The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (35 page)

Mark slid the perfectly-cooked steaks from the grill and onto a platter, balancing the entire thing with ease.  “Lost again, huh?” he asked with a grin, reaching up to adjust his hat as they ducked through the back door.  He placed the food atop the table where Christa was securing Max in a high chair that he was close to outgrowing.  Chandler followed slowly, feeling loose-limbed after a day doing absolutely nothing.

“It wasn’t like that,” he countered in a soft tone. 
He tossed strips of grilled red bell peppers onto another platter.  “The sun was in my eyes.”

Taylor, carrying a tossed salad from the fridge, shot him a torrid look
.  “He was staring at my…um, posterior,” she amended for Max’s sake.

“That sounds like Chandler,” Mark agreed humorously.  Christa came up behind him, rubbing his shoulder as she removed his hat.

“No hats at the table, cowboy,” she scolded lovingly.  He lowered his mouth to hers.

“Yes, ma’am.”
  She swatted him playfully on the stomach afterward before turning her attention to the room.
“Is everyone ready to eat?” she asked.

“Sure am, sis.”  Chandler removed his hat and pulled out Taylor’s chair.  “After
you.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking her seat.

“It’s too bad we can’t get up here more often,” Mark suggested when they’d taken their places around the table.

Christa winked at him.  “We could come up here over Christmas break,” she conjectured, “but the la
ke might be frozen solid.”

“And I can’t imagine either of us on ice skates,” Chandler joked with a laugh.

“Too ungainly,” Mark agreed, and they all laughed.

After dinner, Taylor insisted on cleaning up while Chandler and Mark went for a walk in the lingering fragments of daylight.  Christa
took the boys upstairs and put them to bed for the night, although the baby monitor was never far from her reach.  The two women found a spot on the comfy, plaid-patterned couch, and Taylor pushed the hair away from her sun-burnished forehead.

“It must be a relief, or is it a bigger challenge?” she asked jokingly, then shook her head in humiliation.  “Let me rephrase that.  I
s it easier to care for a classroom of kids, or two of your own?”

“Would you believe me if I said the classroom is easier?” she asked graciously.  She adjusted her blonde ponytail, gathering up the loose strands with ease.  “I invest in each of them, of co
urse, but I only have them for a year.  With my children, it’s a lifetime commitment.  Thank God for Mark, you know?  Anytime I get frazzled, which I assure you does happen, he’s right there to help.  This summer is actually the most time I’ve spent with Matt, aside from breastfeeding.  The moment he was born, I got to hold him.  And then Mark came into the room and he became his father’s son.”  She gave the room a cursory glance, making sure her brother and husband were still outside and out of earshot.  “You know that Mark and I went through some marital problems—pretty severe ones—and I was afraid we wouldn’t survive them.  I think we both did some refocusing of our expectations for marriage, and for each other.  I wanted to be a better wife, and he wanted to be a better husband and father.  Now that he’s committed to that, I’m not going to stand in his way.  I couldn’t imagine my life without him.”  

“Divorce feels like the greatest failure of my life,” Taylor explained sorrowfully.  She allowed her eyes
to linger on the wall, where a large canvas hung, covered in pools of blue paint, horses running across the varying hues.  Seemed a little abstract for Chandler, but it wasn’t likely his parents would’ve hung another artist in this house.  “There was nothing I could have done to save my son, but my marriage…I could have fixed it.  I closed down, put up walls, and pushed Liam out of my life completely.”

“I did that, too,” Christa agreed.  She placed a hand in the middle of her chest for emphasis.  “And I th
ought, ‘Take me instead…let Max live’.  Mark didn’t realize how much he needed us.  My pregnancy complicated things.  I just couldn’t imagine being a single mother.”

“I’m the same,” Taylor replied.  “If Riley had lived, I would still be married to Liam.  W
e had a good marriage.  I don’t think we ever fought over anything worse than curdled milk.”

“I wonder what Chandler would be doing now, if you hadn’t come back.”

