The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (28 page)

She kissed him on the nose.  “Men can’t multitask in that room.  When it comes to th
e job at hand, women are far better at balancing.  I’m going to leave the two of you to think about that one.” 

Chandler watched them go before returning his gaze to Mark.  “You know what she was talking about, don’t you?”

A short laugh escaped his lips.  “Yes, I do.”  He tilted his head in a questioning manner.  “So how are the two of you doing?  You guys seem really close.”

“Honestly?” Chandler asked.  Mark nodded languorously.  “
Do you think I’m rushing it?  I feel like we could spend the rest of our lives together.”

Mark tapped his fingers absently on the table while using his other hand to take a drink of ice water.  “You’re too serious for your own good, bud.  She already knows you’re committed, so just have fun.  Do those silly romantic things that
us people with kids have to put on the back burner.  Climb in the back of your truck and watch the stars fill up the sky.  It’s spring now—drive out and find some wildflowers.”  He adjusted his hat and Chandler watched his eyebrows arch.  “Any of this getting through to you?”

“Yeah,” he replied.  “You’re a smart guy, Mark.”

“It must’ve rubbed off from you.”  They both chuckled.  “Anyway, you’re a good man, Chandler.  Any woman would count herself lucky to be with you.”

“Do you think Taylor came along
because I wasn’t looking for her?  I was just focused on myself and she’s thrown all of that out the window.”

“Hmm,” Mark said.  “Maybe it was God’s way of letting you know that you’ve gotta find happiness outside of a jar of paint, buddy boy.”  He glanced
toward the dais for a moment, willing them to play a slow song just for him and Christa.  “Speaking of which, here come our cowgirls.  Let’s push them around the floor, pal.  And enjoy it.”

“Sounds good to me, Mark.”

The soft strains of fiddles and a steel guitar filled the room.  Chandler pulled her to him wordlessly, felt her meld into the hard surface of his chest like moss gripping a stone.  He enfolded their hands and stared into her eyes.  She smelled sweet, like gardenias or old-fashioned roses or some flower he couldn’t identify.  She felt like she’d been made to fit perfectly against him, her heart pounding so noticeably that it could’ve been tucked away beneath his own ribcage.  He clasped their hands together against his shoulder, their movements so intimate that she could undoubtedly read his mind, hear the words without him having to utter them.

His fingers splayed across her back,
bunching the fabric, and he felt her breath catch.  He kissed her then, a subtle realization arcing between them.  If things didn’t work out for them this time, he’d never be able to get over her.  He thought back to the first time he’d ever danced with her, under this roof.  He’d been wearing a brand-new shirt and a little too much aftershave.  The shirt was blue with white stripes, and if the aftershave had burned Taylor’s nose she hadn’t mentioned it.  Chase and Bryn had given him fifty dollars and told him to have a good time, though his father added, “Not too good of a time.”  And Joseph had answered the front door, giving Chandler his patented stern-but-warm look, with Taylor kissing him on the cheek and promising to be home before ten o’clock.  She’d looked resplendent in her starched jeans and pink shirt.  He drove her straight there, his hands shaking nervously, and they’d danced until their feet ached inside their boots.  Afterward he drove her straight home and they’d kissed on the porch, under the buzzing, ready-to-blow light bulb.  That was his final memory of the evening; he didn’t remember driving home, climbing onto the porch roof and discussing it with CJ.  That reminiscence now existed only in the fabric of time.

The song ended and everyone clapped, but Chandler’s hands remained firmly in place.  He kissed her tenderly and felt the desire buzzing in his v
eins.  But like that night so many years ago, he was planning to take her straight home.  He looked around, saw Mark and Christa close by, clasped so tight they could have been a single, living organism.  Suddenly he felt a finger guiding his chin toward her, and she looked into his eyes curiously.

“You’re very quiet,” she observed. 

Chandler cleared his throat.  “You’re always trying to get inside my head.  Some men would resent that.”

“But not you?”

“No, because there’s nothing inside my head that could ever hurt you.”

She outlined the edges of his lips with her index finger, watched his eyes flicker in the glow cast by the white Christmas lights strung overhead.  And she wondered if his words were true, because he’d never been the type to lie.  But when
it came to affairs of the heart, there were no guarantees.

They danced a while longer, and closed out the evening talking at the table with Mark and Christa yet again.  Sometimes Taylor felt a pang of envy when they discussed their children, but she didn’t
begrudge them their happiness.  It had been hard-earned, just as hers would be when it came to pass.

In the truck Chandler was quiet, thinking of nothing in particular.  The stars dotted the night sky like a million freckles; with the sapphire expanse
cloudless, every constellation was visible.  On a warmer night the windows might be down, fresh, pine-scented air spilling into the cab, but it was still too cool outside for such indulgences.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” she said absently, reading h
is thoughts with a welcome, albeit frightening, precision.

“They are,” he agreed under his breath.
  “That’s one thing you get here—the sky is beautiful every night.  Even when you don’t see the stars, you can imagine where they are in the vast nothingness.  It’s like a great mystery, something unseen that you always know is there.”

“Poet,” she replied, angling the word delicately off her tongue.  He pulled into the driveway of her house.  “Let’s go out for breakfast tomorrow.”

He parked the truck and inclined his head in her direction.  “Where?”

She smiled in the darkness.  “Let’s find a hayloft and work our way out from there.”

He swallowed hard, loud enough that she must’ve heard his tonsils shake loose.  He stared ahead at the pasture behind her house, dark enough to be the edge of the world.  “Deal.”

