The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (39 page)

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” he apologized in a small voice.

“Not at all,” she said with her familiar smile, waving a hand toward him.  “Won’t you have a seat?”

The chair felt
like it was too small for him, too delicate, though he knew it was screwed together better than his head was at that moment.  He clutched his hat in his lap like a life preserver.  “This may seem selfish of me, because I know you just got Taylor back.  I want to take her away from you again.  I’d like to marry her.”

If there was a hint of trepidation in her blue eyes, she didn’t let it show.  “What took you so long, young man?  Better late than never, I guess.”

He stared at the knitting needles in her aged fingers, marveled at how the wheels in her mind turned as his ground to a halt.  “I still think she needs time, Miss Alice.  She’s been through a lot and I don’t want to complicate her life.”

“Haven’t you noticed lately that you
are
her life?”  She gave him a sympathetic smile.  “I can’t say no to you, Chandler, and I doubt she could, either.”

He ruminated on her words for a bit
, and twisted the hat nervously through his fingers.  He felt like the moment needed something else, but damned if he could figure out what it was.

“You know she can be pretty tempestuous if the mood strikes her.”  Chandler’s brow furrowed, and he simply nodded.  “I’m sure that’s not news to you.”

“She hasn’t shown me that side much this time around,” he confessed.  “I don’t know.  What do you think?”

She laid down the knitting needles and the accompanying project on a side table, and made a motion at him.  “Give me your hand.”  He offered his left hand and
she held it between hers, her skin warm and wrinkled but smooth and reassuring, as though wisdom emanated through every pore.  “As Taylor’s only remaining parent, I appreciate you coming to see me today, asking for her hand.  It’s an unnecessary gesture, but very touching all the same.  You are going to make my daughter very happy, and I can only hope she will do the same for you.”

“You’ve always been so kind to me, ma’am,” he replied, shaking his head.  “You could have easily chased me away with a shotgun
the first time I showed up.”

She laughed heartily.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Chandler.  We loved Taylor with all of our hearts, and
believed the universe began and ended when she came along.  Joseph and I thought, for the brief time we knew you, that you were like the son we’d never had.  It’s impossible to pick to pick out a husband for your seventeen-year-old daughter, but you had a lot of great qualities.  You still do.  Your parents must be exceptionally proud of you.”

Chandler felt himself blush
as he nodded.  He’d never known the Holts viewed him that favorably.  It seemed a lot to live up to, though he’d done his level best not to hurt their daughter.  Now the pieces could be put right, the future secured, and the long-ago promise to take care of her fulfilled.  “They are.  I sort of blew through all of their expectations for me, but I know they’d still like more grandchildren.”

“I’m not sure you can have too many grandchildren,” Alice surmised.

“Point taken,” he said, noting the wistfulness in her eyes.  “I’m not sure when I’m going to ask her—sooner rather than later, I guess.”

Alice squeezed his hand with a light grasp.  “All in good time.  When it’s right, you’ll know it.”

***

“You’re going to hang out with us while the guys are on their annu
al male bonding trip, right?”

Taylor looked up at Alison and tried to keep her thoughts guarded.  “Chandler asked me to and I said yes.”

“They’re not as much fun as they used to be, since the kids came along.  We make up for it, though, in other ways.”  Taylor nodded, not wanting let on that she was secretly nervous, and had been for quite some time, at the idea of spending an entire weekend with the women in Chandler’s family.  Her nerves had been getting the better of her, making her see and hear things that weren’t there.  It was like she inhabited some strange dream world, and was too scared to share her fears with Chandler.  And she didn’t think that was fair to him, to not be completely forthcoming.  She couldn’t overcome the dissonance she felt, knowing that if she grasped her love for him too tightly in her hands, it would slide through her fingers and be lost forever.  She could hear Alison talking at length about the time she and Christa briefly swapped hair colors, and she laughed uneasily in what she was sure was the wrong place.

“You alright, T?  You look a little green around the gills.”

Taylor laughed to herself.  “Your brother uses that exact same expression.”

“Of course he does,” Alison said with a shrug.  “We picked it up from our father. 
Sam Jasper is a wealth of colloquialisms.”

“Sometimes I don’t remember my father,” Taylor revealed painfully.  “I forget the way he smiled, or the sound of his voice.  Time robs us of everything, doesn’t it?”

Alison sat in the stool closest to her and gripped her hand in a friendly gesture.  “When it comes down to it, what do we really own aside from our memories?  And even those can get distorted over time.  CJ and I once debated at length over what month we started dating, and you know what?  We were both wrong.  I guess that’s what happens when you try to have a secret relationship with no strings attached—even your own brain gets confused.”  Taylor heard the subtle banging of the door to Chandler’s office, and met Alison’s eyes.  “Here comes your man,” she said drolly.  “Go hang out with him while I put on the pretense of being a good shopkeeper.”

Taylor laughed.  “Same time, tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here,” she replied with a nod.  Taylor walked through the doorways until she reached Chandler, who greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“Did you go out for lunch?” she asked, situating herself on the edge of his desk.

He shook his head.  “I skipped it today…had a more important errand to run.”  He locked their hands together and pulled her into his lap.  “I missed you, sweetheart.  I’ve been thinking that maybe I should skip the camping trip altogether and just spend that weekend with you.”  He lifted one eyebrow at her.  “What do ya think?  Two days in bed, just you and me?”

She pressed her index finger into his chi
n.  “It’s a tempting offer,” she said, laughing at his nodding head, “but you look forward to that every year.  Come on.  It’s Testosterone Time.”

“I’ve got no shortage of that, as you well know…”

She trailed her thumb along the edge of his right ear.  “Any woman lucky enough to fall in love with you, cowboy, knows that they’re going to relinquish you for a few hours during the summer.  I’m already looking forward to the Labor Day Rodeo—seeing you in those chaps.”

