The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (10 page)

She cleared her throat.  “You sure?”

A brusque nod.  “Positive.” 

“Okay,” she said softly.  “See you Tuesday.”

His lips pursed together.  “Mm-hmm.”

“Bye, Chandler.”  She collected her purse and headed quickly from the building.  One, or maybe both of them, had just overstepped their bounds—and in Taylor’s experience, it was always difficult to get your toe back over that line.  If she wasn’t going to see him again until Tuesday, there seemed very little need to worry over it.  Surely the awkwardness would pass.  

Chapter 7

The frown that had locked onto Chandler’s face the night before remained there into the next morning.  He’d driven out to the ranch, made his way to the barn, and muttered a few curses as he dragged his saddle and blanket from the tack room.  His fought with the bridle like an amateur, and even startled Midnight into a nervous snort.  “Good way to get your guts kicked out, cowboy,” he murmured to himself.

“Chandler!”  Mark’s voice, sunny and clear as a bell on that cold winter morning, reverberated througho
ut the barn.

“In here,” Chandler quickly uttered, just loud enough to be heard.  He was
finally getting his cinch secured when Mark’s smiling face peeked over the stall door.

“Uh-oh,” he pronounced upon seeing Chandler’s hard-set jaw.
  “I recognize that expression.  Hell, I’m married to it.”

Chandler raised his left hand like a crossing guard.  “Leave it, Mark.  Just leave it.”  He sighed.  “I’m not in the mood.”

Mark nodded, quickly processing his best friend’s feelings.  After all this time, they shared something stronger than ESP.  “Max has decided the cowboy thing is not for him.  He wants to draw his own pictures and sell them, just like you.”  He watched as Chandler’s face softened into a relaxed smile.  “I told him he still had plenty of time to make up his mind.”

“Dad’s going to kill me if I don’t steer those nephews of mine in the right direction.”  He laughed ruefully.  “Or at least tan my hide.”

“I doubt that,” Mark replied with some confidence.

Chandler looked at him and frowned.  “Don’t you need
to saddle your horse?”

“Nope.  I beat you out here this morning, bud.  Rowdy and I watched the sun come up.”

“Holy shit, Mark.  How’d you manage to look so fresh?  Kids aren’t renowned for sticking to a schedule.”

“Max spent the night with CJ and Alison, a
nd Matt slept through the night. 
Slept through the night
,” he repeated with some emphasis.  “So when he did wake up, I changed his diaper, Christa fed him, and I was out the door.”

Chandler was a touch jealous, but didn’t begrudge his brother-in-law an ou
nce of happiness.  “I’m not complaining, but you could have gotten one of the hands to help with this.”

Mark shook his head and mounted his steed.  “
I guess I just got used to having you around,” he replied philosophically.  “Probably sounds a little like I’ve gone soft.”  Chandler stuck one toe in the stirrup and swung over with ease.  They settled the horses into an easy trot, appraising the lay of the land.  Some of the snowpack had melted down in places, revealing dormant ground and the occasional stone.  Even in the dead of winter, this place was still vibrant, full of life, awash in well-preserved memories of great times.

Mark cleared his throat as they topped the ridge, gathered up his reins, and reseated his hat against the sun’s harsh rays.  “You se
ll much yesterday?”  His question was short and efficient, and incredibly smart.  Chandler flexed out some of the tension in his shoulders—he could ride blindfolded, if the need arose—and loosened his jaw.

“I sold half the store,” he declared flatly.  “And
then I hugged Taylor.”

Mark smiled.  “Don’t you feel
better with that off your chest?”

He groaned in response.  “After I let go of her I got all tight inside.  I don’t know what happened, man.  I knew as soon as I did it that I was making a mistake…”

“And yet you couldn’t stop yourself,” Mark guessed.

“A fine deduction, Dr. Watson.”  They shared a laugh over that one.  “There are so many things we need to just hash out, but I’m either unwilling or unable to go back into the past and do it.”

