The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (7 page)

She sighed in mock exasperation.  “No, Chandler, not even once.”

He laughed.  “I can’t believe you grew up on a ranch and you’ve never lassoed a bull.”

“That’s my father’s job,” she replied earnestly, “and that of the ranch hands.  I’m trying to grow into a proper lady.”

“Oh,” he said affectionately, “you’re a lady, alright.” 

He grinned, an expression she found irresistible, and pulled her atop his lap.  He tickled her mercilessly and beneath the giggles she begged him to stop.  Deep inside, though, she couldn’t get enough.  He soon quieted her demands, placing his mouth against hers and parting her lips like an old pro, which she knew wasn’t.  She rested her hands on his chest, felt the hard heat of his body through the shirt fabric.  The ardor of his want mingled with her own, and she knew it wouldn’t be much longer till they’d find their first release, together.  It seemed predestined at this point, like it was etched in stone somewhere.  And if they did, could they somehow turn that into forever?

Taylor’s eyes flew open.

Her room was dark, and a quick glance at the clock showed her it was nowhere near time for work.  She pulled the blankets up to her chin, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the house.  The fact that her brain had conjured such a vivid memory of Chandler was frightening.  Being close to him again, near enough to smell that strange combination of hay, varnish, and masculine heat surely wasn’t helping matters.  Added to all of that, what she’d seen in his eyes—empathy?  Caring?  Lust?  The boy who wore his heart on his sleeve had turned into a man—
a great-looking man
, her brain rejoined—who still had too much going on behind that firm gaze.  She could deny it in front of her mother, in front of Chandler’s entire family if necessary, but her conscience was already well-aware of the truth.

There was enough feeling left in her heart, especially where her boss was concerned. 
Her boss!
  Yeah, that wouldn’t be a conflict of interest in any way, shape, or form.

Taylor turned onto her left side and burrowed her head a little deeper into the pillow, struggling with a sleepy brain to get her memories of Chandler sorted.  There was nothing to be gained from pursu
ing him, nothing at all.  Complicating their working relationship—and the friendship they were quickly rebuilding—with something romantic would be an unwise idea on every level.

Some women ran into their high school boyfriends and found paunchy, balding me
n.  It was just Taylor’s rotten luck that hers looked better than ever.

And was single.  Gloriously, wonderful
ly single.

Taylor groaned into the pillow and fell back into a deep sleep, where she thankfully dreamed about nothing.

When she awoke for good, feeling rested, she did so without an alarm clock.  It was Friday, and with the grand opening tomorrow Chandler had only asked her to come in after lunch.  They’d settled into an easy working relationship, softening toward one another as the days passed.  She was getting the hang of working on either side of the wall, and was looking forward to her initial paycheck.  Alison was becoming a fast friend, supportive and wise beyond her years.  It wasn’t hard to imagine that, had life taken a different turn, Alison would now be her sister-in-law.

She showered and dressed, spread Nutella on two pieces of whole-wheat toast, and joined her mother in the living room.  “What’s happening, Mom?” she asked casually.

“Oh, you got here just in time,” Alice noted.  “Raven is headed to stop Blade’s wedding to Tricia, but she’s too late.  The minister already declared them husband and wife.”

Taylor shook her head.  “Raven will never learn, will she?  Are you still planning to stop by the gallery tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, sweetie.  I’m looking forward to seeing Chandler again and thanking him.”

Taylor met her mother’s eyes warily.  “For what?”

“For giving you a job, of course!  You seem so much happier now that you’ve been given a purpose again.”

She flinched at her mother
’s words; she knew Alice didn’t mean any harm, but it almost felt like her mother was equating this job with the promise and possibility that had gone into raising Riley for those three short years.  And Taylor mourned for him again, just as she did every morning when she woke to find that he was still gone.

“I’m sorry,” Alice said quietly.  “I have a habit of speaking out of turn, and sticking my foot in my mouth.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Taylor responded tenderly.  “I love you, faults and all.” 

“Your father d
idn’t have any faults, did he?”

Taylor laughed.  “None that I can recall.”  She knew it was a fallacy, but she couldn’t readily recall Joseph Holt having one single imperfection.   He simply died too young, but that was through no fault of his own.

“I guess that’s why we balanced each other so well.  Unconditional love.  All of the best couples have that.”

“I had that with Liam,” Taylor countered,
and Chandler, too,
“but it wasn’t enough to sustain us…after…”

Alice frowned at the endless stream of
commercials and returned her gaze to her daughter.  “I wonder sometimes if your father and I would have loved each other so much had you not come along.”

“But that’s crazy talk, Mom.  You’d been together so long already.”  Taylor had been a late-life baby,
born when Alice was nearly forty and Joseph already past it.  They’d been married twenty years at that point and had long since given up hope of having children.  And thus while his death came at a reasonable age given his family history and years of hard work, Taylor had been far too young to lose the man she adored with every piece of her heart.  It had precipitated the end of her relationship with Chandler, too, and she still hated herself for that one. 
Water under the bridge…

“You’re thinking about
him, aren’t you?”

Alice’s words startled Taylor out of an incredibly sharp daydream, where she felt the strong, sure clasp of Chandler’s hand as she laid a single red rose atop her father’s casket.  The minister read Psalm 23 and every word was like a knif
e to her heart.

“Who?” she asked breezily.

“Uh-huh,” Alice rejoined.  “You’re as single-mindedly focused on Chandler as Raven is on Blade.”

“Hardly,” Taylor retorted.  “Raven just drove through a corner store and kept going.  I’m not thinking about Chandle
r, and I have yet to commit property damage.”

“You can’t fib to your mother, sweetheart.  I know these things.  I know you.”

