The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (13 page)

“Fine, thanks.”

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.  Chandler’s watching the kids for a while so’s Christa and I can run a few errands.  Max is a great kid, but getting to that age where supermarkets and kids don’t mix.”

“Ah,” Taylor
absorbed.  “I completely understand.”  She struggled with her next utterance.  “It might not be my place, but after what Max has been through…he’s a wonderful kid.  You’re so lucky.”

He nodded briskly.  “I kno
w that.  Took me a while, but I can’t imagine a better life than the one I have.”  His brown eyes observed her sensitively.  “It’s not the same, not by a long shot, but when Max…I came this close to losing everything that mattered to me, and it turned me upside down.  I can’t speak to what you went through with your boy but I can empathize on one level.  I…I bargained with God, wishing He would take me instead, because my son didn’t deserve that pain.”  His voice was raw with emotion as he spoke, and he was instantly remorseful for sharing so much.  “Forgive me, Taylor.  I didn’t mean to equate my life with yours.”

A chill descended over her, but it was hardly his fault.  “Mark, don’t feel guilty.
  Your concern is touching, actually.  When I dated Chandler, I got your friendship as part of the deal.  And that wasn’t such a bad thing.”

Mark laughed.  “I always figured you saw me as the third wheel.”

“Hardly.  You were off doing your own thing most of the time.”

“I was off copying Chandler’s homework,” he joked
.  “He always was the studious one in the bunch.”

“And the only one of us who understood
The Scarlett Letter
,” she remembered.

He laughed again.  “Ain’t that the truth?  Look, if you ever find the time, we’d love to have you out at the ranch.  Christa
would’ve invited you herself, but she’s got two kids and a full-time job.”  He spoke admiringly of his wife, and it was evident to Taylor how deeply he loved her.

“Say no more,” she replied.  “I was once a working mother myself.  I’ll come.”

“Date and time to be determined,” Mark illuminated.  “Which reminds me, I promised to meet my beautiful wife outside the school promptly at three, and I’d better not be late.  Catch you later, ma’am.”  He reached upward, remembered the brim of his hat wasn’t there, and picked up the carrier.  “Come on, cowboy, you’ve got another nap in your future.”  Taylor smiled and returned to her work, mind drifting in and out of focus. 

When Mark arrived, he found Max in Chandler’s lap, studying the finer points of paint-by-number.
  He kissed Matt on the forehead and placed him gently atop the desk.  His mouth and nose quirked but he was otherwise undisturbed. 

“I brought all the supplies as well, so no need to worry.”

Chandler looked up at him, a twinkle in his blue eyes, and grinned.  “Did I look worried?”

Mark picked up the hat his son had discarded and reseated it upon his head. 
His smile was one of admiration.  “I forget sometimes that you and Max get on pretty easy.  It’s Matt you’ve gotta worry about.”

Chandler’s eyebrow li
fted.  “Colic?”

“I wish. I think he might be teething.”

Chandler winced.  “Yeah, sounds like fun.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “We’ll manage.  Besides, he’s gotta grow those chompers in sooner or later.  Ain’t that right, Maximilian?”

Max laughed boistero
usly.  “You’re funny, Uncle Chandler.”

He plied a few fingers through his nephew’s russet hair.  “So you tell me.”

Mark nodded in amusement.  “You gonna give me a kiss goodbye, cowboy?”

“I’m too big for kisses, Daddy.”

He sighed, but his mouth was framed in joy.  “And it starts.”  He adjusted his hat and grinned.  “Adios.”

“Bye, Daddy,” Max said excitedly.

“Later,” Chandler rejoined, watching him leave the way he came.  “So tell me, Max, you pick out a name for your horse yet?”  CJ had handpicked a pony for their nephew to learn to ride on; hopefully it was guaranteed because Max was already well attached to the thing.

His mouth initially struggled to form the word.  “Thistle,” he eventually replied.

“That’s not a bad name,” Chandler responded.

“But it might
change later.”

He laughed.  “Well okay then, partner.”  A small yawn escaped Max’s lips.  “Am I gonna have to put you down for a nap?”

“Naps are for babies, like Matt,” he enlightened. 

“I take naps,” Chandler argued, feigning offense.

“Then you’re a baby.”

“Maybe so,” he said, “but everyone loves a baby.”  He tickled Max’s stomach and they laughed together.  Taylor pushed through the door, smiling brightly at each of them.

“Just wanted to check on you,” she said helpfully.  “Three men unsupervised is usually a bad thing.”

“Miss Taylor,” Max pointed out for her benefit, “Uncle Chandler’s a baby.”

Chandler smiled at her apologetically.  “That’s a good thing,” she replied.  “Babies are cute and everyone loves them.”  His face reddened but she continued speaking.  “And a baby is a miracle.  No one would ever dare reject a miracle.”

Max looked up at her, his small mind registering and processing her words. “Oh.  Okay.”  He went back to his work, but Chandler held his gaze on her.  And when she winked this time,
it was readily apparent, and joined with a sweet smile.  His eyes remained fixed on hers when he resumed conversation.

“Why don’t you go hang out with Miss Taylor while I feed your brother?”

“Do you know how to feed a baby?” she asked helpfully, hoping her remark didn’t come off as condescending.

“I’ve fed four human ones, including these two,” he assured her, his manner relaxed, “and a few calves and foals for good measure.”  She took the seat closest to him and he gently lifted Max from his lap and into
hers.  He moved toward the fridge, where Mark had left the perishable goods.

“Do you have a way to warm the milk?” she asked cautiously.

He chuckled under his breath, didn’t bother to meet her gaze as he replied.  “Yeah.  I’ve got it all under control, Taylor.”

