The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (45 page)

“Heck of a ride,” Liam said, extending a hand.  Chandler shook it.  “We watched it from the grandstands and rushed back here just in time to get to you.”

“Thanks, man,” Chandler replied in a quiet, unassuming voice.  “I put a lot of hard work into that.”

Liam nodded.  “I’m gonna give you two some time to talk,” he stated.  “I’ll be with your Mom, Taylor.”

“Thank you,” she said, patting his arm.

“Thanks,” Chandler ground out absently.  He watched Liam go, then turned to her and smiled f
eebly.  “He’s been here quite a while.”

Taylor cocked her head to the right, wise to his insinuations.  “Like I told you before, he’s on vacation.”

“Has he shared your bed?”

She stepped forward, drew so close that he could feel the heat radiate from her sk
in.  “We’re divorced.  He’s in love with another woman and I’m in love with another man.  We’re friends.  And I hope you feel shame wash over your hardened heart, Chandler Adams, because Liam has been your biggest advocate this past month.  He wants nothing more from me but to know that I am happy.” 

He’d been staring at the ground, feeling humiliated, but glanced up to meet her eyes as she finished speaking.  “I’m sorry, Taylor.  I had no right to ask that.  I let my ego overload my mouth again.”

She gnawed on her lower lip.  “Can you see it, Chandler?” she asked in a broken voice.  “It’s in my eyes, flashing like a neon sign.”

“I can see it,” he answered in a hoarse voice.  And he could feel it, too.  Desire coursed through him unabated.

“I have to go,” she said.  “I promised Mom we’d eat lunch as soon as we saw you ride.  Congratulations again,” she added.

“See you around,” he said to her back.  He stalked off in the same direction, stopping long enough to talk with Fred.  His
formerly deep, resonant voice sounded more like a rusty door hinge now, but none of its warmth had faded.

“Excellent ride, young man,” he complimented.  “You can’t be beaten.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice touched with genuine emotion.  “How is Scott doing?”

“Good, good,” Fred
replied with a nod.  “Loves it down in Texas, but can’t wait to come home again.  I sure do miss my son.  That’s the thing about love, though.  Sometimes you’ve gotta give those you love the wings they need to fly, knowing that those same wings may bring them back to you.”

Recognition sparked in Chandler’s head.  “You’re right as always, Fred.”  He glanced fleetingly across the arena.  “I’ve gotta go meet my family.”

“Tell Chase I said hello. I’ll see you in the arena, with your first-place trophy.  You’ve earned it, son.”

***

With Alice milling about amongst the booths, particularly interested in hand-sewn quilts and crafts made from old wooden spools, Liam and Taylor relaxed in a shaded spot.  Each of them sipped water, trying to ignore the obvious.  He needed to get home, and she needed to get on with her life.

“If it were dry around here, this place would combust,” he observed quietly.

“Hmm?” she said, slanting a befuddled look his way.

“You and Chandler,” he muttered, placing the chilled cup against his
forehead.  “He looked like he wanted to jump you, and the feeling was mutual.”  She gave him a pointed look and he shrugged.  “A man knows these things,” he contended.

She shoved a hand around her neck, pushing hair back off of the nape.  “Do you think I’
m crazy?”

He shook his head.  “Just stubborn—which, if you marry a cowboy, will probably serve you well.  These men are swaggering around here, wrangling beef with their bare hands, and behind every one who’s lucky enough is a great woman
who can keep him in line.”

“Chandler doesn’t swagger so much,” she countered, her mind adding,
at least not when he’s clothed.

“You love him,” Liam answered with a broad smile.

“Loves who?” Alice inquired, handing Taylor a bag of merchandise. 

“Chandler,” she answered qui
ckly, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

“From the first time he asked you out,” she retorted.  “It just took you a while to realize it.  Some things never change,” she said, smiling as she shook her head.

Taylor rolled her eyes.  “Maybe someday I’ll be as wise you, Mom.”