Their lips met with the combustion of heat—
if he was getting tired of her, it certainly didn’t show.  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was unprofessional to flirt with your boss?” he asked against her mouth.  She chewed on his lower lip for a few torrid seconds before answering.

“It’s not flirting w
hen you’re going to do something about it.” 
***

Chandler managed to keep his secret all through the end of July and into early August. 
The difficult part wasn’t hiding it from her—his concern was that one of the other folks who knew would somehow let it slip.  And if she had any suspicions, she never let it show; they spent little time apart, especially on weekends, and he kept the ring locked up in a safe place where he knew it wouldn’t be found.  He would lie awake on more than a few nights and think about the right day and time, the moment it would happen.  Mark had put the plan into action, but Chandler had to pull the trigger.  What was this gnawing in his stomach—apprehension, fear, or something greater?  Being in love had made him doubt certain fundamental truths about himself, made him fear commitment.  He couldn’t be without her—that was the conclusion he always reached. 

The weekend of the camping trip finally arrived, bringing with it a flurry of activity.  CJ checked each and every horse, Mark
delegated ranching duties amongst the hands, and gear was secured to the horses until they looked more like pack mules than steeds.  Everyone climbed atop, CJ and Mark both seated proudly with a son between them and the saddle horn.  Chandler was the only straggler, running back to the porch one last time.

“Mom?”  Bryn looked at him with interest.  “Taylor promised she’d be here later—she wanted to pick up something and bring it as a surprise.
”

“Don’t worry, Chandler,” she said.  “We’ll make out just fine
when she gets here.”  She patted him gently on the chest.  “We’re going to be family soon and I’m looking forward to it.”

“I know.”  He knelt down and kissed her on the cheek.  “See you Sunday.”

“Keep your father in line,” she teased.

He tipped the brim o
f his hat at her.  “Always.”  He mounted up and the journey began, away from the house and Taylor.  His mind drifted away from the task at hand and Midnight stumbled at one point before he gathered up his wits.

Mark looked back over his shoulder, concern e
tched in his eyes.  “I can put you on the back here and you can give the reins to Max if you’re not feeling up to it,” he wisecracked.

Chandler shook his head.  “Sun was in my eyes,” he replied, knowing full well Mark would never buy it.  The two of them c
ould lie to each other with the same proficiency a penguin used to fly.  Mark nodded and returned his focus to his own horse.

They made camp just as the sun was burning against the horizon like candle wax, sliding downward and forming a puddle over the lan
dscape.  Chase and Sam went to gather firewood, CJ and Mark unfurled their sleeping bags and set about putting their sons down for the night, and Chandler watered the horses and stared plaintively at the ground.  When he was satisfied that Max was asleep, Mark took a few long strides and stood beside Chandler silently for a minute or two.

“Chandler?”  He stared at his friend in profile.  “You might be able to get a signal if you take the phone and stand between those two trees.  I know you’re worried about
her.”  Chandler glanced at him briefly.  “We’ve all been there, man.”

“Yeah?” he asked simply.

“Part of being in love is doubting yourself.  Having that irrational fear that she’s going to wake up one morning and say, ‘Why am I married to this buckaroo when I could do so much better?’  If she didn’t want to be with you, she wouldn’t be.  She loves you, man, and you love her.  It’s not rocket science.  Come on,” he prompted with a nod of his head.  “Take my phone and give her a call.  I’m sure she’s down there right now being entertained by one humiliating story after another.  Lord knows Alison has plenty of them.”

Chandler shook his head and gave a weak smile.  “No,” he responded.  “I promised her a fun weekend, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m checking
up on her every five minutes.”  He exhaled sharply and kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot. 
Please, God,
he thought silently—
let me get over this paranoia.

***

No way was she showing up at the ranch empty-handed.

She had been gathering up the ingredients for a week, using Bryn’s own recipe as a guideline.  Friday afternoon she’d gone straight from work to pick up the freshest fruit she could find, and wanted to find some way to make this apple tart without her moth
er hovering.  If that happened, she knew Alice would wind up doing the entire thing for her, and she wanted to be able to look at her prospective family and say, “Hey, I made this.”  Sweeping into the house, she laid the apples atop a console table and went to check on her mother.  Sitting in the living room was a face from the past, descending upon her with unexpected force.  He was dressed in a suit and tie, with his sandy hair trimmed close to his head and his green eyes carrying a warm expression.  In his hands he delicately balanced a cup and saucer, steam from the warm tea wafting from its top.  He stood, met her gaze, and smiled.

“Liam.”

“Taylor,” he said, swallowing hard.  “It’s good to see you.”

***

The campout always consisted of the men riding in a carefully-plotted arc, with distances covered in the coolness of morning and late afternoon.  In midday and evening, they rested the horses and made camp, two tasks made less easy by the involvement of two small boys.  Chandler smiled as he watched them wrestle playfully—no doubt his father had shared the same amused expression over the years.  He was checking his saddle for wear-and-tear when two small pairs of hands tugged on his jeans.  He glanced at each of them in turn and smiled.  “What can I do for you two cowpokes this fine day?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Tell us a story,” Little Chase begged.

“No one tells a better story than you, Uncle Chandler,” Max insisted.  If there was one thing Chandler was incapable of, it was telling either of those two no—put them together, and his resistance softened like gold in a smelter.  They looked for all the world like CJ and Mark, and the sight of them in that moment made something in his heart catch.

“Come sit down over here,” he instructed, pointing them to t
he campfire that was, as of this moment, still a pile of wood.  They followed like two small shadows and sat down, cross-legged, on a blanket.  “Okay,” he began, “I’m going to tell you the story of a cowboy and his horse.”