The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (4 page)

He hugged his nephew tightly.  “How’s my favorite kid named Max this fine day?”

“I drew a picture of a cow.”

Chandler kissed him on the forehead.  “And you are a fine artist so I know I’m going to love it.”

“Better than anything I ever drew.”  Mark stepped into
the living room and smiled at them.  “I just put Matt down for a nap.  What’s up, pal?”

“Need to speak to you man-to-man, if you’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

“Sure thing.  Max, go scrounge up your sketchpad.”  He took his son, kissed him and set him on his feet.  He was gone in a flash.  Both men sat on the couch and smiled awkwardly.  The shoe was, truly, on the other foot.  “So what’s on your mind, bud?”

Chandler nodded and his eyes widened as he examined an imaginary spot above the TV, somewhere near
Mark’s rodeo trophies.  “Taylor’s back in town.”

Mark screwed up his face comically.  “Taylor Holt?  First girl you ever…”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“I remember her son dying.”  He swallowed hard.  “Being close to it myself was hell on Eart
h.  Going through it must rip out your insides and leave you a shell of a person.”

“Her marriage fell apart.  She’s living at home again and her mom sent her in my direction.  I hired her to be my receptionist.”

Mark smiled thoughtfully.  “And now you’re having second thoughts.”

“Kind of.  Because it’
s all still there.”

“She broke your heart, but with one encounter she’s put it back together.”

He frowned at the observation.  “I don’t know, Mark—that seems kind of cynical.”

Mark shook his head.  “I didn’t intend it that way. 
Look, I know you loved her a long time ago, but people change.  Circumstances change.  But I married my childhood sweetheart so my advice is cocked up.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I know you wouldn’t steer me wrong.”

He placed a hand supportively on Chandler’s shoulder.  “Your sister was my friend before she was anything else.  First and foremost, we’re friends.  That’s my advice to you.  Be a friend to her, because I’d imagine that’s what she needs right now.” 

“Good
talk, man.”  Chandler smiled in gratitude and Mark returned the gesture.

“Any time.”

Max slid across the floor in his sock feet and nestled between his father and uncle.  “Let’s see what you got here, Maximilian,” Chandler encouraged.

He flipped the cover
to the first page.  “Here’s my cow.”

“Looks good enough to eat,” Mark teased.

Small fingers flipped to the next page.  “Here’s a horse.”

Mark examined his son’s artwork.  “Is that Rowdy?”

“No,” Max said with a nod.  “It’s a magic horse, Daddy.  He doesn’t even have a name.”

Chandler felt his eyes water just a tad.  “You keep this up, partner, and you’ll put me out of business.”

Mark pulled his son close and smiled in that fatherly way.  “I’m so proud of him that I can’t even see straight.”  He squeezed Max and drew a laugh from the boy.  Chandler heartened at the scene; Mark had grown into such a great father and he wondered if he’d ever be that blessed.  He was still young, but the thought of spending many more years looking didn’t appeal to him.  The dueling parts of his conscience wrestled with the question of why he wasn’t already married, and were still sparring when Christa dropped onto the couch and wrapped an arm around Mark’s shoulders.

“I didn’t interrupt a male bonding experience, did I?”  She sou
nded tenuous, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

Mark cleared his throat and smiled.  “Your brother needed some advice.  It’s been taken care of.”

She pouted, then grinned.  “I’m hurt.  You could have come to me.”

Chandler winked.  “I did come to you.  Ma
rk’s advice seemed more, um, pertinent, though.”

“Man talk.”  Christa nodded.  “Got it.”  She kissed her husband on the cheek before returning her attention to her brother.  “How’d you like to stay for supper?”

He considered her offer for a moment.  “Is there enough to go around?”

“Please.”  She frowned at his inquiry.  “I cook for men.  There’s always
more than enough, and somehow plenty of leftovers.”

“I get my
appetite satisfied in other ways,” Mark admitted.  Christa shook her head in reproach, but beamed noticeably afterward.

