The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) Page 9

  “The place practically runs itself,” she said, watching his eyes penetrate deep into the recesses of her mind. He watched intently, blue gaze boring a clear pathway, racing past her defenses. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

  He leaned back in his chair, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “Yeah, you might say that. Spent some quality time with my family, helped Mark out here and there. Got a good night’s sleep.”

  Taylor fiddled nervously with her hands. “Mark is still your best friend.”

  “Uh-huh.” He smiled, but then his mouth dipped into a melancholy shape. “But he and CJ have really bonded a lot lately, over fatherhood. As much as they love having me around, I’m kind of like an outsider.”

  She crossed her arms over her stomach, smiled caringly. “Being a parent is great, but it’s not the only good thing you can do with your life.”

  His face fell. “I must seem like a real asshole, complaining about something I’ve never had…something you’ve already lost.”

  “Don’t worry about it, cowboy. I’m not made of glass.”

  His visage perked up, maybe a little too much. “Alison didn’t talk your ear off, did she?”

  Taylor laughed, and was relieved when Chandler joined in. “I’ve still got both ears, but we did have lunch together. She is one amazing friend.”

  He nodded at her accurate reading of the situation. “Christa and I are damned lucky to have Alison as our sister-in-law. She would have remained our friend, no matter who she married, but to have her with CJ? It’s incredible. Her ear is always available, and her advice…well, she’s a pretty wise woman.”

  “I’d like to spend more time with Christa,” Taylor expounded. “I know she’s busy with her kids, at home and at school.”

  He chuckled deep in his throat, a sound that sent reverberations throughout her body. She remembered him as having a great sense of humor, but she wasn’t sure he was laughing as much as expected. “We’ll work on that. I did some pseudo-teaching last year at the high school, and even though it didn’t pan out, I’m still on good terms with the right people. Christa wants me to visit her class one day soon to discuss art—not that five-year-olds are much into galleries, but I digress—and, naturally, I’d want my assistant to come along for the ride.” He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. “You interested?”

  “Yes!” she practically shouted before calming herself. “I mean, of course. I’d love to help.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I should ask,” he apologized, his face loosening, “because—well, I just figured…”

  “Let me help you out a little, Chandler. I’ve barely been around a child since Riley’s passing. The time I’ve spent so far with your niece and nephews has…it’s helped me feel better about myself. Like I could have something to offer as a person.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, T. You’re still a young woman. You could have a lot of offer anyone.” He cleared his throat loudly. “I mean, career-wise. Don’t commit yourself here for life. I mean…uh…what the hell was I saying?”

  She grinned. Tongue-tied Chandler was definitely a new experience for her. The boy she’d dated in high school had been as smooth as an ice rink, never at a loss for words, confident in any situation. The man before her was still confident, but far less sure of himself. Or maybe he was putting her on, which she didn’t mind. It was kind of fun to have the upper hand for a change.

  “You were asking me to be your teaching assistant,” she explained, “and I was agreeing without reservation.”

  Chandler smiled broadly. “Right. I’ll set it up with Christa, and with the school. She’ll be thrilled, but she doesn’t run the show. Neither do I. Good.” He folded his hands atop the desk. They stared at each other in the charged silence. “Right,” he repeated, sounding asinine to his own ears. “The gallery is half-empty so I’m going to start moving the paintings to the front room. If you see me running around like a chicken with its head cut off, you’ll know why.” Oh, she’ll know why, his brain retorted. “And I’ve got to refill the entire middle room, so if I’m a little short with you, I’m in temperamental artist mode.”

  “You, temperamental?’ Taylor shook her head. “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

  “Believe it.” A smile betrayed his words. “I can be a real jerk when it comes to my art.”

  “I doubt that,” she countered. “But I should give your space. I’ve got to get to work.”

  “So get to it,” he teased, smiling crookedly. She gave him what appeared to be a quick wink—or what he hoped was a wink—and closed the office door as she headed toward the front.

  He stared at the wooden surface for a long time; the outer plane of the door was white, corresponding with the public space. She always left a void in his life when she was gone—whether it was for five minutes, an hour, or ten years—and that scared the hell out of him. No one, especially not a grown man, should be so dependent on another human being.

  “Maybe that’s your real problem, buddy boy,” he muttered aloud. “You’re too scared to take life as it comes, to put your faith in something besides a paintbrush and a horse.”

  He stood up, found a fresh sketchpad in the supply closet, pulled out his charcoal pencil, and worked uninterrupted for the next four hours.

  ***

  The first part of the day passed easily. She kept to herself, researching, selling, consolidating emails, and otherwise being a good employee. Chandler only emerged from his office once, and kept her at arm’s length while he reorganized the unsold artwork. Then he begged her to join him for lunch, and wouldn’t relent until they’d locked up the gallery and walked across the street. He was friendly during the meal, polite and self-deprecating, but back within the gallery walls he changed again, into a quiet, shy man who closed himself up behind doors both physical and artificial. And Taylor understood those barriers all too well—she had a few of her own.

