Rocky Mountain Memories. Lois Richer

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СКАЧАТЬ the hardware store? Put it on my tab. I’ll figure it out later.” After a few moments he ended the call. “Sorry about that.”

      “You’re buying a water heater for somebody who can’t afford one?” When he nodded, she asked, “Why?”

      “Because they need it.” He shrugged his wide shoulders as if it didn’t matter. “Anyway, as I was saying. I need to tell you—” His phone rang again and then a third time. His lips pursed but he didn’t answer either call. When Gemma tilted an eyebrow at him, his face reddened and he muttered, “They can wait till I get back.”

      She giggled when the phone rang again. “Maybe not.”

      “It’s from three different callers. Probably three different issues.” Jake sounded impatient. She guessed he wanted to say whatever was on his mind.

      “I’m listening.” She shifted when he didn’t immediately speak. “Tell me what you need to, Jake.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