Chandler covered his nephew’s small ears, though he needn’t have; Max was otherwise engaged by his sketchpad.
 

They lifted to their feet and Mark grasped his son around the waist. Max extended his arms and legs like a flying
squirrel.  “Okay, cowboy,” he said affectionately.  “Time to wash up.”

Chandler watched them go, his expression of admiration mirrored on Christa’s face as she hooked her arm through his.  “He always like that?”

She nodded as they sauntered together toward the dining table.  “Lately, yes.  And I’ve got no complaints.”  She rested her head against his arm briefly, half a hug.  “So I heard it through the grapevine that Taylor’s back in town.”

He chuckled.  “The grapevine named Alison.”

“When she married CJ, she became your sister, too, whether you wanted an extra one or not.”

“I need all the help I can get,” he teased.  “I hired her to work for me.”

Christa nodded, relinquishing his arm as they took their seats.  “How did she seem?”

“A little bit lost, but…”
he trailed off, meeting her eyes now, “as beautiful as ever.”  She smiled knowingly.  “I hate when you do that, Chris,” he kidded.  “You look just like Mom.”

She tried for a less judgmental expression.  “Our brother married a brunette.  I married a brunett
e.  Taylor is a brunette.”

He smirked back at her, fighting off the urge to roll his eyes.  “This meal smells great, by the way.”

“Thank you.”  She smiled in pure, honest gratitude.  “And we’ll eat just as soon as the men come back.”  Mark showed up on cue, and as he dropped Max into his highchair his gaze swept lovingly over Christa.  In some ways Chandler felt like an intruder; and in others, he felt a stab of extreme happiness.  It may have taken a little time, but his best friend and sister were finally, firmly ensconced in marital bliss.

“So what’d I miss?” Mark asked quietly.

Christa handed him a bowl of homemade rolls and smiled.  “My brother is in love with a girl.”

Mark ripped a roll in pieces and placed it before Max, who placed the first bit into
his mouth and chewed eagerly.  “That’s the best kind of love to be in,” he said evenly.  His mouth quirked at one corner.  “You care to pass the meat, Chandler?”

“Just a minute,” he promised.  “I’m cutting it up for Max.”

“Aww,” Christa replied.  “What a sweetheart.  You’re going to make a great father.”

His eyes passed between the two of them, meaningful expressions on their faces.  He sighed in resignation.  “And it starts…”

He was only feigning exasperation, and they knew it.  He was never less than happy as a clam when he spent time with them, and the two kids, especially considering what could have been.  There’d been plenty of great moments in his life, but few were as close to his heart as being selected as Matt’s godfather.  He was grateful when the dinner conversation redirected toward Max and burgeoning abilities.  He was going to be an incredibly smart kid, taking, Chandler knew, after his parents.  As the meal wound down Matt stirred with a faint cry and he excused himself from the table, offering to check the baby for a wet diaper or an empty tummy.

He strolled into the dim room and lifted his nephew gently into his arms.  His diaper was clean and after a few careful pats and a tender shushing, he went back to snoozing.  Chandler kissed him softly before returning him to the crib.  He looked down at t
he bundle, his small nose and lips tugging, and felt his heart seize.

Chandler crossed both arms over his chest and smiled.  “You are one lucky kid,” he whispered.

***

Taylor was greeted on her first day of work by a brand-new space.  The entire front roo
m of the gallery was now ready for action, paintings carefully situated along each of the walls.  Small, large, medium-sized; Chandler had something for every customer who might stroll in and lay down the requisite payment.  Her new boss strode into view and greeted her with a smile.  Something was hidden in that expression, she knew.

Chandler looked her up and down, rebuking himself afterward.  He had no claim over her, and leering was not his style.  He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck a
s he smiled more sheepishly this time.  “You can dress a little more casual if you like.  I don’t want you to feel constrained.”

