LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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