The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (41 page)

“What I can understand,” he said in a low, shaky voice, “is that you and I are pulling away from each other, a little more every day.
  I’m terrified of losing you, but maybe I need to do it before we get any more serious.  Make a clean break.”

Her fac
e molded with the shock of disbelief.  “We could scarcely get more serious than we already are, Chandler.”  He felt her draw close and poke her finger gently into his chest.  “I’ve said things to you, done things with you that I’ve never done with another man.”  Her voice was soft but resolute.  “And you told me that you’d never been in love with another woman.”

“That’s true,” he said hoarsely, brushing his fingers over her face.  “I’ve never felt this strong pull with any woman but you, and if I live anoth
er hundred years, I never will.  If we keep going on this path, though, I’m just going to wind up hurting and disappointing you.  It’ll be like before.”

“Before?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.  “When we were kids?”

“I smothered you,” he remembered.  “I couldn’t let you breathe unless I did it first. I treated you like a piece of porcelain, and I ruined everything.”

He felt two unsteady hands atop his chest, heard her
release a sharp gasp as her eyes began to water.  “I can’t keep apologizing for that, Chandler.  I gave you your freedom and maybe it was wrong at the time, but you went to New York and made a name for yourself.  You got out from under your brother’s shadow and you’re a success in every area of your life.  Family comes to you for advice; they seek your input and hang on every word.  You’re wise beyond your years.  And you make me feel like I am perfect.  Nobody is perfect, Chandler—nobody—but you hold my in your arms and I feel like I’m the epitome of something.”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,
and I know how selfish that is.”  He wrapped her up tightly, pulled their mouths together in a fierce kiss.  He forced his tongue into her mouth and tasted the heat of her passion for what he knew would be the final time.  They were gasping for air when he pulled back.  “Go home with him, Taylor.”  His voice went up an octave, and his arms fell to his sides.  “Reconcile.  Heal each other.  He’s your match, not me.”

“Fine,” she said, abruptly withdrawing her hands from his chest.  “I lost my father and my so
n.  They were a part of me, of my biological makeup and my heart.  You’re just another warm body in the world, outside of me.  I survived without them.  Somehow I managed.  I’ll survive without you.”

He stepped away from her, his boots falling heavily on t
he floor.  He scooped up his hat and what was left of his pride.  Admittedly, the hat was more substantial at that point.  “Don’t bother coming into work” he barked.  

“Don’t worry,” she retorted.  “I don’t need your charity.”  The door slammed and she re
coiled, feeling the echo of it in every filament of her body.  His arms had been around her just a minute earlier, filling her with warmth.  Now as she replicated his motion, she felt nothing but an icy chill.  The tears cascaded from her eyes and her body was wracked with sobs.

Liam appeared in the doorway.  “I heard shouting,” he said anxiously.  “Raised voices.”

Taylor nodded.  “I just made the biggest mistake of my life—for the second time.”

His eyebrows were raised in inquiry.  “What happened?”

“He told me to reconcile with you.”

“We’re divorced,” he reminded her.

“And I told him I could survive without him.”

He pulled her into a companionable hug, tried his best to quiet her sobs.  The warmth and heat of marriage was absent now, and he took great ca
re not give either of them the wrong idea.  He gripped her shoulders and she stared into those green eyes—her son’s eyes.  It felt so reassuring to have at least one reminder of him still on earth.  Liam’s mouth opened to speak.  “I’ve only just met him and he just hurt you, but I like Chandler.  He seems like a stand-up guy.  Sturdy.”  He smiled amusedly.  “Looks like he could break a horse barehanded.”

A laugh escaped through her tears.  “He’s all of that and more.”

“I guess that settles it, then,” he said with unexpected resolve.

“What?” she asked, wiping away makeup with her tears.

“I’ve gotta stick around until you two crazy kids sort this mess out.”

“You can’t do that, Liam.  You’ve got a career, and someone who misses you.”