“If you’re lucky,” Alice replied with no trace of conceit.  “Looks like it’s time for the trophies to be handed out,” she said in near whisper. 

“Excuse me,” Taylor said breathlessly as she ran toward the fence.  She found an open spot and joined in the applause as the winners strode into the arena.  Each and every kid who’d ridden a sheep, including Little Chase and Max, received a ribbon.  Her eyes fell immediately to Chandler, tall, handsome, his chest puffed out just a bit. He smiled affably when he received that first-place trophy and waved to the crowd, but she could see it behind the mask—he would’ve traded it all, at that moment, for the promise of forever.  It crystallized in her mind that she might have to fight tooth-and-nail to do it, but she’d be there for him, until they drew their last breaths.  It wouldn’t always be easy, and at some point it’d probably stop being fun, but she would never be able to stop loving him.  That was one thing she wasn’t strong enough to do.

The festivities wound down and she turned back toward her mother.  Liam had a knowing smile on his lips.  “Ready to head home?” she asked.

Alice nodded, and Liam hooked an arm to escort her through the crowd.  Taylor followed, hoping there was enough time.  There had to be…

***   

Chase raised his glass in toast.  “Here’s to Chandler, our youngest son.  You’ve made us proud from the day you were born, but today you outdid yourself.  Fred told me it’ll be a while before anyone beats your time.  It was that good.”  Everyone clinked glasses together.

“Thank you all,” Chandler said calmly, smiling as he glanced around the table.  There was one person who wasn’t there, the one who filled the largest spot in his heart.  Seeing her today had nearly been his u
ndoing.  He couldn’t hide the want in his eyes, but to see the unguarded lust behind those emerald eyes of Taylor’s was disarming and heady.  He tried not to think about it afterward, as he spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out with his family, lifting Max high atop his shoulders so he could see the bronc riders, and generally enjoying himself.  Somehow he’d managed to keep his cool while the heat had burned inside him.  Combined with the last, hot vestiges of summer, he’d felt like a tinder box, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice.  The mood around the table was incredibly euphoric, and it was hard not to get swept up in that.

Alison glanced across the table at him.  “Tell you brother he’s still the best rider in the family.  He may pout over this on
e for a while.”

CJ hooked an arm around her waist and grinned.  “I’m turning you over my knee as soon as we get home.”

“You promise?” she asked gamely.

When the laughter had died down, Chandler looked at them and smiled.  “CJ is still the best rider in the
family.  Except for Christa.”  More laughter followed that.

“I thank you for that,” Christa put in, “but my roping days are behind me.”

“She already roped the biggest prize of all,” Mark asserted, placing his lips to her cheek.

“Good-looking but still mod
est,” she joked in reply to another chorus of laughter.

Chandler enjoyed being around them all—family, friends, parents, grandparents, and the kids he loved as though they were his own—but he also couldn’t wait for things to wind down.  Eventually they did
, and as everyone hugged and kissed, Mark pulled him aside. Chandler was unable to stifle a yawn.

“You gonna head home now?” he asked, a gentle
nudge in his voice.

“Yeah,” Chandler answered over another yawn.  “Maybe I oughta swing by and see Taylor
first, apologize one more time.”

“Tomorrow,” Mark rejoined
.  “Go home and get your head on straight.  Go on.  You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

“Thanks, man.  See you tomorrow,” he said, wrapping his friend in a tight hug.

Mark smiled and watched him leave the restaurant.  “I sure hope not,” he said to himself.

***

Taylor locked her ankles together and swung her boot heels against the porch.  She’d gotten home, cleaned up and into new clothes with time to spare.  She’d been waiting on Chandler for a while; the sun was dipping in the sky, and a cool breeze was fracturing the heat into something a little more pleasing to the skin.  She rubbed her bare arm nervously, felt the stirring inside her.  She only hoped he had some inkling, or had even been apprised of this possibility; if he was angry at this quasi-ambush, she’d literally have to scream.

