to examine her. “We are so thankful you’re home, dear.”

“I—er, I’m glad to be here,” she whispered. It wasn’t home—not yet—but how could a mere hug feel so wonderful? She glanced from one lady to the other. “You’re twins!” Her face burned at the peals of laughter around her.

“Guess I forgot to tell you that, Gem. This is your Aunt Tillie,” Jake explained.

“Hello. Jake said you were ill.” As Gemma squeezed her hand she noticed the woman’s red nose. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“A simple case of the summer sniffles. Some people worry too much,” Tillie said with a glare at her doppelganger.

“You are Aunt Margaret. It’s very nice to—” Gemma had been going to say meet you. But that was hardly appropriate. “To be here,” she finished.

“My dear, you should be resting in bed.” Margaret wrapped tender arms around her in a second hug. “You’ve had a dreadful ordeal.”

“I’m fine.” Gemma had never felt more on show.

“Margaret tends to fuss,” Tillie murmured.

“It’s nice to be fussed over, but I’m truly all right.” She wanted to get this over with. “Thank you for the welcome,” she said, scanning the assembled group. One glance at Jake and he immediately understood. He nodded at someone and after the group of children had sung a welcome song they hurried away, apparently to other activities.

“These are your sisters, Gemma.” He introduced each woman, her husband and her children.

Her foster sisters at least resembled the descriptions he’d given her during their long ride here. Their children’s names would require memorizing.

“I should have brought gifts,” Gemma whispered to Jake when the silence stretched too long.

“No, you shouldn’t have, Gem,” Victoria said. “All we care about—all we’ve been praying for—is that you’d come home safely.”

“I care about presents, Auntie Vic!” A little girl glared at her aunt until her mother—Adele?—hushed her. “Well, I like ’em,” she muttered defiantly.

Gemma grinned at her. “I like presents, too,” she said.

“We’re so sad about Kurt, Gemmie.” Olivia, a tiny baby snugged against her chest in some type of sack, embraced her. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

“Thank you.” Go through? Oh, she means losing my husband. But I can’t even remember what Kurt looked like, just as I can’t remember any of you. “Jake said your baby is brand-new,” she murmured, staring at the delicate face and wondering if she’d ever wanted to be a mother. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. This is your niece, Mirella. She’s pleased to meet you.”

“Me, too, Mirella.” Gemma stirred at the touch on her shoulder. Jake. Her protector. When he smiled, her tension eased.

Thank You, God, for Jake. Funny how natural it seemed to pray. Was she very religious? How could she not know something like that?

As if sensing her confusion, Jake asked, “How about some lemonade on the deck, Gem?”

“Great idea! What’s wrong with us, keeping our girl standing here?” Tillie smiled at Gemma before turning to Margaret. “Come, sister. Let’s savor this blessing of having our four girls home once more. It’s been forever, or so it seems.”

“Thank you all for your warm welcome,” Gemma repeated politely.

Her family—how strange that word felt—sat around her on a huge deck overlooking a picturesque valley. Everyone chattered at once. It should have sounded like bedlam, and yet to Gemma, the loving, teasing voices and laughing children who played boisterously nearby were a balm to her jumbled mind. With the warm sun on her face and several delicious cookies in her stomach, her eyelids soon drooped.

“Gem?” Tension underlaid Jake’s husky drawl.

“Yes?” She blinked before forcing herself to sit up straight. “Did I fall asleep again? I’m so sorry,” she apologized to the group who now stared at her with sympathy. “Is my hair a mess?” When she lifted her hand to smooth the strands she noticed an older man in a three-piece suit standing at the edge of the patio. “I’m sorry if I should know you,” she began to apologize. She stopped when Jake’s fingers squeezed her shoulder.

“Gemma, this is Wilber Hornby. He’s a local lawyer.” There was a graveness to Jake’s tone that she didn’t like. “He’s here about Kurt.”

“Now?” She frowned. “But I only just got here—”

“I’m very sorry,” Mr. Hornby said in precise diction. “But Kurt was most insistent that if anything happened to him, I was to speak to you immediately. I promised I would do so, therefore I have come.”

Only then did Gemma notice that, one by one, her family had silently left. Only her aunts, Jake and the lawyer remained with her. This must be serious. Funeral plans?

“O-okay.” As she drained her glass of lemonade, she realized that Jake was about to depart, too. “Please stay?” she begged. “Please?”

Jake glanced at the aunts. They nodded. He appeared to consider something but finally shrugged and sat down. Gemma mouthed thanks before turning to face the sober-faced lawyer.

“What is this about?” she asked.

“It’s about a girl,” Mr. Hornby said. “Your husband’s four-year-old stepdaughter. Her name is Alexa.”

Gemma had steeled herself to hear something important, perhaps something about Kurt’s final wishes or... Wait a minute.

“My husband was married before me?” She turned questioningly toward Jake and was astonished by his outraged glared at the lawyer.

“Kurt Andrews never had eyes for anyone but Gemma for as long as I knew him.” Jake glowered at the lawyer. “He was always crazy in love with her. What are you saying?”

The way Jake said the words, fiercely, with his blue eyes glittering, jaw clenched and his back ramrod straight—it was as if this man was indignant on her behalf, Gemma thought wonderingly. That made her feel special, valued, precious.

“I have a letter from Mr. Andrews to his wife that will explain,” Mr. Hornby began, drawing an envelope from his briefcase.

He held it out, but Gemma couldn’t take it. She wasn’t sure exactly why, only that she didn’t want to have to deal with anything more right now, especially not a letter from a husband she couldn’t remember.

“Can’t it wait?” she begged, sending Jake a pleading look.

“Kurt’s direction to me was to proceed as quickly as I could.” The lawyer’s set face told Gemma he would do his duty no matter what.

“Perhaps in this instance, Wilber,” Aunt Tillie said softly, placing her hand on his arm, “we might dispense with her reading the letter right now. Couldn’t you just tell Gemma the gist of it?” She glanced at her sister for support. “After all...”