The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (42 page)

Chandler shook his head.  “The poor old thing was as meek as a newborn lamb.  I wound up feeling sorry for it because there was s
uch sadness behind those eyes.”  He looked at Mark thoughtfully.  “What does that have to do with my situation?”

He rested a fist atop Chandler’s shoulder.  “Things oftentimes look a lot scarier than they really are.  From far off, that horse might as well
have been a dragon.  Up close, on his back, he was gentle and friendly.  You misread the relationship between Taylor and her ex-husband, knowing that they were still friendly.  He intimidated you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” he admitted at a whisper.  “He was dev
oted to her and their son, and lost them both.  It must take a strong man to still be standing after something like that.”

“I really doubt he came back here to win Taylor’s heart.  If he’s the kind of man you say he is, he would have left as soon as she to
ld him she was dating you.  It’s clear to me, from my outsider position, that they’re just trying to sort through some stuff, and you should give her the space she needs.  But maybe, just maybe…”

“What?” Chandler asked abruptly, rubbing his head afterward.
  “I’m on tenterhooks here.”

“Send her some flowers,” Mark suggested.  “It can’t hurt.”

Chapter 2
7

“Carnations?”

Liam closed the cemetery gate behind them and looked inquiringly at the bouquet in her arms.  She wondered if he was at all apprehensive—he hadn’t been here since the burial, and it had to be like reopening a fresh wound.  He gave away nothing in his stance, but placed a friendly hand along her shoulder.  It wasn’t like when Chandler did the same—his fingers would rest between the blades, or along the small of her back, and sensation would ripple through her from the slightest touch.  It was hard to think about that at a moment like this, when hurts seemed all the more magnified. 

“Carnations symbolize love and loss,” she explained.  “
Particularly those of a pink hue.”  They made the turn and headed toward the now-familiar segment of gravestones.  “I don’t come here often—it’s too painful—but when I do, Chandler accompanies me.”

She heard his breath
ing hitch as his eyes scanned their son’s marker.  She rested her right hand on his left forearm, but he remained silent for a long moment, his eyes unmoving from that stone.  “I would never try to diminish your loss as a mother.”

“Of course not.”  She tried
to reassure him with her voice.

“It does something to a man, to lose his son.  Does that make any sense?  I should have be
en able to protect him, watched him grow and tried to mold him in my own image.  I lost all of that.”

“Do you regret allowing him to
be buried here, alongside my father?”

She watched his eyes sweep across the green fields, up to the distant foothills and mountains.  He gave a tight smile she only saw in profile before shaking his head.  “No,” he
replied.  “To allow him to rest in this beautiful place, for all of eternity—I couldn’t hope for much more than that.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.  “Would you like to place the flowers today?”

He nodded gratefully, as though acknowledging his acceptance into her private moment.  It was a fraternity neither of them had ever wished to join, but somehow they’d made some peace with it.  She unwrapped the flowers and he held them gingerly in his fingers.  He lowered to his haunches and she listened as his breath caught in his throat again.  “Hi son,” he said quietly.  “It’s Daddy, that startled-looking guy who used to watch you in your crib and marvel at how he’d created you.  You were far too cute to be my kid.  Guess I lucked out on that one.  I hope you’re having a good time up there in Heaven.  Maybe you keep growing and you’re in school now.  Maybe you get to stay the same age forever, never getting sick or feeble, preschool forever.” He left the flowers atop the stone and removed a handkerchief from pocket.  He stood and wiped his eyes, his expression weary.  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for being here.”

“Of course.”  She looked at the stone, then back to him.  “Let’s get out of here before I fall apart too, okay?”

He nodded and they fell into step along the path.  “Do you ever think about trying again?”

She nodded, understanding the implication.  “Chandler and I have discussed it in a superficial manner.  He’s great with kids.  He has three nephews and a niece and they adore him
.  He has a seemingly-endless supply of love to give.  I wish I was more like him, actually.”

“You have a lot of love to give, Taylor.  Never forget that.  No one could have been a better mother to our son.”  They exchanged a brief smile as they passed through the gate.  “We’re still young.  There’s no reason e
ither of us won’t find the joy of love or parenthood again.”

He held the door for her as t
hey climbed into his rental car.  “I’ve already found the love part, haven’t I?”

Liam nodded earnestly.  “Beyond my wildest expectations for you.  I hoped it could ha
ppen for you, knew secretly that it would.”  He leaned back against the headrest.  “Your mother told me that the two of you had something special, but I felt it there in the room when I met him.  It was like you were magnetized.”

Taylor felt the cool air c
irculating as he turned the key in the ignition.  “Do you have that with her?” 

He tried for an impassive look.  “I’m not sure yet.  I felt something, though.  We’ll see, right?”

“Time will tell,” she agreed. 
For all of us.

***

“Whoa, Rowdy.  Take it easy, boy.”  Mark pulled his horse to a halt and patted him along his mane.  “Settle down.”

Chandler stopped alongside him, sweat trailing down his dusty face.  “Wow,” he stated simply.  “I haven’t ridden that hard in a while.”

“You’ll be showing me up if you don’t rein it in a bit,” Mark joked.  They smiled at one another.  Chandler found himself in a better place that day.  He’d still blown his relationship all to hell, but somewhere in his mind he saw a way to super glue the pieces back together—eventually.  He hoped the flowers he’d sent over that morning would be a nice overture.  He’d even thought about having “I screwed up” scrawled across the card before thinking better of it.  He spent the rest of the morning riding side-by-side with Mark—or, more accurately, two steps behind him.  Sometimes he just couldn’t keep up.  Mark did this every day of his life, seemingly never tired of the work.  He’d surprised himself, though, roping in a stray before Mark could even get his rope unfurled.