“What was he like?” Taylor whispered consciously.  “After we broke up?  I left so quickly; I just couldn’t bear the thought of running into him, or being around here anymore.  My life seemed so empty without my father, and I compounded that by pushing away my best friend.”   

Christa shook her head.  “Water under the bridge, T.  Don’t borrow
trouble from the past.  Besides, you’d have to talk with Mark about that one.  We may have been dating, but he spent most of that summer with my brother.  It was the beginning of a long separation for the two of them.  They’d been best friends from birth, grown up together—I guess they counseled each other, you know?  I’m glad they never let their friendship falter.  They’re a packaged deal, those two.”  The two men spilled into the room, drowsy smiles on their faces.  Chandler shut the door, locking out the night air.  “That’ll be our cue to hit the hay,” Christa said with a wry smile.  “Goodnight, Taylor.  See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight.”  She watched as Mark wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they disappeared up the staircase.  Chandler came tow
ard her, his features softening as he searched her face for something unspoken.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he apologized, lowering to his haunches and looking her straight in the eye.  “We got to talking about the future and lost track of time.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  Her hands reached up to frame his face, and she ran one thumb along his open lips.  “Your sister is good company.”

“You’ve made a friend for life,” he speculated.  “You could move to the farthest corner of the planet, where they don’t even
get regular mail, and Chris would still try to send you a postcard.”

“I’d rather not,” she said, feeling his breath coming quicker as she drew close to his face.  She kissed him gently, with a quick motion.  Then she crushed their mouths together, sliding
her hands through the short blonde hairs at the nape of his neck.  “Go to the ends of the Earth,” she clarified.

“Yeah?” he asked, gasping for air.

“Yeah.”

***

Sometime later, happily exhausted, Chandler lay on his side, watching his beloved doze.  She nestled into his chest, fitted to him like they were two pieces of one whole, and he swept his hand gently over the contour of her back and hip, finally resting it along her spine.  He found himself wondering, in these times, what she dreamed about.  He wondered if he was a part of her private reveries, or if perhaps she went into the past, when her son was alive, and relived those days.  He figured they were the happiest of her life, even happier than the moments that they shared; the gripping ecstasy and the quiet intimacy, the intertwining of their souls that brought him to a place he’d never imagined in the depths of his mind.  He’d wondered about it, but even a fleeting thought of passion couldn’t compare to what they’d created over these past months.  He briefly thought of waking her, just to stoke the fire one last time.  Instead he brushed his lips gently against hers and let the dream world take him prisoner.  They’d have plenty of time in the days and weeks to come.  Before he could drift away for good, shards of his conversation, earlier that evening, flowed back to the top of his head.

“Just buy the ring,” Mark begged.  “If you don’t, I’m going down there to buy the damned thing myself and throw it at your head.”

Chandler stared at the lake, the wind tormenting its surface into ripples of disturbance.  “Do you think I’m putting too much thought into this?  I’d like to propose in some cool way, but nothing too over-the-top.”

Mark sighed.  “Judging from the way you two look at each other, you could propo
se in the middle of our nephew’s birthday party and she’d be thrilled.”  The two men chuckled at the mental image that created.

“I’d never show up Little Chase like that,” Chandler teased.  “It’d be
a contest to see who would kick my ass first—CJ or Alison.”

“True.”  Mark looked at him and smiled.  “I proposed on horseback,” he recalled.  “Christa and I rode up to that empty piece of land, where we built our house, and I told her everything that was in my heart.  For an eighteen-year-old who’d travelled a l
ot but still didn’t know much about the real world, I had an awful lot to say.”

“Do you remember any of it?” Chandler asked with genuine interest.  He didn’t want to steal outright, but he’d be glad for some tips.

“Hell no,” Mark replied sheepishly.  “I remember her face, how happy she was afterward.  That’s pretty much it.”

Chandler smiled.   “You know what, Mark?  It sounds like that was the most important part.”

