Lois Richer - Rocky Mountain Memories

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.