“What on earth for?” Gemma’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “It’s so sour.”
“Not when Adele mixes it with my strawberries and adds a big dollop of ice cream. What?” he demanded when she hooted with laughter.
“You can’t grow strawberries here, Jake.” She looked so alive, so vibrant, so...Gemma.
He’d forgotten she hadn’t visited last summer because she’d been escorting a group on a cruise through the Northwest Passage. So now, of course, she razed him mercilessly about trying to grow delicate strawberry plants at this elevation. Jake endured it for a little while, but with his pride at stake, he finally rose and beckoned.
“Follow me, oh doubting one,” he ordered.
Gemma had always been lousy at hiding her emotions and right now her curiosity was in control. She dusted off her grubby gloves against her dirty knees and hopped across the rows to follow him.
“Where are we going?”
“Wait for it.” He led her around an outcropping of stones. “Feast your eyes on my strawberry garden, doubter.” He drew one fat red fruit off its stem and ensured it was relatively clean before setting it on her palm. “First berry of the season.”
Wide-eyed, Gemma inspected the fruit before popping it into her mouth. A flush of satisfaction filled Jake when she slowed her chewing to allow the flavors to permeate her taste buds. Her zest for life, her eagerness about everything it offered, that’s what he wanted her to recover.
“Well?” he demanded, stupidly eager to hear her opinion.
“Amazing.” Her big expansive smile did funny things to his stomach. “How did you get them to survive?”
Jake figured his explanation probably went into too much detail and droned on for too long, but Gemma seemed to listen to every word. This was the old Gem. This intense interest in life was what had first drawn him to her.
“So by packing those stones around to soak in the heat, and by raising the beds, you create a warmer, sheltered area.” She clapped her hands together. “Bravo, Monsieur Horticulturalist.”
He’d missed her enthusiasm.
“Yield?” She bent to study the way he’d laid the new runners.
“Last year was good. It’s too early to tell this year.” Funny how pleased he was by her interest. “I’m hopeful we’ll get enough for Adele to freeze for next...”
Suddenly Gemma wasn’t listening. She gazed over the valley, but Jake doubted she was seeing the meadow with its wildflowers waving in the wind. Something else was going on inside that auburn head.
“Why do I keep thinking about roses, Jake?” She turned to frown at him, green eyes dark and swirling. “Is it something to do with my past?”
He shook his head.
“Mine,” he said very quietly. Of all things, why did she have to remember that?
Eyes stretched wide, she waited for an explanation.
“I grow roses in the greenhouse.” He pushed past a tide of memories. “I experiment with them.”
“The Lilian.” Her frown deepened. “I keep hearing that name.”
“We should finish up weeding. It will soon be time for dinner.” He wanted to walk away, to ignore her question, to retreat to the silence that he should never have left.
Jake wanted to leave, but he couldn’t ignore Gem’s question, not when she was so desperate to learn about her past. Besides, The Lilian was part of her past, too.
“I’m sorry if I said something wrong.” Her hand touched his fleetingly. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. The Lilian was a prototype of a rose that I used to work on when you lived here before. In memory of—someone,” he substituted at the last moment.
“Which has to do with the funeral you mentioned, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.” Gemma said it so quickly that Jake figured he must have visibly reacted. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
She walked to the corn rows and began industriously weeding between stalks. Jake watched her for a few minutes, but he couldn’t stay. Mention of The Lilian had brought back his old restlessness along with a wealth of excruciatingly painful memories. He had to get out of here before they overwhelmed him and turned him into a weeping wimp.
Take them tomorrow, Jake. Don’t go today, please? What does one more day matter?
Lily’s voice.
Teeth gritted, he wheeled around and strode out of the garden enclosure, carefully latching the gate to keep out invaders before he race-walked to his small cabin. Inside he made himself a thermos of strong coffee, grabbed a couple of protein bars and changed into his hiking boots. Backpack secure and walking stick in hand, he stepped onto the trail he hiked whenever he needed to break free of his past.
When Jake reached the top of the first incline, he ignored the voice in his head and turned back. Gemma was still in the garden, but now she stood, one hand shading her eyes as she looked directly at him, motionless for several moments. Then she knelt and continued with her weeding, as if she understood that he wanted to be alone.
Wanted to be alone? No.
But that’s the way it was. Would always be. Had to be.
* * *
Gemma set the foil-covered dishes on the counter in Jake’s cabin and moved toward the door. She didn’t want to look around, didn’t want to invade his personal space when he wasn’t there. But she couldn’t help noticing how clean, how sterile everything seemed.
No pictures of loved ones. No books on side tables. Nothing left lying around. Nothing to hint at the intriguing man who’d abandoned her in the garden earlier and hadn’t yet returned.
Her fingers were reaching for the door handle when it opened.
“Hi.” Jake stood there, studying her.
“Hi. You missed dinner, so the aunts sent me over with some,” she blurted, feeling the heat singe her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not. But you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. I’m not very hungry.” He stepped inside, set his pack on the tiny table and faced her. “Thank you though.”
“It’s Adele’s lasagna and it’s amazing.” She blinked, then grinned. “You probably already know that. See you.”
Gemma scurried back to the house, feeling like a frightened rabbit. The barrenness of Jake’s quarters and his earlier reticence after she’d asked about The Lillian frightened her. Was that because subconsciously she knew that if he answered all her questions, if he was completely honest with her, she’d know for sure that she didn’t belong at The Haven?
But if she didn’t belong here, then where did she belong? Certainly not in the cheap Toronto apartment the aunts had described. Not anymore. From their description she’d figured it was a tiny place where newlyweds constantly ran into each other and enjoyed it. That romantic place belonged to another newly married Gemma.
This Gemma didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to feel even more out of place, even more distanced from the woman whom everyone but she remembered. More than that, she didn’t want to not belong anywhere else. So during dinner she’d asked her aunts how she could have her things moved without physically traveling to Toronto. Of course they had a friend who had a friend and by next week everything she and Kurt owned would supposedly arrive here at The Haven. And then what?
Her mind immediately turned to Jake. He’d help her deal with it. She didn’t know why she was so sure of that, she just knew it was true. But was it fair to ask him?
Gemma