The truck arrived at long last, and its tinted windows betrayed nothing.  She watched him roll to a stop, shut down the engine, and emerge from the cab, stretching his
muscles as he sauntered up the path.  No doubt it had been a long day for him, but damn if he didn’t still look fresh.

The first word out of his mouth was an expletive.  Then it faded into a curious smile and a raised eyebrow.  “Mark?”

She gave him a brisk nod.  “Mark.”

He looked at Taylor’s bared knees, bronzed skin exposed beneath a white sundress, and the tall brown boots that set his mind ablaze.  He licked his lips briefly and sighed.  “Looks like I owe him big-time.”  He extended one hand toward her.
“Will you come somewhere with me?”

His fingers enveloped hers as she stood.  “Anywhere.”

They made a circuit around the big, stalwart house.  Everything that needed repair had been completed over the course of the year; he and Taylor had painted much of the interior themselves and filled the library with books they both loved.  The idea he ever could’ve lived in this house, made it a home without her, was preposterous to his own mind.  He slipped the ring of keys easily from his pocket and unlocked the doors of his studio, leaving them swung open until the evening air filled the space.

Her boots echoed across the floor as she toured the room.  It had changed drastically from the first time she’d seen it.  Artwork, finished and unfinished, hung from the wal
ls, rested atop easels.  Some was his; some she recognized as the efforts of his babysitting.  There were framed photos, a pile of fresh canvases, worktables where cups of paintbrushes rested.  If there was a paintbrush or pencil at the art store, she figured he must’ve owned it.  A charcoal sketch of a horse lay flat on one table, weighted down by pieces of agate.  A locked cabinet contained paints, primers, and varnishes. 

His hands trembled as he unlocked the cabinet just long enough to slip something i
nto his pocket.  Her back as was still to him as he turned around and felt his breath catch.  God, she looked great.  Was this really happening?  The blood quickened in his veins.  Yeah, it was real.  She was beautiful, and perfect, and everything he needed.  “Taylor?”

She turned toward him, her face framed by light pushing through the windows.  “Yes?” she asked, her voice hoarse and ragged.

“I’m sorry about everything.”  He swallowed hard, until the lump in his throat rested in his stomach like a stone.  “All the things I’ve said to you.”

“All of it?”

“No,” he replied.  “Only the hurtful things.  I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like an obligation, or someone I could do without.  From that first, mildly intoxicated night in my apartment, I knew you were back in my heart to stay.”

Her smile teased him.  “You told me you never get drunk.”

He grinned sheepishly.  “I guess I exaggerated a little.”  He stopped long enough to clear his throat.  “That was the best night of my life, until the next night we spent together.  Then the first night we spent together at this house took its place.  Every day with you just got better and better.  It’s probably a little cliché but I got scared by it, wondering the whole way if we were moving too fast.  I couldn’t…I couldn’t have enough, or get my fill of you.  I loved you so much that I couldn’t make sense of it.  When a man gets scared he starts to do stupid shit just to prove he’s tough, or hard, or whatever.  What I was, though, was a damned fool.”

A noise outside startl
ed her.  “What was that?” she asked, stepping toward the door.  He had a pretty good idea, and reached to pull her back to him.

“Ignore it,’ he said.  “I got jealous when I met Liam.  He seemed, you know, so much more stable than I am.  I go in my head som
etimes and get lost.  He didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d ever forget you, forget to love you or care about you.  It took him showing up for me to realize I’d been wrong about myself.  I could pull you inside of me, make you a part of this.”  He rested one fist atop his heart.  “I love the art, and the poetry, and even the traveling, but I could give it all up tomorrow as long as I had you and this ranch to come home to.  Hell, I could probably even give up the ranch if I had to—I was never sure if this life was for me.  Thank God I found someone who loves it as much as I do.”

She nodded.  “You were smart to fall in love with a cowgirl.”

A tear glistened on her eyelashes, and he wiped it way with his thumb.  “You forgive me?”