The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (33 page)

Taylor examined the handwritten recipe, her mind reeling.  She shouldn’t have listened to that snippet of conversation.  She should have listened to more.  She should confront Chandler.  She should put it out of her mind and pretend it never happened.  She should stop being so indecisive.

“You’re welcome.”

She looked up and into Alison’s eyes.  “What?”

“You thanked me for the recipe, and I said ‘you’re welcome’.”  Alison smiled.  “You okay,
T?  You’ve seemed more than a little preoccupied tonight, and I could barely squeeze two words out of Chandler.  Not exactly what I was expecting tonight,” she said, raising her eyebrows for emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” Taylor said.  “Can I tell you something in
confidence?”

“Always.”  Alison took the stool closest to her.  “And if it’s too heavy, I keep a shovel under the porch.”

Taylor stifled a laugh with her hand.  “Chandler and I have gotten to that ‘weird’ place in our relationship.  You know what I mean?”

“Absolutely.”  She knotted her fingers together and shook her head.  “
He’s a man, just like all the rest.  They can require a lot of finessing.  Truth is, I think he’s scared.”

“Scared?” she asked, bordering on incredulous.

“Yes, T, scared out of his ever-loving mind.  He looks at you like he’s a dehydrated man and you’re an oasis.  Not hard to figure that one out.  He’s scared to lose you.”

“I don’t want to leave him,” she said defensively.  Then she softened her tone and sa
id, “I also want him to commit to me, but I don’t want to force the issue.”

“A lot of women have flirted with him over the years—still do—but few of them ever wanted what lurks behind the handsome veneer.  That meant a lot of isolation and even confusion o
n his part.  You’re attracted to the outer shell, but you love the person within—and that’s what he needs.  He may not be as quick to realize it as you, though.  Like I said, he’s a man.  They can toss a bale of hay over their head without breaking a sweat, but give them something abstract like love and they might as well be mining for gold with a fork and spoon.”

***

The moon shone onto her shoulder, turning the normally bronzed skin into a pale dome.  It was the only part of her body uncovered by the sheet, and he lowered his mouth to it, placing a kiss against the solid bone.  He moved in closer, trailing kisses across her shoulder and up her neck, finally landing on her mouth.  She parted her lips in invitation, but following a passionate kiss he pulled back.  His blue eyes studied her in the soft patch of light.

“Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely.  “You were so quiet the whole way back here.  I worried I’d stuck my foot in it and hurt your feelings.”

She rested her hand flat against the smooth surface of his chest, felt the edge of his heartbeat.  “Was I not enthusiastic enough just now?” she asked, ducking his question.

“No,” he quickly replied, one corner of his mouth forming into a smirk.  He could still feel the after-effects reverberating in every fib
er of his being.  “You were definitely responsive.”  He inhaled deeply and watched her wet her lips.  “Might I go ahead and make a preemptive apology for any half-assed thing I may do in the future?  This,” he said, motioning his hand in the few inches of space between them, “is all I want.  Me and you.”

She smiled up at him, but it felt unfamiliar when he saw it with his own eyes.  Her hands framed his face, pulling him even closer.  “That’s what I want, too.  And I don’t have to go home tonight.”   

Chapter 22

Taylor did go home the next morning, telling Chandler she wasn’t feeling well.  It was a half-truth, and she felt guilty about leaving him shorthanded at the store, but he didn’t force the
issue.  He told her to spend a relaxing day with her mother, and assured her the store would get along fine without her.  “But make sure you’re here tomorrow,” he teased, “because two days without you might kill me.”  The tension between them had evaporated—they’d made love until midnight before finally passing out—and she’d only felt a shred of regret over asking for a day off.  Truth be told, she was relieved.  Their relationship may not have been on solid footing at that moment, but she also had no desire to deconstruct it with him.  The idea of a brutal fight didn’t appeal to her, either.  Alice would be curious enough, anyway, seeing her daughter come home in the same clothes she’d worn last night.

