The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

Chapter 1

The snowflakes fell gentle and unhurried on the pasture, illuminated by the harsh glare of the moon.  The scene made for an interesting paradox; the landscape felt forlorn, but the flakes came from Heaven, where life both
ended and began.  It was a calm and still night, with barely a trace of wind and little more than her thoughts for company.  She exhaled on the glass and drew a face with the tip of her index finger, two eyes and a smiling line for the mouth.

Taylor Holt leaned against the window seat and
pulled the wool blanket a little more snugly around her shoulders.  She was unprepared for this harsh Wyoming winter for many reasons, and few of them had to do with the climate.  She pulled herself away from the window long enough to meander around her childhood room, searching for something to control her long, dark brown hair.  She found a hairband in the nightstand and made quick work of it, letting it fall down the middle of her back.  She’d been born with her father’s hair, eyes, and coloring.  Her mother, Alice, was fair-haired and blue-eyed, whereas Taylor had locks that bordered on black, accompanied by deep green eyes.  Her mother had oftentimes said that green eyes were the best kind, for they always carried the air of mystery.  Taylor didn’t know if that was true, but she also didn’t dispute her mother, who was the only person she had left in the entire world.

As if sensing her daughter’s thoughts via extrasensory percep
tion, Alice Holt placed her knuckles against the door.  “Come in,” Taylor prompted immediately.

Alice was nearly sevent
y, but still moved with the calm poise of a much younger woman, and had retained her naturally pale blonde hair, curled and styled around her face. Her visage was pleasantly lined, sweet and friendly and full of kindness.  “I made some tea and I poured you a cup, sweetie.  I hope you won’t mind.”

Taylor nodded in the soft lamplight, and her mother walked slowly toward her.  She took the te
acup and saucer and smiled.  “Did you sweeten it?” she asked unnecessarily.

“Of course.”  Alice smiled and placed a hand over her heart.  The circumstances were less than ideal, but she was glad to have her only child home again. 
“Are you settling in okay?”

Both women glanced around at the stacks of boxes, some of which had been emptied.  Others sat waiting to be opened. 
A few more that Taylor found painful to even touch.  “I guess.  I was sitting at the window, watching the snow fall outside.” 

“Your f
ather always loved the snow.  I couldn’t figure out how anyone could enjoy hiking through knee-deep snow to feed the cattle, but he did.”  Taylor smiled in remembrance.  The cattle and horses were long gone now.  The barn was empty.  A neighbor cut the yard as needed.  Life went on, with no regard to carefully made plans and handspun dreams.  Taylor sipped at her tea and listened as her mother recounted their final Christmas together as a family.  “Two feet of snow!  I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”

“Me neither, Mom.”
  Taylor resumed her seat by the window, and Alice joined her. Both women stared outside for a length of time, saying nothing.  There wasn’t much that needed to be said.  Finally Taylor emptied her cup and her mother took it without preamble.  She stood but didn’t make a move to leave.

“I’m glad you’re here, sweetie.  I
would rather—I mean, if I had the power, you’d still be back in your old life, but I guess things don’t work that way.  You can pray to Him, but you can’t bargain with God.  I’ve tried.”  Taylor barely turned toward her mother and gave her a questioning stare.  Alice simply smiled.  “In spite of all of that came before, I am glad to have my little girl home again.”  She closed the door and left her daughter in silence.

A
fter a few more minutes of watching the snow pile up, Taylor stood, squared her shoulders, and continued her work.  Each box required something, and they all seemed to chip away at her resolve, silently taunting her. 
Open me, open me!
  The first few were easy enough.  Within minutes she’d gotten all of her clothes squared away in the closet, save for a pile that would be better served at the Goodwill donation box.  She found her college diploma and hung it on the wall; her mother hadn’t altered her room over the years, and it slotted easily under the one from high school.

The box filled wi
th albums and framed photos was harder.  Many of them depicted a family in happier times and stirred up a hornet’s nest of emotions.  She placed a large photo of Riley near a photo of her father.  To the arrangement she added one of herself along with Liam and Riley on the latter’s third birthday.  That was a happy time, and she felt warm inside when she remembered their life together.  It had been a great one; even if it wasn’t what she’d expected or planned, she had been joyful beyond her wildest dreams.  She placed the rest of the photos in a drawer; three was enough for now, situated atop the bureau.

A few of the boxes confounded her; she wasn’t quite sure why she’d saved her college textbooks. 
What a heavy thing to drag cross-country
, her brain muttered.  She lifted a well-worn American History textbook from the pile and thumbed through its pages.  Pressed into the binding for the past ten years, nearly stuck to the page, was a forgotten image:  Taylor with her high-school boyfriend, her first love, at the Labor Day Rodeo.  Her Western shirt was patterned with red and blue checks, designed to match his chaps.  They complemented each other in every way possible, and his arm was so tight around her that they might as well have been a married couple.  It was hard to believe they’d ever fallen apart.  And that was her fault, of course.  Years after the fact, she regretted the way she’d lost her golden-haired, blue-eyed cowboy.  It was worth the guilt, she reminded herself, to have known Riley’s love. 