“You know what?  All these years later, it was.  I’d still do anything to make her smile—a
nd luckily, it’s not that hard.”
   

He stared upward at the planed wood of the ceiling in a flash of consciousness, and then he was gone.  He wasn’t letting her get away—not again. 

***

“You sure you don’t need any help?”  Chandler’s brow furrowed as he watched her, waiting for her to make the next move.  She smiled and rested a hand against his right jaw. 

“It’s just an overnight bag,” she argued.  “Besides, I’m sure you have plenty to occupy your time.”

He shrugged slightly.  “You would be right, Miss Holt.  I’ve always got time for you, though.”  He glanced around to the truck, where Mark and Christa were doing their best not to watch him say goodbye
, and failing miserably at it.  He smiled privately, though—their concern was touching.  “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He pulled her frame against his, kissed her gamely.

“Thank you for this weekend,” she said.  She picked up the bag, looked back at him with a small smile, and disappeare
d through the front door.  He strolled down the sidewalk, whistling as he went.

Inside the house, Taylor called out for her mother, received a confirming reply from somewhere in the kitchen.  She took the bag and placed it atop her bed, then pulled her hai
r up with a rubber band before joining her mother.  She found Alice elbows-deep in cookie dough, the counter covered with enough bowls to make the aforementioned cookies.

“Mom,” she entreated in a firm but quiet voice, “let me help you with that.”

“Nonsense,” Alice replied with a twinkle in her blue eyes.  “I lost the bet, after all.”

“It was an unfair bet,” Taylor said ruefully, and in self-reproach.  “Besides, Blade and Raven married over Mitch’s hospital bed with his blessing, following the quintuple-byp
ass.”

“One of the more gruesome things I’ve ever seen on television.  The surgery, not the wedding,” she revised with alacrity.

Taylor laughed and was glad when her mother joined in.  “Let me stir that,” she offered.  Alice handed her the bowl and she worked the spoon adroitly.

“How was your trip?”

Taylor leaned against the countertop, her eyes focused on the work at hand as she spoke.  “It was great.  Chandler and Mark are like a comedy team—one jokes and the other plays the straight man, and without warning they swap places and you’re left scratching your head while you laugh.  And Christa has become a great friend—she empathizes with me.  She knows what it’s like to sit beside your child’s hospital bed and feel completely helpless.”  She let out a frustrated breath, not wanting to meet her mother’s worried gaze.  “And she gives me relationship advice.   I think she’s trying to let me know that she’d love to have me as a part of their family, but that loving Chandler will take some work.”

“Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” Alice posited gently, “and what is truly rewarding is usually not easily attained.”  

She began to drop the dough in perfect lumps atop a greased cookie sheet.  “Do you think I’m too…laidback…for him?”

“I think that’s a question only you can answer, sweetie.”  Alice rested a hand on her shoulder.  “Help an old lady out, T.  What’s this ‘laidback’ you speak of?” she joked.

Taylor drew in a huge breath, then released it.  “Chandler rarely takes a break from life.  This weekend I caught him, several times, doing absolutely nothing, and I was relieved.  When we’re together, he’s focused on me.  Which is great.  When we’re not otherwise occupied, he’s never at rest.  He’s painting or sketching or working on something for the gallery.  And if that’s not enough, he’s remodeling a house and other times he’s a ranch hand.”  She swallowed hard.  “I’m worried the man is going to burn out before he’s thirty.”

“Your fears are unfounded.”  Alice placed several sheets of raw dough in the double ovens while she spoke.  “Youth is the time for testing your limits, and staying up late and seeing if you can watch the moon and sun trade places just because you
’re able.  Or maybe,” Alice said, one eyebrow lifted, “you’re worried he’ll be unable to accommodate you into his life.  One day you’ll wake up and be on the outside, looking in.”

Taylor gnawed on her lower lip as she stared at her mother.  Alice’s face be
trayed nothing—it was calm, free of either a trembling lip or a twitching eye.  “Do you think Chandler would ever do that to me?  Push me to the outside of his life?”