“It was a bad breakup,” Mark asserted, “and she had her reasons.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still worried about reopening that can of worms, about what you might find when you do.”  Mark brought his horse to a stop, and Chandler did the same.  He nodded.

“What if—what if I’m
just remembering it through an opaque lens?  Was it really that great?”

“Don’t kid yourself, pal.”  Mark shook his head.  “You guys were a perfect match.  Life has a way of changing our plans.”  He lifted his reins and heeled his horse into resuming its
march.  “Meanwhile, you’ve been given a second chance at friendship or love or whatever…”

“Whatever?” Chandler asked with a smirk.

“You know what I mean, man.”

“Just checking.”

“Anyway,” Mark continued with feigned exasperation, “you could do a whole lot worse for yourself.”

They pushed the horses into full gallop, let their hooves do the talking for a while.  They passed through bald valleys, copses of trees, some barren, others alive with evergreen needles.  The sunlight streaked through the forests in s
elected places, casting shards of light through Chandler’s peripheral vision.  He really did miss this when he was in town—the hard riding, the natural beauty, the backbreaking work.  At least the soft glow of lamps made Main Street feel a little less lonely than that big, empty house he’d been disinclined to open up.  And he could always stay at the bunkhouse, with his parents or siblings, but those arrangements felt temporary.  Putting down roots wasn’t something he could do halfheartedly. 

“What’s on yo
ur mind, Adams?”

“Sandpaper,” Chandler replied succinctly.  “Sandpaper is what’s on my mind, Jasper.”

Mark laughed.  “No surprise there.  That house of yours is going to need plenty of it.”  

“It’s got good bones, though.”

“Definitely.”

They halted their
ride and dismounted.  Mark pulled out his tools while Chandler unfurled the roll of barbed wire.  Repairs to the ranch knew no season; even if the sun weren’t there to aid them, they still would have needed to ride out in the bitterly cold wind to keep the cattle safe.  Chandler’s face was wind burned, but Mark was immune to it as he gritted his teeth, pulled the wire taut, and snapped off the desired length.  Chandler helped him secure it into place and he smiled, satisfied with his work.

“It’s funny,” M
ark said absently, his eyes fixed onto the scrap barbed wire.  “I used to think the worst part of life was the loneliness.  Now I’m starting to think it’s choosing to be lonely when you have another option.”

Chandler’s right eyebrow rose.  “Meaning?”

“Meaning nothing,” Mark stated, his voice as crisp as the cold morning.  “Let’s go for a walk,” he motioned with a nod of his head.  “Give the horses a few more minutes of rest.”

Chandler followed alongside the fence line, boot heels sinking into squishy mud. 
He was the last person to be bothered by a little dirt and grime; growing up on a ranch gave you a healthy appreciation for horse manure and its inevitable place in life.  He shoved his gloved hands in his coat pockets and walked close to Mark, elbows nearly touching, their breath visible in the frozen air. 

“When you do decide to work on the house, let me know.  I’ll do what I can to help,” Mark offered.

Chandler shook his head, though it was barely noticeable.  “I can’t ask you to do that, Mark.  You’ve got two small kids at home and a pretty big ranch to occupy you already.”

“You didn’t ask,” Mark surmised.  “I volunteered.
  Which is kind of our thing.  When one needs help, the other one shows up.”

“Even if they don’t yet know they need help,” Chandler m
used.

“Uh-huh.”  Mark turned and gave his friend a serious, solemn look.  “So what do you think Matt’s first word will be?”

Chandler laughed at the contradiction created by Mark’s facial expression and subsequent question.  “Oh, I don’t know, man.  Probably ‘horse’.  Or maybe even ‘cow’.”

“Max’s first word was ‘cow,’” Mark said with a gleam in his eye, “but I’m hoping Matt’s will be ‘daddy’.”

Chandler stopped and rested his hands on Mark’s shoulders.  They shared a smile.  “I hope so too, bud.  I hope so, too.”

