The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (12 page)

Alice cleared her throat at her daughter’s turn of phrase.

“Mom?”

Alice slid her capped ink pen atop her right ear and met her daughter’s eyes critically.  “You just made it sound as though Chandle
r wants you in his life.  Are you following me?”

She nodded.  “He does.  He wants me as an employee and a friend.  Look, Mom, we’re comfortable with one another.  We’re familiar and uncomplicated.”

“No,” Alice countered, raising her lightly-wrinkled hand into the air.  “There’s nothing uncomplicated about first love.  You two had plans that included the word ‘forever’, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”  The words were harsh but ultimately contradicted by her soft voice.

“I’m lost, Mom.  Throw me a bone h
ere.”

“I saw all I needed to know at the gallery opening.  He’s protective of you, and adoring, and the feeling is mutual. 
When the two of you had a few seconds, here and there, of one-on-one time, accidental looks passed between you.  It was written all over his face, and you had that kind of doe-eyed look that I had when I was dating your father.”

Taylor frowned.  “Chandler and I aren’t dating.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Alice figured.  “You should skip straight to the good stuff.”

Her mouth fell open.  “I ca
n’t believe you just suggested that!  It’s not a very ladylike recommendation.”

Alice shook her head again.  “What I’m suggesting, sweetie, is not what you’re thinking.  Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said with a lilt.  “There is no need for a prolo
nged period of dating because you’re both so well-known already.”

“Mom, a lot of time has passed, and I barely know him anymore.  I have no clue what he did in those years we were apart.  I know he went to college, but then again, so did I.  Your
assertions are a little off-base.”

“And you’re defensive, T.  That’s usually the second sign something is happening.”

That statement was met with an arched eyebrow.  “And what would the first be?”

Without missing a beat, Alice replied, “Smeared lipstick.”

“I don’t wear lipstick, Mom.”

“Mm-hmm.  You’d better start.  Give that boy a reason to want to kiss you.”

As if he needs a reason,
her conscience retorted.  “That would be really inappropriate, Mom—kissing the boss.”

“But if you marry him, it becomes comp
letely okay to kiss the boss.”

“Mom, seriously.  I feel like I’m a contestant on some really bad dating show.  Even if I was interested in dating
anyone
—which I am not—I think I could put myself out there without your help.”

“You just seem like you need an
extra push, dear.”  She removed her glasses and folded them, placing them on the side table.  “If I seem overbearing, I apologize.  Your happiness is my foremost concern.”

“I know, Mom,” she replied with a gentle nod.  “This week has been like a whirlwind
, though—I’ve barely had time to get my bearings.  My life has changed a lot in a short amount of time.  Besides,” she asked, laying a hand atop her mother’s, “what happens to you if I fall in love, marry, and move out?  You’d be alone again.”

Alice smiled
warmly.  “You worry too much about me, dear, and not enough about yourself.  We come from pretty sturdy stock, and we can manage to get through just about anything.”  She dropped her free hand alongside the chair and returned holding a canvas bag.  “I bought some supplies for you today, Taylor.  I hope you won’t mind.”

Taylor took the bag hesitantly and rifled through the scraps of
fabric, in variety of patterns, as well as heavy-duty thread, needles, and a few stencils and rhinestones.  “Mom, I haven’t sewn in a very long time.  How do you know I’m even capable anymore?”

“Some things you just don’t forget.  Take my knitting for example.  I hadn’t touched my needles in years
, but then I picked up a skein of yarn today and instantly I was making a scarf.  What colors does Chandler like?”

Taylor nearly choked on her own saliva.  After she composed herself, she answered, “He always was a little showy—red and gold, maybe.”

“Good,” Alice replied.  “I’d already started with the red.  Everyone looks good in red, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Mom.”  She smiled in resignation.

Following dinner, the two women sat together, reminiscing, creating, and enjoying each other’s company.  Alice placed no demands upon her daughter, and Taylor found that her mother was right—she not only remembered exactly how to sew, stitch, and design, but that she also still relished it.  She didn’t confirm her mother’s suspicions with words, but then again, she didn’t have to—and that was fine for both of them.

Chapter 9

“You get along okay
without me?”

The question was more for her benefit than his—he knew Taylor did just fine by her lonesome.  For better or worse, he was seeing her through new eyes.  He’d come back to town with his mind clear, his thoughts purposefully discarded until he sa
w the whole picture.  He wanted her, and not just as a part of his life—he wanted her to be his life.  Problem was, he didn’t know how to do it the second time around.  Taylor had changed in the intervening years, and he wondered if his assertiveness wasn’t more than a little off-putting.  Pieces of her personality remained, unchanged, constant as the mountains in the distance, but she was far less naïve now.  So was he.  He’d lived enough, seen a good part of the world, and knew that love didn’t come quite as easy for him as his siblings.  But he also craved that sense of permanence, of mutual need, of all-consuming love…and, from where he was sitting, only one woman could provide all of that.

“The place practically runs itself,” she said, watching his eyes
penetrate deep into the recesses of her mind.  He watched intently, blue gaze boring a clear pathway, racing past her defenses.  “Did you have a nice weekend?”

He leaned back in his chair, but his gaze remained fixed on her.  “Yeah, you might say that.  S
pent some quality time with my family, helped Mark out here and there.  Got a good night’s sleep.”

Taylor fiddled nervously with her hands.  “Mark is still your best friend.”

“Uh-huh.”  He smiled, but then his mouth dipped into a melancholy shape.  “But he and CJ have really bonded a lot lately, over fatherhood.  As much as they love having me around, I’m kind of like an outsider.”