Taylor glanced down at her black pantsuit, so thoughtfully considered the night before.  Clearly she was getting off on the wro
ng foot, in every way imaginable.  “Sorry,” she apologized.  “I guess I don’t have much frame of reference for working outside a hospital.”

He lifted his hand in reassurance.  “My fault. 
I guess today will be more orientation than anything else.”  He reached into his shirt pocket and extended a ring toward her with three keys.  “The big one here works on the front door.  I’ll generally do the opening myself but if I, say, oversleep…”

“Do ranchers oversleep?” she teased.

He laughed under his breath.  “Sometimes.  If I drop the ball, you’ll be able to let yourself in.”  He swallowed his nervousness, his mouth feeling dry as paper here in her presence.  Damn, but she looked good.  She stirred something in his gut the way no other woman ever had, or maybe ever would.  “The silver key works on the desk up here, if you want to lock up your purse.”

“That’s very helpful,” she replied.

He nodded, at a loss for words.  “And the smaller silver key is for my office.  If I’m ever not here and you need to get in there, you’ll be able to.”

“Thank you,” she said, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.  It was a nervous habit she’d apparently been blessed with at birth.  “It looks great in here.  I’d almost forgotten how talented you are.”

He smiled in gratitude.  “Shall I give you the tour?”

“Sure,” she said, returning his
uneasy expression.  Her eyes drifted toward a group of five small images.  “Who is that?” she asked, not intending to pry.

He nodded, motioned for her to come closer.  His visage formed a solemn expr
ession.  “That’s my nephew Max,” he illuminated.  “In varying stages of recovery.”

Taylor turned her head toward him, wanting to place a hand on his arm in solidarity.  But she didn’t dare.  “Mom told me a little about
his accident, but I assume some of the details were kept amongst family.”

Chandler swallowed back the emotion in his throat, which nearly rendered him speechless.  “He and Christa were in a car accident.  She was fine, but he was comatose for a while.”

“Mark and Christa were always so perfect for each other.  That must’ve been hard on them.”

“They were in a bad place when it happened,” Chandler disclosed.  “It nearly finished them off, but Mark pulled himself up by the bootstraps.   He and Christa really went through the fire and came out on t
he other side stronger than ever.”  He traveled to a distant, sorrowful part of his mind, forgetting Taylor was there for a few seconds.  “Should we move on?”

Taylor nodded, conscious of his changing the subject and unwilling to press further.  What were t
he boundaries, she wondered?  Chandler was her boss, and she was his employee—but she could still remember what he looked like underneath that Western shirt.  All at once, she felt a stab of humiliation.  She shook it off quickly, because the signals buzzing between the two of them likewise indicated he was heated and uncomfortable.

“Y
ou recognize those two handsome devils, right?”  She looked up and into a broad smile, nodded, and studied the portrait.  Clearly done at the rodeo, it featured CJ and Mark standing side by side, depicted from the torso up with the arms across the top of a fence.  CJ’s smile was more languid and relaxed, even mischievous.  Mark’s smile was happy but a little more thoughtful and contemplative.  Chandler had captured his brother and his best friend with such vibrant detail, grace, and overwhelming love.  “This one isn’t for sale,” he revealed.

She grinned, fully understanding his position.  “I remember when CJ and Alison got engaged, and thinking they were a strange pair.”

“Too much alike to work?” Chandler mused.

“Exactly.  And I guess I was wrong.”

“They’re so happy it makes me sick,” he jibed.

“I’m glad.”  She fixed her gaze on the side of his tanned face, watched his eyes narrow in pride.  “Kids?”

“Two,” he replied softly.  “Little Chase, and Bree.  They look like CJ, and they’ve got Dad’s blue eyes.  God, they’re so smart.”

“What about Mark and Christa?  Is it just Max?”

He shook his head gently.  “They had another son, Matthew, just last September.  He’s our little miracle baby.”  Chandler pressed his mouth into a flat line and stared hard into her eyes.  “I guess this is a little insensitive on my part, talking about our good times after what you’ve been through.”