  In the middle of the afternoon, that wonderfully incongruous sight showed up. Mark strode through the front door with a huge smile upon his face. His right hand securely grasped an infant carrier, where baby Matt slept soundly. Max clutched his left hand, aping his father’s smile. He released it, though, when Taylor knelt down. He ran into her arms and she hugged him tightly.

  “Miss Taylor,” he announced without preamble, “I am here to play with Uncle Chandler.”

  She laughed cheerfully. “And I bet he will be thrilled to see you.”

  Mark dropped his large hat onto Max’s small head. “Go on, partner. Scoot. Give your uncle a hard time.” He ran eagerly into the backroom, small fingers easily pushing through the door. Mark placed the baby atop the counter and examined him with a smile. “Heaven help me when you learn how to walk, Matthew,” he said affectionately.

  “He’s a beautiful baby,” Taylor said, knowing she’d repeated that phrase endlessly but unsure what else to say.

  “Looks like Christa,” he replied with an extra dose of fondness. He looked up and met Taylor’s eyes. “How are you today?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. Chandler’s watching the kids for a while so’s Christa and I can run a few errands. Max is a great kid, but getting to that age where supermarkets and kids don’t mix.”

  “Ah,” Taylor absorbed. “I completely understand.” She struggled with her next utterance. “It might not be my place, but after what Max has been through…he’s a wonderful kid. You’re so lucky.”

  He nodded briskly. “I know that. Took me a while, but I can’t imagine a better life than the one I have.” His brown eyes observed her sensitively. “It’s not the same, not by a long shot, but when Max…I came this close to losing everything that mattered to me, and it turned me upside down. I can’t speak to what you went through with your boy but I can empathize on one level. I…I bargained with God, wishing He would take me instead, because my son didn’t deserve that pain.” His voice was raw with emotion as he spoke, and he was instantly remor
seful for sharing so much. “Forgive me, Taylor. I didn’t mean to equate my life with yours.”

  A chill descended over her, but it was hardly his fault. “Mark, don’t feel guilty. Your concern is touching, actually. When I dated Chandler, I got your friendship as part of the deal. And that wasn’t such a bad thing.”

  Mark laughed. “I always figured you saw me as the third wheel.”

  “Hardly. You were off doing your own thing most of the time.”

  “I was off copying Chandler’s homework,” he joked. “He always was the studious one in the bunch.”

  “And the only one of us who understood The Scarlett Letter,” she remembered.

  He laughed again. “Ain’t that the truth? Look, if you ever find the time, we’d love to have you out at the ranch. Christa would’ve invited you herself, but she’s got two kids and a full-time job.” He spoke admiringly of his wife, and it was evident to Taylor how deeply he loved her.

  “Say no more,” she replied. “I was once a working mother myself. I’ll come.”

  “Date and time to be determined,” Mark illuminated. “Which reminds me, I promised to meet my beautiful wife outside the school promptly at three, and I’d better not be late. Catch you later, ma’am.” He reached upward, remembered the brim of his hat wasn’t there, and picked up the carrier. “Come on, cowboy, you’ve got another nap in your future.” Taylor smiled and returned to her work, mind drifting in and out of focus.

  When Mark arrived, he found Max in Chandler’s lap, studying the finer points of paint-by-number. He kissed Matt on the forehead and placed him gently atop the desk. His mouth and nose quirked but he was otherwise undisturbed.

  “I brought all the supplies as well, so no need to worry.”

  Chandler looked up at him, a twinkle in his blue eyes, and grinned. “Did I look worried?”

  Mark picked up the hat his son had discarded and reseated it upon his head. His smile was one of admiration. “I forget sometimes that you and Max get on pretty easy. It’s Matt you’ve gotta worry about.”

  Chandler’s eyebrow lifted. “Colic?”

  “I wish. I think he might be teething.”

  Chandler winced. “Yeah, sounds like fun.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll manage. Besides, he’s gotta grow those chompers in sooner or later. Ain’t that right, Maximilian?”

  Max laughed boisterously. “You’re funny, Uncle Chandler.”

  He plied a few fingers through his nephew’s russet hair. “So you tell me.”

  Mark nodded in amusement. “You gonna give me a kiss goodbye, cowboy?”

  “I’m too big for kisses, Daddy.”

  He sighed, but his mouth was framed in joy. “And it starts.” He adjusted his hat and grinned. “Adios.”

  “Bye, Daddy,” Max said excitedly.

  “Later,” Chandler rejoined, watching him leave the way he came. “So tell me, Max, you pick out a name for your horse yet?” CJ had handpicked a pony for their nephew to learn to ride on; hopefully it was guaranteed because Max was already well attached to the thing.

  His mouth initially struggled to form the word. “Thistle,” he eventually replied.

  “That’s not a bad name,” Chandler responded.

  “But it might change later.”

  He laughed. “Well okay then, partner.” A small yawn escaped Max’s lips. “Am I gonna have to put you down for a nap?”

  “Naps are for babies, like Matt,” he enlightened.

  “I take naps,” Chandler argued, feigning offense.