She surveyed the clean room, praised
herself, and said goodnight to Alice before hitting the shower and climbing into bed.  She dreamed of Liam, of Riley, and of the life she’d had back in New York.  The dream ended the same as it always did, with an intense pain twisting her guts inside out.

She didn’t cry, though.  And that was a welcome change.

***

“Perfect.”

Chandler Adams stared at his reflection in the glass, breathed on it, and wiped it clean again.  He’d spent every spare moment lately on his storefront.  He’d devoted hours to removing the unnecessary doors and partitions, leaving only an office and washroom in the back.  Everything had been given a fresh coat of white paint, bright enough to hurt his eyes.  It would undoubtedly make a great backdrop for his artwork.

The past s
everal months had been the most prolific of his young life.  He didn’t have much free time between ranch and family, but prior to buying the building he’d expended a lot of energy creating paintings of varying shapes, sizes, and subject matters.  He’d pushed himself to work harder at portraits and candid images rather than his usual landscapes.  Those landscapes had served him well, and would continue to do so, but lately he’d completed a series highlighting his nephew, Max, as well as more than a few animal studies.  He’d dragged them out of the storeroom at the bunkhouse and carted them to town.  The piles covered his office, leaving a pathway wide enough to access the stairs to the second-floor apartment, which ran the full footprint of the building.  It was spare and simple, just the basics needed to live while he got this place in order.  He also had a house waiting for him back at the ranch, and it required some of its own renovations.  He shook his head; another project for another time.

In the meantim
e, the stack of paintings had shrunk.  A few tourists who remembered him from the rodeo circled back through town and called him up immediately, taking off his hands a room-sized portrait he’d painted up at his family’s lake house.  They’d passed his name along to some of
their
friends and he quickly realized the importance of networking.  It was amazing, he thought, that subjects so close to his own heart—the land, the people, and the subtle ways God showed His influence over both—could speak so clearly to others when rendered on canvas.

He was staring out the window, into the oblivion of his mind—or, more accurately, Main Street—when boot heels clicked the floor behind him.

“Falling in love with your reflection, Narcissus?”  He glanced back over his shoulder and grinned at his sister-in-law, Alison, whom he’d convinced to inhabit the space next door.  Alison was married to his older brother, CJ, and his sister, Christa, was married to Alison’s brother, Mark.  Chandler loved telling people about his in-laws and watching their eyes go crossed.  Alison had pushed aside her dream of running a store for her entire marriage, but with both kids in school CJ had been actively encouraging her to follow her heart.

If Chandler’s space had been designed as a blank canva
s, then Alison had intended the opposite with hers.  It had been painted in a warm series of hues, designed to welcome in the outside world and encourage customers to shop awhile or even sit and chat.  If Alison had been in it for the money rather than the pleasure of running a business, she might have discouraged loitering.  Instead she designed it as a family-friendly, kid-friendly space, which was apt since so many of both would be running around there.  It was identical to Chandler’s space, save for the middle dividing wall.  A door connected the two offices in the back, and a staircase led to a basement storeroom.

“I was just trying to make this place look perfect,” he explained
gratuitously. 

She grabbed her long brown hair in one hand and pulled it
over her right shoulder.  “It looks great,” she responded with a smile.  “The only problem is that you haven’t hung up one single painting.  For all anyone walking by knows, this place is abandoned.”

“I hung up my shingle.”

“Yeah,” she joked, “and now you gotta build a house to go with it.  Listen, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

He shook his head.  “You’ve got plenty to keep you busy.”

“Please.”  She aimed her thumb at the wall.  “I’m fully stocked and ready to open.  I’m just waiting on you to pull the trigger.”

“I’d really like to hire a salesperson first, someone to handle the front door.”

“How long’s that ad been in the paper?”

“Two weeks.”

“And still nothing?”

Chandler cleared his throat.  “I’m looking for some p
revious experience here.  Someone who actually knows how keep tabs on things.”

“Most men would enjoy the attention, the flirtation,” Alison teased.  “You seem to hate it.”

“A man would be crazy to hate it.”  He winked at her.  “It’s just not that good for business.  I don’t want to look like an amateur here.  This is my career, and my future that I’m banking on.”

Alison moved close and rested a hand on his shoulder.  “Try not to worry so much, kid.  Everyone’s proud of you.”  She scanned the bare walls again.  “Want me to send CJ down this w
ay to help you out?”

He laughed and shook his head.  “No, Alison, I’ll get it straightened out.”

“Okay.”  She nodded in acceptance.  “Don’t be such a stranger on the ranch.  The kids miss you already.”

“I miss those little monkeys, too.  How is Little
Chase liking first grade?”

Alison lifted an eyebrow.  “Some days are better than others.  He doesn’t understand why there’s no unit devoted to studying horses.”

Chandler laughed.  “Sounds about right.  And Bree?”

“Smartest kid in the history of preschool.”
  She frowned.  “Sorry, that sounded prideful.  She’s doing well.  They both are.”

“I’ll try to drop by this weekend.  Weather permitting.”  He looked out the window at the dirty snow that had been plowed away from the streets.  “CJ didn’t have a problem w
ith you coming in today?”