She crossed her arms over her stomach, smiled caringly.  “Being a parent is great, but it’s not the only good thing you can do
with your life.”

His face fell.
“I must seem like a real asshole, complaining about something I’ve never had…something you’ve already lost.”

“Don’t worry about it, cowboy.  I’m not made of glass.”

His visage perked up, maybe a little too much.  “Alison didn’t talk your ear off, did she?”

Taylor laughed, and was relieved when Chandler joined in.  “I’ve still got both ears, but we did have lunch together.  She is one amazing friend.”

He nodded at her accurate reading of the situation.  “Christa and I are damned lucky to have Alison as our sister-in-law.  She would have remained our friend, no matter who she married, but to have her with CJ?  It’s incredible.  Her ear is always available, and her advice…well, she’s a pretty wise woman.”

“I’d like to spend more
time with Christa,” Taylor expounded.  “I know she’s busy with her kids, at home and at school.”

He chuckled deep in his throat, a sound that sent reverberations throughout her body. 
She remembered him as having a great sense of humor, but she wasn’t sure he was laughing as much as expected.  “We’ll work on that.  I did some pseudo-teaching last year at the high school, and even though it didn’t pan out, I’m still on good terms with the right people.  Christa wants me to visit her class one day soon to discuss art—not that five-year-olds are much into galleries, but I digress—and, naturally, I’d want my assistant to come along for the ride.”  He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.  “You interested?” 

“Yes!” she practically shouted before calming herself.  “I
mean, of course.  I’d love to help.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should ask,” he apologized, his face loosening, “because—well, I just figured…”

“Let me help you out a little, Chandler.  I’ve barely been around a child since Riley’s passing.  The time I’ve spent so far with your niece and nephews has…it’s helped me feel better about myself.  Like I could have something to offer as a person.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, T.  You’re still a young woman.  You could have a lot of offer anyone.”  He cleared his throat
loudly.  “I mean, career-wise.  Don’t commit yourself here for life.  I mean…uh…what the hell was I saying?”

She grinned.  Tongue-tied Chandler was definitely a new experience for her.  The boy she’d dated in high school had been as smooth as an ice rink,
never at a loss for words, confident in any situation.  The man before her was still confident, but far less sure of himself.  Or maybe he was putting her on, which she didn’t mind.  It was kind of fun to have the upper hand for a change.

“You were asking
me to be your teaching assistant,” she explained, “and I was agreeing without reservation.”

Chandler smiled broadly.  “Right.  I’ll set it up with Christa, and with the school.  She’ll be thrilled, but she doesn’t run the show.  Neither do I.  Good.”  He f
olded his hands atop the desk.  They stared at each other in the charged silence.  “Right,” he repeated, sounding asinine to his own ears.  “The gallery is half-empty so I’m going to start moving the paintings to the front room.  If you see me running around like a chicken with its head cut off, you’ll know why.” 
Oh, she’ll know why
, his brain retorted.  “And I’ve got to refill the entire middle room, so if I’m a little short with you, I’m in temperamental artist mode.”

“You, temperamental?’  Taylor shook
her head.  “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Believe it.”  A smile betrayed his words.  “I can be a real jerk when it comes to my art.”

“I doubt that,” she countered.  “But I should give your space.  I’ve got to get to work.”

“So get to it,” he teased,
smiling crookedly.  She gave him what appeared to be a quick wink—or what he
hoped
was a wink—and closed the office door as she headed toward the front.  

He stared at the wooden surface for a long time; the outer plane of the door was white, correspondin
g with the public space.  She always left a void in his life when she was gone—whether it was for five minutes, an hour, or ten years—and that scared the hell out of him.  No one, especially not a grown man, should be so dependent on another human being.

“
Maybe that’s your real problem, buddy boy,” he muttered aloud.  “You’re too scared to take life as it comes, to put your faith in something besides a paintbrush and a horse.”

He stood up, found a fresh sketchpad in the supply closet, pulled out his charcoa
l pencil, and worked uninterrupted for the next four hours.

***

The first part of the day passed easily.  She kept to herself, researching, selling, consolidating emails, and otherwise being a good employee.  Chandler only emerged from his office once, and kept her at arm’s length while he reorganized the unsold artwork.  Then he begged her to join him for lunch, and wouldn’t relent until they’d locked up the gallery and walked across the street.  He was friendly during the meal, polite and self-deprecating, but back within the gallery walls he changed again, into a quiet, shy man who closed himself up behind doors both physical and artificial.  And Taylor understood those barriers all too well—she had a few of her own.

In the middle of the afternoon, that
wonderfully incongruous sight showed up.  Mark strode through the front door with a huge smile upon his face.  His right hand securely grasped an infant carrier, where baby Matt slept soundly.  Max clutched his left hand, aping his father’s smile. He released it, though, when Taylor knelt down.  He ran into her arms and she hugged him tightly.

“Miss Taylor,” he announced with
out preamble, “I am here to play with Uncle Chandler.”

She laughed cheerfully.  “And I bet he will be thrilled to see you.”

Mark dropped his large hat onto Max’s small head.  “Go on, partner.  Scoot.  Give your uncle a hard time.”  He ran eagerly into the backroom, small fingers easily pushing through the door.  Mark placed the baby atop the counter and examined him with a smile.  “Heaven help me when you learn how to walk, Matthew,” he said affectionately.

“He’s a beautiful baby,” Taylor said, knowing she’d repeated that phrase endlessly but unsure what else to say.

“Looks like Christa,” he replied with an extra dose of fondness.  He looked up and met Taylor’s eyes.  “How are you today?”