A part of Taylor hated her mother’s assertions.  The rest of her knew they were true.

***

All she had to do was clear his office door, and all of his logic and common sense went out the window.  He’d encouraged her to dress more casual for work, and here she was in jeans and a pair of brand new boots.  Her shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal a sliver of skin, and just like that, his heart pounded like the hooves of his horse, Midnight.  He took in a deep breath and smiled as she took the chair closest to his.  He finished up his email correspondence and closed the browser window.

“Hey you,” he said leisurely.  “Enjoy your half-day of
f?”

Taylor nodded and grinned to herself.  “I did.  Mom and I watched her story.”

He chuckled under his breath and leaned back in the chair.  Taylor noted that he seemed much more relaxed and comfortable as the week drew to a close.  “I’m incredibly grateful for that soap opera.  It kept her busy that whole summer we were together.  She was completely distracted while we were outside kissing, climbing into the hayloft…”

“We were never in the hayloft,” she countered, lifting an eyebrow skeptically.

“I know.”  The right corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile.  “Just trying to keep you on your toes.”  His teasing remarks had likely made her uncomfortable—the back of his own neck was red with embarrassment—and he quickly shifted gears.  “I can’t thank you enough, again, for all of your help this week.  It looks like we’re going to have a huge turnout tomorrow.”

She nodded again.  “That’s great.  And I also need to talk to you about that.”

He stiffened.  “You’re not thinking about backing out on me?”

Taylo
r shook her head in response, and watched as Chandler exhaled with great force.  Was he really so dependent on her?  She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, a stance she knew he’d recognize.  “With so many people around, there’s bound to be some talk, and I wanted to explain to you about Riley.  Most people don’t know, honestly, because I forbade my mother to share the details.”  He nodded, willing her to continue, a voice in the back of his mind wondering if he wanted to know the details.  Nearly losing Max had broken him up, and he couldn’t imagine the trauma of what that loss must really entail for a parent.  “My son died from a malignant brain tumor.  The doctors assured us that he never suffered, or was in any pain.  He was simply there with us one day, and the next…there was no explanation for any of it, it was simply one of life’s cruel twists of fate.”  She remained rock-solid on the exterior, but inside she was crumbling into a thousand minute shards of life.  “If you could keep this to yourself…”

“Of course,” he replied softly,
gazing at her intently with those bright blue eyes.  “I can’t even begin to understand what that must’ve been like for you.”  He looked away for a moment, afraid to view the pain so apparent in her eyes. 
“Imagine the worst thing that could ever happen to you, and then multiply it by ten.  It’s worse than that.”

He rubbed his face, glanced down at the desk.  “This is going to seem a little insensitive in the face of what you’ve just told me, but Alison is going to br
ing the kids by later and…they usually spend a fair amount of time over here.”  Chandler cleared his throat.   “If you’d rather not have them around, I understand and I’ll keep the door closed.”  He gave her a delicate, sensitive smile.  “Your call.”  

It
was true that she remained wary of spending time with any child after what she’d experienced, but she was unwilling to deny Chandler his avuncular role, one he clearly relished.  There were an awful lot of pictures of those kids hanging up in his office. “I’d love to meet them,” she said after a pause.  “It’ll be fun to see how much of their personalities they inherited and how different they are from their parents.”

Chandler smiled at her inference.  “They’re great kids, in spite of their origins.”  Misc
hief flashed behind his eyes.  “Hey, look at the web traffic for our gallery.”  Taylor followed his gaze toward the screen, noted that his face was awash with happiness.  She milled about the gallery for the next few hours, checking in with him occasionally, and doing her own private art business.  When Chandler found out she was doing networking on his behalf, she hoped he wouldn’t be upset.

She was back at the computer with Chandler, speculating about the food for the grand opening, when a herd of small
cowboy boots reverberated across the floor and three happy children spilled through the adjoining door.  “No horseplay, you three,” they heard Alison’s jocular warning echo behind them.

Chandler glanced at Taylor and smiled.  “What is it about cowboys and
horseplay?” he mused.  “She might as well have told a horse not to paw at the dirt.”  He turned his attention toward his three charges and smiled winningly.  “There’s someone I want you cowpokes to meet.  This is Taylor Holt, an old friend of mine who helps to run the gallery and the store. You’re to treat her with the utmost respect at all times.”

Little Chase, as the oldest and natural leader, lifted his chin and jutted out his hand first.  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”  He cocked his head back toward C
handler.  “Uncle Chandler, what does ‘utmost’ mean?”

He laughed.  “It means ‘be good’, partner.”

Bree was next in line.  “Hello,” she said softly, her blonde curls bouncing around either side of her face.

“Hello there,” Taylor replied.  “You’re very
pretty.  You look so much like your mommy.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.  “You’re pretty, too.”

Taylor’s heart melted when Max stepped forward and shook her hand gently.  He had that effect on people, before and after the accident.  He seemed like the oddball in the bunch, dark-haired and dark-eyed but so full of cheer and an eagerness to learn.  She wanted to hug and kiss each of them from the first meeting, but Max most of all.  She refrained, still something of a stranger, and simply grinned and nodded at each of them as they asked Chandler a series of questions about why they never saw him around the ranch anymore.  He answered to the best of his ability, something for which he had a real knack.  He could have easily joined Christa in the teaching profession if he ever desired, although he butted heads with administrators during his previous academic appointment.  Little Chase and Bree milled about the gallery—the front door was locked and the paintings were too high to for their small hands, so they were safe.  Still, Taylor kept a watchful eye on them.  Max, on the other hand, crawled into Chandler’s lap and rested against his uncle’s long abdomen. 

“I wish I was in school, too, Uncle Chandler.  I miss out on all the fun.”