The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (27 page)

Christa nodded before gathering plates to set the dinner table.  “Just don’t turn him into a city slicker,” she teased.  “We’d really have to pick on him then.”

“I don’t think there’s any risk of that happening.  He’s shown me his house so I know this ranch is a big part of his future.”

Christa shoved the salad in the refrigerator and scrubbed her hands clean.  “Isn’t it a great house?  Did he show you the studio in the backyard?  It
’s empty right now but I’m sure someday it’ll be the place where he creates something beautiful.”

Taylor responded with a bashful smile.  “We didn’t have a chance to make it outside,” she said.

“Oh.”  Christa gave her a comprehending gaze.  “Another time, then.”  Taylor nodded.  They were interrupted by noises outside.  “I think I know who that is.”  Mark and Chandler pushed through the front door momentarily, carrying a thread of laughter with them. 

Max
, who had been dozing with a picture book ever since his cousins left, bounded off the couch and into his father’s waiting arms.  “Hey there, champ.  Did you save me any cookies?”

The boy pretended to study his father’s question thoughtfully for a few moments.  “One or two,” he said with a l
augh.  Mark smiled back at him, cookies the farthest thing from his mind as he kissed his son on the forehead.  He sidled up to Christa and pressed his lips to hers.

“And how is my beautiful wife?” he asked calmly.

“Better, now that you’re here.”  Chandler didn’t greet Taylor with a kiss, but scooped her in his arms, held her back against his chest.  He carried the aroma of the ranch, horses, hay, and pine.  She leaned into him, felt his embrace grow tighter.

“Did you miss me?” Chandler asked quietly.  She rested the warm palm of her hand against his cheek.

“A little bit.”

Chapter 18

“How many cowboys does it take to screw in a light
bulb?”

Alison asked her question with only the slightest touch of sarcasm.  It was tempered mainly with happiness and humor.  She, Christa, and Taylor stood together, watching the men
work.  The children were playing in Chandler’s living room, save for Matt, growing like the proverbial weed and resting in Christa’s arms.  The appliances had been delivered, and on this Saturday they’d finally gotten around to pulling off the shrink wrap and shoving them into position.  There’d been some professional supervision of range and dishwasher, and now Chandler, Mark, and CJ were figuring out the proper method to plug in the refrigerator without one of them being trapped behind the surrounding cabinets.

“My money is on CJ throwing out the first four-letter word,” Christa joked.  And had they been using actual currency, she would
have won the bet exactly thirty seconds later.

“What if we used one of the kids?” CJ said, rubbing his jaw.

“Don’t even think about it, Junior,” Alison warned sternly as she pointed her finger at him. 

His green eyes twinkled as his gaze slid her way.  “You’re not the boss of me, honey.”  Mark and Chandler shared a funny look.

“You willing to take bets on that, cowboy?”

CJ
raised his hands in surrender, grinning the whole time.  “My apologies, sweetheart.  But do you have a better idea?”

“Watch and learn, boys,” Alison said, crossing the room.

“Don’t let the sparring fool you,” Christa said in a whisper.  “CJ and Alison, they’re always like that.”

Taylor nodded.  “There was no trace of malice in either his eyes or his voice.”

“Exactly.  They challenge each other—at the end of the day, it keeps their marriage strong.”

The men watched, dumbfound
ed, as Alison snaked her hand behind the refrigerator and completed the task that had befuddled them for ten minutes.

“And that, boys, is how it’s done,” she said, rubbing fake dirt from her hands as the refrigerator hummed to life.

“Sis, if you don’t mind my asking,” Mark said pointedly, “how in the hell did you do that?”

“Very simple, brother of mine—I memorized the location of the outlet, where it was positioned on the wall.  It allowed me to work blind.”  She shot Christa a quick glance. “I’m going to check on the kids.”  CJ watched he
r go while Chandler and Mark shoved the appliance into its new home.

“So what’s your secret?” Taylor asked carefully.  “What keeps you and Mark together?”

Christa readjusted Matt in her arms, heard his soft, happy gurgle.  “We encourage each other to be the best we can be—but the real secret is that we’re happy as-is.  I don’t want him to change who he is on that fundamental level.  There are distinct reasons we fell in love, and only when there’s a shift from those basic tenets does conflict occur.”  She angled her head toward Taylor and smiled.  “I’m happy to say we’ve been conflict-free for months.  Not saying it’ll never happen again, but I’d like to think we’re in a healthy place.”  She gave a slight shrug.  “Don’t feel the need to emulate any of us, though.  Our marriages, our relationships, have their own unique characteristics.  You know how it is.”

“I do.
”  She watched as Chandler walked toward them, his blue eyes fixed on her like she was the center of the universe.  And for him, maybe she was.  He placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“She wasn’t telling you any embarrassing stories, was she?”

Christa smirked just a tad.  “She’s already seen the pictures of you wearing a diaper with your baby Stetson.  I can’t think of anything more humiliating off the top of my head.” 

“I know a few embarrassing ones,” CJ offered, “but I’m saving them until he makes an honest woman out of you.”  He cleared his throat.  “But I’m sure Mark has a ton of ‘em in his head.”

Something instinctual passed between Mark and Christa, and he removed the baby from her tired arms and held the sleeping bundle against his chest.  “I do, but Chandler knows an equal number of them about me.  That’s why I’m taking them to the grave.”

“You guys are no fun,” CJ rejoined, a twinkle in his eye
.  Chandler gave Taylor a reticent look.

“I’m going to take my girlfriend outside and show her around,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on hers.  “Think you’ll be okay without me?”

“We’ll manage, bud.”  Mark smiled at him warmly.  “Try not to get lost, you two.”