After a shower she felt refreshed.  She changed into clean clothes, pulled her hair up in a loo
se knot, and joined her mother in the living room.  “I know I spend a lot of time apologizing, but I’m sorry for not being around more.  I feel like I’m neglecting you at every turn.”

“Nonsense,” Alice said, changing the yarn for the two-tone scarf she was
knitting.  “Those purses you sewed were a huge hit at the church sale.  Completely upstaged my scarves,” she said with pride rather than resentment.

Taylor leaned back in the chair, rolled her head atop the tufting.  “I’ll start another one today.”

Alice nodded.  “So why are you playing hooky?” she asked softly.  “Did the two of you have a lover’s quarrel?”

“Not exactly.”  She frowned and closed her eyes.  “We click very well in some ways—but in others, we’re struggling to gain our foothold.”

“That’s just the process of growing with someone,” Alice offered.  “Love changes you on so many levels that it can be disconcerting.  You begin to question your preconceptions, your likes and dislikes, even your own body.”

“Hmm,” Taylor responded.  “That’s one area whe
re we’ve never had a problem.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”  Alice didn’t elaborate on that answer as her hands moved the needles with precision.  “But you’re in luck,” she contended, shifting gears.  “Today is the big day.  Blade and Raven’s wedding.”

Taylor’s head rolled toward her mother.  “If I believed in gambling, I’d wager you a few dollars that someone stops that wedding before the minister can sign off on it.  Be it Mitch, Tricia, or a back-from-the-dead villain, that marriage license won’t be signed.”

Alice looked at her proudly.  “I’ll take that wager.  Loser has to bake cookies for the next church sale.  Three hundred of them.”

Taylor pointed an index finger at her mother.  “You’re on.”  Their focus drifted away from each other and toward the television.  Some mothers and daughters related over scrapbooking, recipes, even heirlooms or jewelry.  They’d done all of that, but as something of a tomboy, Taylor found it easier now to bond with her mother over a television program, something they could enjoy, dissect, and discuss without conflict.  “Wow,” she said a few minutes later.  “I haven’t seen trumpets on this show since Marshall and Jeanne had their wedding on the Queen Mary.”

“Now that was a wedding,” Alice replied.  “Still my favorite, after all
these years.”

Taylor thought back to her own wedding, a small, casual affair.  Liam had donned a tuxedo, and she’d been in the requisite white dress, but the wedding party and guest list had totaled no more than ten persons.  Her mother had been her only g
uest; she didn’t even bother with a maid of honor.  All in all, it had been perfect, as had the marriage, up until the day it wasn’t.  She found herself wondering, quite unexpectedly, about Liam, how he was managing, if his life was free of fears and sorrows.  She hadn’t spoken to him since January, when she’d called to let him know she’d made it home safely.

The wedding festivities proceeded, in between several commercial breaks.  It took place outdoors, in the courtya
rd behind an ancient church, its massive stained-glass window providing a stunning backdrop.  The audience was filled with friends and foes, the camera panning to capture various characters’ reaction shots.  Blade stood at sentinel with his best man, waiting for Raven to emerge—and emerge she did, in the largest amount of white fabric Taylor had ever seen.  The dress covered her from head to toe, her face barely visible beneath the veil.  When she arrived at the altar and took Blade’s hands, her train stretched all the way to the end of the row of chairs.  Just as Taylor and Alice had suspected, Mitch was right there in the audience with Raven’s sister clutching his arm.  The two women looked away from the screen long enough to cast a glance at one another.

The minister spoke his piece,
Blade and Taylor recited their lengthy, self-written vows, and the minister uttered those famous last words.  They’d no sooner left his mouth than Mitch stood and clutched his arm, his face contorted in pain.

“Oh, hell,” Taylor said before she could stop h
erself.  “Where’s Dr. Hayes?”