He shrugged amiably.  “I’m on vacation.”

“Who wants to spend their vacation with a stubborn woman?”

He laughed softly.  “Don’t talk about my son’s mother like that.  For her, I’d do anything.”

***

The room spun through cloudy eyes.

He blinked the surroundings of his apartment int
o focus.  When life resembled a gyroscope, twisted and hazy and upside-down, he was usually in the aftermath of an orgasm, with Taylor clasped to him like a pretzel.  Instead he was alone and hung-over, and his head was pounding.

He slung an arm over his f
orehead to make it stop, but it pounded louder.  Someone was at the door.  “Come in,” he said with a thick tongue.  His eyes fell closed; for all he knew, he’d just granted entry to a serial killer.

Mark’s
boots echoed loudly on the hardwood, every footfall like the banging of a sledgehammer.  “Your place was locked up tighter than a drum,” he said in a careful monotone, “but Alison let me in your office.”

“The benefits of making her my business partner,” replied Chandler in an oddly-coarse voice. 
“I’ll never have privacy again.”

Mark’s eyes spotted the culprit on an end table.  “Tie one on?”

“Spare me the self-righteous bullshit, Mark.  I’m not in the mood.”

Mark picked up the half-empty bottle of amber liquid and gave it a cursory glance.  “Imported from
Kentucky,” he observed dryly.  “Nice.”

“Did you come here for any specific reason, or just to make wry observations about my life?”

He set down the whiskey and headed straight for the fridge, where he withdrew a chilled bottle of water.  “Drink this,” he commanded.  “And don’t give me any lip.”

Chandler turned the water up and felt it burn all the way down his raw throat.  Then Mark’
s hand was on his back, pushing him up so he wouldn’t choke.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he answered.  Chandler blinked
his eyes again, pulled his best friend into focus.  “I didn’t like the cut of your jib yesterday,” he said solemnly.  “I should have talked to you then but you’re a big boy and I figured you could handle it yourself.  You looked like a dog that’d just been kicked off the porch.  Now you look like a dog that’s been kicked off the porch and gotten drunk down in the dirt.”

“Her ex-husband’s back.”

“And let me guess.  You got mad as hell for no good reason, went and told her she could do better than you.  That about the size of it, cowboy?”

Chandler nodded r
uefully.  “She said he was here for a vacation—he said the same thing—but it’s more than just that.  We’ve been off-kilter for a long time, and I’m sick of worrying about every step I make.”

Mark frowned, his brown eyes locking and loading into a deadly glare.  “Don’t you dare try to cut and run on her, Chandler.  You have been disgustingly happy ever since that woman came bac
k into your life, and don’t try to pretend otherwise.  You’re trying to take the coward’s way out because you’re scared to death.”  He jutted a finger in Chandler’s face.  He tried to swat it away but found himself still too drunk to hit the mark.  “God, I haven’t seen you this hammered since my bachelor party.  We had a good excuse then.”

“I haven’t eaten today,” Chandler said breezily.  “This is all that’s in my stomach,” he announced, reaching for the bottle.  Mark picked it up and carried it to the sink, where its contents joined the wastewater in the pipes.  “Hey, you
owe me a fifth, Jasper.”

Mark tossed the empty bottle in its specific recycling container.  “What I owe you is a kick in the ass, bud.  Remember when I was down and out?  You stuck me with the metaphorical cattle prod until I started thinking with my head
again.”

Chandler fell against the couch, smacked his lips a few times.  “You know what, Mark?  You are right.  Always, always, always. 
No one is smarter than Mark Jasper.”

He sat down on the couch and yanked off Chandler’s boots.  He searched in the close
t until he found a blanket.  It may have been ninety degrees outside, but his best friend was shivering.  “Thank God I got here before you drank the whole bottle,” he said to himself somberly.