Chandler took a
drink from his canteen and laughed.  “You’re getting a few years on you, old man.  You going grey yet?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Mark rolled his eyes playfully.  “Your sister found one in my head a while back.”  He gave Chandler a pointed look.  “No o
ne else will ever get that close.”

“Touché,” he replied.

“You showed me I’ve made the right decision, though.  I’m not going to enter the Labor Day Rodeo this year.”

Chandler glanced at him worriedly.  “That’s our thing, man—we do it every year.”

“I know,” Mark said, wiping sweat from his brow and reseating his hat.  “But I saw CJ practicing on the sheep with Little Chase, and I got kind of jealous.  Not, you know, green with envy, but I started thinking I’d teach Max to ride one.  He’s old enough to enter the contest.”

He acknowledged the sentiment with a nod and a smile.  “What does Christa say?”

“I wore her down pretty quickly.  The kids all wear helmets, it’s kind of fun, and good practice for the future.”

“Uh-huh.”  Chandler grinned.  “How much did it
cost ya?”

Mark held up two fingers.  “We won’t talk about thing one, but thing two involved a sapphire bracelet.”

Chandler furrowed his brow in concentration.  “You know, I never see my sister wearing jewelry.  Like, ever.”

“I do,” Mark replied dreamily.  Chandler gave him a bewildered look.  “Thing one,” he said with a shrug.  Chandler groaned for emphasis, lifted his reins and headed down the trail.  “Wait up,” Mark called out.  “You forgot to tell me about the flowers!” 

***

Taylor and Liam arrived home following lunch in town, where he’d filled her in on the various staff changes that had gone in since she’d left the hospital, along with a smattering of gossip.  She smiled as he spoke, because he’d never been one for idle
chit-chat.  His words were generally well-chosen.  He was an articulate but soft-spoken man, and she was glad to count him as a friend now.  She’d known other women—too many, she thought sadly—who couldn’t be in the same room as their ex-husbands without engaging in a shouting match, with children who would forever be caught in the middle of a battle that would have no winner.  She had wanted to take him through the gallery, but upon finding it closed lost the courage to venture next door and ask Alison where Chandler was.  It wasn’t like him to miss work and his truck was nowhere to be found.  She still had her keys—they’d parted too abruptly for any sort of deconstruction.  Her mother had the front door open, her face wild with excitement, before they were halfway up the walk. 

“Mom?”  Taylor looked into her eyes with concern.  “Is everything okay?  Your story is on.”

She waved off her daughter’s fears.  “I paused the DVR.  Something arrived for you.”

“For me?” she asked, genuinely baffled.

“It’s on the dining room table,” she explained.  “I was exceedingly careful with it, dearheart.”

In the dining room she was greeted with an explosion of color atop a slender vase.  The arrangement included a variety of lilies:  red, pink, midnight blue, and spotted oran
ge tiger lilies. 

“I think I know who sent those,” Liam said.  “Why don’t you read the card?”

Her fingers reached for the card nervously.  She was still stunned by the flowers and their appearance.  Even if he wasn’t ready for reconciliation, he’d given her some thought today.  She certainly felt her share of the blame, having lied in such a cold and cruel way.  Her words couldn’t have hurt worse if they’d been daggers.  Maybe this was different, though.  The card was small in her hands. 
I’m sorry,
it read. 
You’re beautiful—the flowers don’t compare.  Love, Chandler.
 

Her heart constricted, and she swallowed the emotion rising in her throat.

“Something good?” Alice queried.  “From him?”

Taylor looked from Liam to her mother and back again.  “Yes,
” she said softly.  “What should I do?”

“You could send him a thank you text,” he suggested.  “Or you could try to meet him face-to-face.”

“Maybe I’ll go talk to Alison tomorrow.  Will the two of you be okay without me?”

“Of course,” Liam reassured her.  “
Miss Alice and I already have plans.”

“Watch her,” Taylor joked.  “She’ll wear you out on a shopping trip.”

“He’s looking forward to it,” Alice countered with a wink.  Liam simply grinned at her.

Taylor left the two of them to the soap opera and retired to
her room for a while.  She pulled out a dusty photo album, an item she wouldn’t have saved under normal circumstances.  Chandler had changed facially over the past ten years, but was still the same handsome devil as ever.  Her hair made her laugh—that style, thankfully, had gone out, and she was no longer a slave to trends.  The dreams she’d shared with him so many years ago had definitely changed, and she was wiser now.  She chided herself for being so damned stubborn, so quick to show her temper—Chandler brought out the fire in her, for better or worse.  She closed the cover and laid the book aside, falling quickly into a dreamless sleep.  The mental drain was rapidly catching up with her.

***

“And I told her not to come back to work and slammed the door,” Chandler recounted for his mother’s benefit.  He was seated at the kitchen island, weaving hand-cut strips of dough into a lattice for the top of a pie.  “Not my finest hour, Mom.”

Bryn frowned at him.  “And did you apologize, my beautiful boy, or have
you instituted a three-day rule on yourself?”

He nodded his head absently.  “I sent her a flower arrangement with a short note attached.
  I guess that seems pretty impersonal but I just wasn’t ready to face her yet.”  He blanched in the wake of his mother’s frown.  “I’m sure that she and Liam have been spending some time talking about their son.  I really don’t want to keep her away from those memories.  They’re all she has left of him.”

Bryn took the finished pie from him and slid it into the oven.  “I thi
nk your empathetic side and your ‘stainless-steel man’ side got jostled around somehow.”

He propped his face up atop the counter with both fists.  “What should I do, Mom?”

“No one ever said love was easy,” she answered warmly. 

“You and Dad make it look t
hat way.”