“Don’t you remember?” Alice responded.  “Mitch pushed him down a flight of stairs last year at Thanksgiving.  Now he’s living in the Himalayas with amnesia, performing medical checkups on children in the local village.”

“He can’t remember his name, but he recalls, in detail, all of his medical training?”

“Apparently,” her mother replied amusedly.  They watched the episode come to an end, freeze-framing on a heartbroken Blade as an anxious Raven rushed to Mitch’s lifeless body.
The announcer kindly asked that they tune in tomorrow for another full hour, and the credits rolled.

“I predict major drama between the two sisters,” Taylor surmised.  She was interrupted from further conjecture by the ringing of the phone.  “I’ll get tha
t,” she offered quickly, leaping to her feet and heading toward the kitchen.  She picked up the receiver and issued a bright hello to the person on the other end.

“Taylor?”  Christa’s soft, friendly voice came in reply.  “
My brother said you weren’t feeling well and I wasn’t sure if I should inconvenience you.”  A beat passed.  “I apologize if I’ve bothered you.”

“You haven’t,” Taylor replied honestly, twisting the phone cord around her finger.  “I was just resting and trying to get myself back in order.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  I was simply wondering if you’d like to come with us to the lake house this weekend.  I already asked Chandler but he didn’t want to answer for you.  It’ll be Mark and I, and we’re bringing the boys along, of course, so if you’d rather not be trapped under the same roof as a crying baby, I’ll completely understand.”

“I’ll check in to make sure my mom won’t need me for something, but I’m sure she won’t.  I’d love to come.”  It may not have been
the most ideal circumstance for intimacy, sexual or otherwise, but she also figured they could be a buffer between her and Chandler if things grew tense.  He and Mark hadn’t spent much time together lately; this family weekend would be good for all of them.  Going out of town with them for a relaxing weekend seemed like the perfect idea.

“That’s great,” Christa said, relief
obvious in her tone.  “I’m sure we’ll talk again beforehand, but the plan is to pick you up Friday after work and drive up there.  Just bring yourself and some clothes.  Mark and I will take care of the rest.”

Taylor nodded to herself.  “Thank you again for the invite.  I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“Sounds good.”  A distinct howl of “Mommy” came from the background, and Taylor’s throat constricted.  “I have to go,” she apologized.  “My favorite job never stops.  Goodbye, Taylor.”

“Goodbye,” she said, hanging up the receiver.  She leaned against the wall and stared absently into space.  Momentarily Alice appeared in the room, heading for the refrigerator. 

“Anyone important?” she asked with concern.

Taylor nodded.  “Christa wants Chandler and
me at the lake house this weekend.  Will you be okay if head out of town?”

Alice poured some iced tea into a Mason jar.  “Of course,” she quickly responded.  “Go have a good time and work on
your tan lines.”

She smiled guiltily.  “I don’t have any of those.”

Her mother responded with a thoughtful grin.  “When I was your age, neither did I.” 

***

“Are you a good swimmer?” The question fell effortlessly from his mouth; he could just as easily have been asking if she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.

She stared out across the shimmering water, the subtle breeze forming infinitesimal waves.  “I’m fair.”

“Me too.”

“Please.  I’ve seen you swim before, and you’re more than fair.”
  A small laugh escaped her lips.  “It’s a shame our high school doesn’t have a swim team.  You’d be the star.”

He shot her a
mischievous grin as their legs dangled off the pier.  “How would you like to have a race?”  He extended his tanned right arm toward the horizon.  “From that tree over there and back to the dock.”

“Chandler, your arms and legs are, like, twice as long as mine.  It’d hardly be a fair fight.”

“Come on,” he said with a wink.  “I’ll even give you a head start.”  When he ducked his head like that and looked at you—right through you—with those piercing blue eyes, she imagined him having no trouble selling ice water to the Devil.  Then he pressed his lips gently to hers and the pitch was complete.