A little embarrassed by asking so many prodding questions, she turned her focus to Max.  “That’s a pretty horse,” she complimented.  “You’re very good at that.”

“It’s my horse,” he explicated.  “His name is Magic.”

“I thought his name was Thistle?” C
handler asked over his shoulder.

“That was his name before.”

“Gotcha.”  Chandler tested the milk on his arm before striding back across the room.  Matt’s blue eyes seemed to examine him for a split-second before he greedily accepted the bottle.  “There we go, partner.  I don’t want you telling your mom I was a lousy caretaker.”

Taylor watched him from the corner of her eye, small smile creeping across her lips.  Max painted happily in her lap.  She’d just met the kid last week but he clearly considered her
safe territory.  “You’re pretty good at that,” she said to Chandler.

He smiled cordially.  “You almost sound surprised.  A man could get the wrong impression, T.  He might think you don’t believe he’d make a good father.”

Her lips opened just a hair.  “I’ll try to stop putting my foot in my mouth.  I should know better than to underestimate you, no matter the circumstance.” 
God, I’m foolish
, she thought to herself.   Seeing Chandler with a child in his arms made her feel an odd juxtaposition of the past and the future; she wondered about dreams lost, and whether they could ever be retrieved.

Chandler dropped the empty vessel on his desk and burped Matt softly against his shoulder.  “Out like a light again,” he announced a few minutes later.

“I wish I could sleep that well,” Taylor mused.  Chandler nodded, looked toward his other nephew. 

“Hey, Max?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You wanna come back to me before you fall asleep?”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“Yeah, you are, partner.”

“Okay,” he consented a second later.   Chandler removed him gently from Taylor’s arms, laid his artwork aside, and watched with a smile as eyelids closed and his small chest settled into shallow breathing.

“Easy as pie,” he whispered.

“Kids are suggestible at that age,” Taylor conjectured.

“Highly.”

“Do you ever think about how many kids you’d like to have?”

She stared deeply into those blue eyes.  “Chandler, we’re seventeen years old.  I’m still trying to figure out how to pass Honors English. Why—do you?”

He laughed.  “My brother’s engaged, and my sister might as well be—so, yeah, I think about the future, having a family.  It’s on my mind.”

She nodded.  “Okay, one or two kids.  Something manageable.  What about you?”

He grinned.  “Oh, five or six should do the trick.”

She laughed ruefully.  “Of course,
the man always wants a big family. He’s not the one who has to bear the children.”

His lips pressed to hers gently.  “Somehow I figured that part of the fun was the practice you got in the meantime.”

She dropped her eyes, lowered her voice to a whisper.  “Neither of us has been intimate in that way, Chandler.  What if…”

“What if we’re no good at it?”

“There’s a lot of complications to consider.”

The index finger of his right hand tenderly lifted her chin upward, until their eyes met again.  “I’d never push
you into anything, Taylor.  If it happens, it needs to feel right…for both of us.”

“Taylor?”

She snapped back to reality and smiled warily.  “I’m sorry.  I drifted there for a bit.”

“No worries.  I was just letting you know it’s five o’clock and you’re fr
ee to go home.”  He shot her a guarded expression.  “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, a little too defensively.  “Tell Max I said goodbye.”

He smiled, shifting the featherweight of his nephew against his forearm and bicep.  “Sure thing.  See you tomorrow.”

She nodded a salutation at Chandler and ran to grab her purse.  Her ex-boyfriend, surrounded by two kids
; even if they weren’t his, it was little wonder her mind had locked onto that scene out of the past.  And once again, it was disturbingly vivid, as though she was reliving it one more time, following in previously-trod footsteps.  She wanted to pass it off as coincidence, but she wasn’t that naïve.  The world, the fates, and God above were all shouting loud and clear.

Her second chance had c
ome around, even though she hadn’t asked.

Chapter 10

They made it through the first month with no further moments of awkwardness.  Chandler kept his distance physically, greeting her amiably, inviting her to lunch when the schedule permitted, and
otherwise maintaining professionalism.  There were times—more than a few—when he wondered about the taste and texture of her mouth, imagining the feel of her in his hands.  So much of it was kept close to the vest—if he shared too much with CJ and Alison or Mark and Christa, they would simply continue their gentle prodding—which was about as subtle as bolt of lightning and about as painless as a cattle brand.  He certainly didn’t need anyone to tell him how he already felt.  Taylor’s continued presence brought a fresh reminder every day that he wanted a woman who’d already been hurt enough.  What could he possibly offer her?  Nothing could ever compare to what she’d had, what she’d loved and lost.  Still, she looked like she’d fit good against his body.

He c
ursed himself and shoved some supplies in a canvas bag.  When the truck was fully loaded, he locked up and drove toward the elementary school.  Christa had warned him, plenty, that taking care of her two was a cakewalk compared to an entire classroom of them, but Chandler had always had an easy way about him, one that seemed to calm anyone in proximity, and children were no different.

Taylor met him in the parking lot.  He’d insisted she not bother coming into work today, because the gallery was closed.  Sh
e’d be compensated for her assistantship in the classroom, over her own loud protests.  Sometimes a man just had to put his foot down.

“Chandler, do you need any help?”  She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, noting that he carried a bag of can
vases over one shoulder, and two smaller, but no less heavy, satchels in his left hand.

He nodded, and she thought it was done with some reluctance.  “If you could take this bag,” he said, handing it to her carefully.  “It’s got varnish, brushes, pastels,
pencils—for the kids to look at but not touch—tools of the trade.  The other bag is water-soluble finger-paint.”

She hauled the bag over her shoulder and moved to hold the door open for him.  “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

“Hope so.”  He smiled uneasily.  “You sure you’re up to this?”