“What are you doing now?” Chandler asked through closed eyes as
Mark began to remove items from the kitchen cabinets.

“I’m going to put some food in your stomach,” he said, dumping olive oil in a skillet.  “It’ll be a little harder to pump some sense into your brain.  Do you have a coffeemaker?”

“Never touch the stuff,” he replied, or seemed to.  None of the syllables were aligning properly in his head.

“I’ll text Alison.”  He removed his phone from his pocket and keyed something in.

“I don’t want her seeing me like this.”

Mark fumbled through the vegetable crisper unt
il he found some carrots.  “Right now, bud, that should be the least of your concerns.”  Chandler winced as he heard the knife blade slicing through them and into the cutting board.  “Wimp,” Mark said, smiling to himself.

“Don’t you have a ranch to run?” C
handler asked drowsily.  He’d be out soon enough, swimming through a sea of booze-fueled nightmares.

Mark shook his head softly.  “Don’t you have a life to live?”

***

Alison made her way up the stairs so softly that she startled Mark.  In her hands were tw
o coffees.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Anytime.  How’s he doing?” she said, motioning toward the couch with her head.

“Out like a light,” he pronounced.  “He went over there, fed Taylor a few lines of bullshit.   Strong-willed lady that she is, she had none of it.  Didn’t eat a thing today but half a bottle of whiskey.”

“Nice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that?” she asked, sniffing the air.

“Some pasta that I threw together.  I hope it’s edible.”

“Smells good, anyway.  Look, I’m going to get out of here before he wakes up.  Probably won’t be a pleasant sight.”

“To say the least.”

“Should I perform search-and-rescue, go get Taylor’s point of
view?”

“Not right now,” Mark surmised.  “Give them both time to lick their wounds.”  Chandler snored himself momentarily awake before going out again.  “Some of them are pretty deep.”

“I’m gone,” Alison said.  “Later, bro.”

“Later,” Mark replied with a nod
.  He plated the food and carted it and the coffee over toward the couch.  “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Chandler stirred, gave him a miserable look.  “What’s this?”

“Call it an intervention,” Mark declared.  “Sit up.”

He staggered upward, clutching
his stomach.  He felt the unfortunate side effects of drinking on a bladder and excused himself.  When he came back, he’d replaced his Western shirt with a plain white one.  He looked peaked and Mark felt a heap of sympathy for him.  The kid was hurting.

C
handler pulled the lid off the coffee cup, grimaced, drank, and grimaced some more.  “This tastes like motor oil,” he declared.

“And you look like hell,” Mark retorted.  “Sit.”  Chandler did as told, picked up the fork and proceeded to stuff himself silly.
  He was ravenous, cleaning the plate before offering to speak.

“I cocked things up good this time, Mark.  I wouldn’t blame Taylor if she never spoke to me again.”

Both brows arched.  “Good thing you’re a tall boy, or she probably wouldn’t recognize you right now.  You look pretty damned sallow.”

“What do I do, Mark?” he asked roughly.  He cleared his throat but the coarseness remained.  “I said some awful stuff to her.”

“Why don’t you come back to the ranch for a few days?”

“I was just there for a few days
,” he countered.  “Besides, someone has to run this gallery since I basically fired my help.”

“Shut it down,” Mark said emphatically.  “Close the gallery for a week, forward all the calls to your voicemail,
help me round up a few strays.”

“It’s a tempting
offer, Mark, I’ll admit that much.”  He started to get to his feet before thinking better of it.  “Wouldn’t it just seem like I was running away from my problems?”

Mark gathered up the dirty dishes and tossed the empty coffee cup
s in the trash.  He used the time to ruminate privately, keeping his thoughts close to the vest.  He’d resumed his seated position on the couch before he spoke again.  “Remember when we were kids, and both of us were scared to ride your dad’s horse?  He cajoled and begged and we both resisted because we were just intimidated by the damned thing.  What happened when we finally did climb up into the saddle?”