Each cowboy mounted his horse with ease and
made the long journey back to the barn.  Mark agreed to provide Midnight with the necessary rubdown afterward, and Chandler thanked him, waved goodbye, and pointed his truck toward his parents’ house.  It was a quiet drive, one he could make with his eyes closed, and he relished in the peace and tranquility of that time.  It was free of thought, free of worry, free of stress.  In those moments, he simply was.

He found his father in the yard, carrying two buc
kets of fresh milk toward the kitchen.  He climbed out, eager to lend a hand, but Chase brushed him off.  Instead Chandler held the kitchen door and immediately felt the warmth of the house on his face.  Once inside, he shed coat, gloves, and hat.  The old place smelled of cinnamon, sugar, and assorted spices—no surprise there.

“Dad,” he said with some concern, “don’t you think that’s a chore you could delegate to someone else?”

Chase laughed softly.  “I delegated it, as you say, to your mom for a very long time.  Besides, milking a cow on a cold morning like this keeps the blood pumping.”  Once he’d put the milk in the refrigerator, he rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

“Okay, Dad,” Chandler relented.  “Just trying to look after my old man.”

“No need, son,” he replied.  “And, besides—who are you calling old?”  Chandler laughed—his father was still young at heart, and that was the most important thing.  “You help Mark get the fence repaired?”  The two men were seated at the counter, on barstools, and their eyes drifted toward the pie cooling in front of them.

“I did,” Chandler confirmed with a nod.  “It felt good to get out there on the ranch and get my hands dirty.”

Chase slapped him lightly on the back.  “It may not be paint and varnish,” he proposed, “but it’s good for the soul.”  He cleared his throat and eyed the pie again.  “Speaking of which, how much did you sell yesterday?”

“A whole lot, Dad.  I spent much of the evening wrapping and prepping it all to be delivered and shipped Monday.”

“Think Taylor can handle it on her own?” he asked sympathetically.

“She’ll be fine.  One thing I remember, and that hasn’t changed, is she don’t need someone looking over her shoulder.  She gets on just fine.”

Chase smiled thoughtfully.  “Glad to hear it, cowboy.”  He glanced toward the hall.  “I wonder what’s keeping your mother.”

As if on cue, Bryn swept into the kitchen, face rendered into a huge smile.  She immediately hugged Chandler, which was always easier when he was seated.  She reserved a more be
mused expression for her husband.  “I’m glad to see my pie has survived the masculine onslaught of my kitchen.”  She looked to her youngest son and grinned.  “How would you like a piece, sweetheart?”

He nodded.  “Thanks, Mom.  I’d appreciate
it.”

Chase pra
ctically salivated at the sight of his wife slicing into the crust.  “How about you, cowboy?” she said, eyes focused downward, sly smile wrapped around her lips.

“I sure would be grateful for that, honey,” he replied,
trying not to sound too eager.  She handed Chandler his bowl fractionally quicker, just as a tease.

“Are you planning to spend the night here, sweetie?”

Chandler swallowed his food before speaking.  “If that’s okay, Mom.  I thought about the bunkhouse but, you know, it might be quieter here.”

Bryn nodded.  “Of course it’s okay.  We haven’t touched your room, but your brother and sister moved out so long ago that those are back to being guest rooms.”

“I’m moved out, too, Mom,” Chandler countered.  “I’m just not settled into domesticity like the rest of you.”

“You’ve still got time, son,” Chase reassured him.  “No need to rush these things.  Besides, you’ve got something your mother and I never had—siblings to keep you company.”

Chandler nodded—he was definitely lucky in that respect, and even luckier than his siblings had married his two closest friends.  Life had an odd way of working out.  “Do you two need any help around here today?”

Bryn winked at him.  “I’m sure I can find something for you to do.”  She pointed her finger at him.  “No cooking
, though.  When my children are home, I’m in the kitchen.”

He laughed.  “Sure, Mom.  I can handle that.”