  “Then you’re a baby.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, “but everyone loves a baby.” He tickled Max’s stomach and they laughed together. Taylor pushed through the door, smiling brightly at each of them.

  “Just wanted to check on you,” she said helpfully. “Three men unsupervised is usually a bad thing.”

  “Miss Taylor,” Max pointed out for her benefit, “Uncle Chandler’s a baby.”

  Chandler smiled at her apologetically. “That’s a good thing,” she replied. “Babies are cute and everyone loves them.” His face reddened but she continued speaking. “And a baby is a miracle. No one would ever dare reject a miracle.”

  Max looked up at her, his small mind registering and processing her words. “Oh. Okay.” He went back to his work, but Chandler held his gaze on her. And when she winked this time, it was readily apparent, and joined with a sweet smile. His eyes remained fixed on hers when he resumed conversation.

  “Why don’t you go hang out with Miss Taylor while I feed your brother?”

  “Do you know how to feed a baby?” she asked helpfully, hoping her remark didn’t come off as condescending.

  “I’ve fed four human ones, including these two,” he assured her, his manner relaxed, “and a few calves and foals for good measure.” She took the seat closest to him and he gently lifted Max from his lap and into hers. He moved toward the fridge, where Mark had left the perishable goods.

  “Do you have a way to warm the milk?” she asked cautiously.

  He chuckled under his breath, didn’t bother to meet her gaze as he replied. “Yeah. I’ve got it all under control, Taylor.”

  A little embarrassed by asking so many prodding questions, she turned her focus to Max. “That’s a pretty horse,” she complimented. “You’re very good at that.”

  “It’s my horse,” he explicated. “His name is Magic.”

  “I thought his name was Thistle?” Chandler asked over his shoulder.

  “That was his name before.”

  “Gotcha.” Chandler tested the milk on his arm before striding back across the room. Matt’s blue eyes seemed to examine him for a split-second before he greedily accepted the bottle. “There we go, partner. I don’t want you telling your mom I was a lousy caretaker.”

  Taylor watched him from the corner of her eye, small smile creeping across her lips. Max painted happily in her lap. She’d just met the kid last week but he clearly considered her safe territory. “You’re pretty good at that,” she said to Chandler.

  He smiled cordially. “You almost sound surprised. A man could get the wrong impression, T. He might think you don’t believe he’d make a good father.”

  Her lips opened just a hair. “I’ll try to stop putting my foot in my mouth. I should know better than to underestimate you, no matter the circumstance.” God, I’m foolish, she thought to herself. Seeing Chandler with a child in his arms made her feel an odd juxtaposition of the past and the future; she wondered about dreams lost, and whether they could ever be retrieved.

  Chandler dropped the empty vessel on his desk and burped Matt softly against his shoulder. “Out like a light again,” he announced a few minutes later.

  “I wish I could sleep that well,” Taylor mused. Chandler nodded, looked toward his other nephew.

  “Hey, Max?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “You wanna come back to me before you fall asleep?”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “Yeah, you are, partner.”

  “Okay,” he consented a second later. Chandler removed him gently from Taylor’s arms, laid his artwork aside, and watched with a smile as eyelids closed and his small chest settled into shallow breathing.

  “Easy as pie,” he whispered.

  “Kids are suggestible at that age,” Taylor conjectured.

  “Highly.”

  “Do you ever think about how many kids you’d like to have?”

  She stared deeply into those blue eyes. “Chandler, we’re seventeen years old. I’m still trying to figure out how to pass Honors English. Why—do you?”

  He laughed. “My brother’s engaged, and my sister might as well be—so, yeah, I think about the future, having a family. It’s on my mind.”

  She nodded. “Okay, one or two kids. Something manageable. What about you?”

  He grinned. “Oh, five or six should do the trick.”

  She laughed ruefully. “Of course, the man always wants a big family. He’s not the one w
ho has to bear the children.”

  His lips pressed to hers gently. “Somehow I figured that part of the fun was the practice you got in the meantime.”

  She dropped her eyes, lowered her voice to a whisper. “Neither of us has been intimate in that way, Chandler. What if…”

  “What if we’re no good at it?”

  “There’s a lot of complications to consider.”

  The index finger of his right hand tenderly lifted her chin upward, until their eyes met again. “I’d never push you into anything, Taylor. If it happens, it needs to feel right…for both of us.”

  “Taylor?”

  She snapped back to reality and smiled warily. “I’m sorry. I drifted there for a bit.”

  “No worries. I was just letting you know it’s five o’clock and you’re free to go home.” He shot her a guarded expression. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, a little too defensively. “Tell Max I said goodbye.”

  He smiled, shifting the featherweight of his nephew against his forearm and bicep. “Sure thing. See you tomorrow.”

  She nodded a salutation at Chandler and ran to grab her purse. Her ex-boyfriend, surrounded by two kids; even if they weren’t his, it was little wonder her mind had locked onto that scene out of the past. And once again, it was disturbingly vivid, as though she was reliving it one more time, following in previously-trod footsteps. She wanted to pass it off as coincidence, but she wasn’t that naïve. The world, the fates, and God above were all shouting loud and clear.