***

Chandler pulled the ring of keys from his pocket, searched for the right one to open the double doors.  The lock was brand-new and opened with a satisfying click.  He ushered Taylor inside, placing his hand at the small of her back, and closed the door behind them.

Every wall was lined with windows, their panes generously covered in a few years’ worth of dust and dirt.  The walls were a faded white, discolored
, but the paint had yet to chip.  The hardwood of the floor squeaked under their footsteps, ancient nails bending and flexing as boards shifted.  The entire space was fresh of any furniture; it could have been used for any number of purposes, but Chandler’s was already in place.

“I was thinking about putting some long tables in over here,
to store supplies, especially since this wall just looks back onto the house.”  He crossed the room in a few strides—not hard for someone of his height—and the excitement was readily apparent on his face.  “And over here I could set up my easel, though the mountains might distract me.”  He turned toward her, hands on his hips, and smiled.  “What do you think?”

Milky light filtered in
, giving her beauty a raw, haunted quality.  “I think it all sounds wonderful.  And you look very happy.  Happy always looks good on you, cowboy.”

He stared at her for a charged moment.  “Maybe this’ll be your space, too,” he finally declared.

“My space?”  He found her so beautiful in that moment, in the space where he planned to spend the next fifty years or so creating, that even the inflection of her voice turned him on.  Her green eyes wavered briefly from his gaze, as though she was taking a cursory glance at the snow-capped mountains in the distance.  Then she returned those emerald irises to him and smiled again.  “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” he said with a pronounced nod.  He crossed the room and clasped her hands, holding them in the space between as they stood face-to-face.  “We’ll have to wash the windows, of course,” he said with a sheepish grin, “and we can sit here
while the sun streams in.  I’ll write poems while you sew those amazing bags, or you can paint or draw, and I’ll just watch you.”

“I’d like that,” she said, “the two of us painting together.  I’d never be as good as you, but the company would be worth all
of the practice.”

He pulled his face to hers, kissed her jawbone and earlobe.  “Us artistic types can be temperamental,” he warned softly.  “Just as a point of reference.”  He met her eyes again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of you, Chandler.  Even when times got rough between us, you were always…”

“Calm,” he contributed.  “Collected.”
“Yes.  I mean, don’t you ever get so mad that you just want to scream?  Throw things?  Slam your first through a wall?”

“That’s not me,” he replied in a low voice.
  He couldn’t figure out if she was testing him, or simply trying to get inside his head.  “I’m pretty uncomplicated.  I love my family, I love this ranch, I love my career, and I love you.  I’m not great at romance, but I’m trying.”

Taylor arched an eyebr
ow at him.  “You’re also modest to the point of absurdity.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He frowned comically.  “I don’t know, sweetheart.  I guess
I’m still trying to figure this whole thing out.”  He brushed the hair away from her ear, and trailed his fingers along an imaginary line toward the nape of her neck.  “And I worry sometimes that I’m moving too fast.”

Chandler watched her face register worry and unhappiness.  “You’re not trying to let me down easy, are you?”

He shook his head and watched her breathe a sigh of relief.  “No, honey.  That’s the furthest thing from my mind.  But if you ever feel like I’m pushing you, like we need to cool it…I hope you’ll let me know.”

“Button-ripping aside
, you’ve been a perfect gentleman,” she said, her eyes alight with humor.

Th
ey shared a brief laugh, one that echoed through the vast, hollow space around them.  “I’m still finding those damned things in the couch cushions.”  His mouth drew close to hers.

“They’re like souvenirs, then.”  He nibbled at her lips and felt the tingle
in his bones.  Shame they weren’t alone, he thought.

“Maybe I’ll use them in a collage.”

She laughed between kisses.  “Sounds existential.”

His hand rested lovingly on her hip.  “More like reverential.”  He sighed when the tip of her tongue skated along th
e inside of his lower lip.  “Dammit, we have to head back inside.”

“I know,” she said.  “Later, though.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking in sharp breaths. 

***

That weekend, they went to the old dancehall in town and invited Mark and Christa to join them.  Taylor had quickly developed a deep affection for them, admiring the easy way they seemed to coexist, how they shared a look or a touch, or snippets of their days.  She loved Chandler, but wondered if she’d ever be able to feel something like that.  Maybe she’d had it with Liam, but probably not.  It was hard to imagine she could have loved on a higher plane, giving freely of herself before throwing it away.

The
y were seated at the end of a long table, couples facing one another.  Christa leaned in so her voice could be heard over the live band.  She rested one hand on Mark’s shoulder and the other between his shoulder blades.  “Thank you so much for asking us to come along tonight.”  She smiled.  “Mark hasn’t taken me dancing in ages.”

“You’re welcome,” Taylor replied, “although your brother wasn’t sure you’d be interested.”
  Chandler shrugged as his mouth formed a reserved grin. 

“He’s right.  I hate leaving th
e boys.  When I work it doesn’t seem so bad, because it’s my job, and Mark is usually on the ranch.”

Mark leaned his face close to hers, his face shadowed under the brim of his white hat.  “And Alison had to practically lock us out on the front porch earli
er when we dropped the kids off.”  He smiled affectionately at her, love evident in the simple curve of his lips.  “Not saying that I don’t enjoy present company, but I miss those little cattle rustlers myself.”

“There are families here,” Chandler observed
, “but I guess Matt is still a little young for honky-tonkin’.”  Everyone laughed.

Christa, blonde hair falling against her red flannel shirt
, looked at Taylor keenly.  “I’m headed for the restroom,” she announced.  “Would you like to come along with me?”

Taylor nodded.  “Sure.”

Mark’s hand trailed down his wife’s hip as she stood.  “Why is it that women always have to hit the privy in pairs?  You don’t see men doing that.”