She slid against him, their lips meeting passionately, his thumbs on either side of her throat.  “See you tomorrow,” she said before the door thunked behind her.  He watched her disappear into the house.  It
must’ve taken him at least ten minutes to remember where the Reverse notch was on the gearshift, and another frenzied minute before he remembered how to breathe.

***

Taylor was happily surprised to find her mother in the living room, crossword puzzle and hardcover novel on the end table, TV muted, knitting needles working furiously.  She sank into her chair and smiled.

“I hope you weren’t wearing lipstick when you left the house, young lady, because it’s all gone now.”

She laughed.  “I know better, Mom.  Besides, the secret is lip gloss—it protects your mouth while making it infinitely more kissable.”

Alice smiled.  “Smart girl.  Did you have a good time?”

“It was great,” she said with a nod.  “Mark and Christa were so much fun to be around and Chandler—well, you know Chandler.”

“And so do your lips, I’d imagine.”

She shot her mother a sidelong glance and found her grinning.  “Anyway, I might have stayed out longer but I realized we haven’t been spending enough time together lately.  And Chandler is okay with that.  He knows you need me.”

Alice looked at her with warm eyes for a moment.  “I enjoy having you here, but I don’t need you.  I have a very full life.”  Her eyes went back to her work.  “I’d never turn my back on you, though. 
You have a home here as long as you want it.  And if you want to live with Chandler, I will respect that, as well.”

“Mom, you’re amazing.”  Taylor glanced toward the television.  “So tell me what happened with Blade and Raven this week.”

Alice’s eyes twinkled with what Taylor thought was mischief.  “Blade got his memory back and at first he was mad at Raven for deceiving him.  But Tricia’s decided to stay in the convent, and married to her work, so Blade is getting an annulment and Raven will continue to nurse him back to health.”

“So what about Mitch?”

“Still with Raven’s sister.”

“That’s more than a little awkward.”

“I agree,” Alice said, “so I’m sure it’ll lead into plenty of drama this summer.”

“You’ll have to keep me updated.”

“I will.” 

Taylor looked toward the television
again.  “What’s on next?”

Alice gathered up the remote and adjusted the volume.  “
Bringing Up Baby
.”

She yawned and pulled a throw over her, suddenly feeling wide awake.  “Fantastic.”
 

Chapter 19

They greeted life and love at a breakneck pace.  Chandler became incredibly prolific, producing works of art at an unprecedented speed.  Taylor spent her working hours either on phone or computer, pushing his artwork, promoting him, working to cement the place he’d carved for himself in the world.  People came from magazines and newspapers to do articles and interviews, but only after Taylor had ensured their sincerity.  As the gallery grew in prominence, it cut into their time together—but it was worth the hard work.  It filled up the empty spots in her days, made her think less and less about the life she’d lost, the son she would never get to see grow to adulthood.  Chandler had given her a reason to hope for the future, no matter what it entailed.

Their
spare time increasingly became devoted to their relationship.  She spent more than a few nights at his apartment, and a few others in sleeping bags, at his house or in the bed of his truck, under a blanket of stars.  When they did separate, it was so he could work on the ranch and she could spend a day with her mother.  Alice stayed busy, though, and didn’t push Taylor to spend any extra time together.  She helped Chandler paint the rest of the home’s interior, and worked alongside him in a storeroom full of dusty furniture to pick just the right pieces for each room.  If he never came right out and said, “This will be our home,” the simple act of requesting her company every time he drove out there was close enough.  He consulted her at every juncture, making sure she was just as happy as he was, and he was never in short supply of those three little words.  He loved her enough for the both of them, for two lifetimes and then some.

There was one request he made, on several occasions, which she had to work
her way up to completing.  It would be, he assured her, the final initiation back into the ranching lifestyle.

Eventually, she relented.

Taylor stuck her head out the truck window, thankful that it was a warm day.  “Chandler,” she said over the wind noise, “it has been a very long time since I was on the back of a horse.”

He laughed roughly.  “Some things you never forget, sweetheart.  Riding a horse is one of them.  We’ve already done the others.”  She watched the corner of his mouth lift in satisfaction.
  “And I can assure you that CJ will pick out a gentle horse for you.  Max’s horse if you want it.  Very calm.”

“Does he already know how to ride?” she asked, redirecting the conversation. 

“Some.  Christa is a little worried, and Mark too, but it’s in the blood.  He’ll be a natural at it in no time.”

“And me?” she asked hopefully.  He parked alongside the barn,
shut off the ignition and let out a few breaths before he turned to her and smiled in that mischievous way that was so at odds with every fragment of his personality.

“Until you get used to it, I’ll help you in and out of the saddle.  You wouldn’t want anyone else’s hands on your hips, would you?”
  She opened her mouth to reply, giving him a small smirk as her initial answer.

“Of course not,” she re
plied.  She rested her hand on his shoulder as they entered the barn.  “Suspense was killing you, wasn’t it?”

Chandler laughed.  “Hell yes.”  CJ was in the barn as expected, saddling the horses with ease.  He smiled when they entered, that grin familiar to
family, friends, and more than a few rodeo fans.  He ran his hands through each horse’s mane and stepped into the light to give the two of them a little grief.

“Hope you appreciate all my hard work, Chandler.  I was out here early checking horseshoes and
reins and bridles and watering and feeding and…my apologies, ma’am.”  He adjusted his hat politely.  “I forgot there was a lady present.  You looking forward to today?”

“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted freely.

“No need to be nervous, T.  This is my son’s horse, Windswept the Fifth or Sixth.  I’ve lost count.  Anyway, he’s very gentle, and I say that as the one who broke him.”

“Braggart,” Chandler muttered affectionately.

CJ pretended to ignore him.  “Need any help getting up on the horse?”