“You’ve still got time, son,” Chase reassured him. “No need to rush these things. Besides, you’ve got something your mother and I never had—siblings to keep you company.”
Chandler nodded—he was definitely lucky in that respect, and even luckier than his siblings had married his two closest friends. Life had an odd way of working out. “Do you two need any help around here today?”
Bryn winked at him. “I’m sure I can find something for you to do.” She pointed her finger at him. “No cooking, though. When my children are home, I’m in the kitchen.”
He laughed. “Sure, Mom. I can handle that.”
***
As luck would have it, Bryn had nothing close to heavy lifting for her son to complete. They looked through photos of the ranch, discussed ideas for improving not only his website but also her blog, and finally talked about her latest manuscript. He watched his father perform a few mundane tasks around the house, but Chase wouldn’t allow him to lift a finger. They shared dinner as a family and sat down afterward to watch rodeo competition on television. Bryn joked that they were men of limited interests. After such a strenuous evening, he was sent to bed early and thus felt well-rested when he met his brother in the barn the following morning.
“Lend me a hand, will you, Picasso?” CJ ribbed in a whispered tone.
“Sure,” Chandler replied. “You afraid of scaring the horses?”
“Mm-hmm. Something like that. Anyway, you get any rest last night?”
Chandler nodded. “I must’ve slept about ten hours. No dreams, no nothing…just pure, uninterrupted sleep.”
CJ freed the horse’s hoof and leg from his steady grasp and looked at his brother with worry. “Nightmares?”
“No.” Chandler frowned. “Lately I have dreams about the past, about Taylor, and they are painfully vivid. I remember good times, sex of course, but also the rough patches. When her father died, when we broke up…”
“Did you dream about her before last week? Be honest, man, you know I won’t hound you about her.”
Chandler noted something unusual in his brother’s voice. Not concern—that was always there—but a quiet sort of respect, a sense that CJ wouldn’t pressure him into anything. Either Alison had told him to mind his manners, or something else was at work. He didn’t care to place any more doubts in his basket at the moment, so he chose to answer with unadulterated honesty. “I would dream about her from time to time, when I allowed my mind to wonder what she was doing, if she was happy. They weren’t dreams borne of lust, because I knew she was happily married. I just…I missed that friendship. In a lot of ways I felt responsible for her. I was there for so many of the milestones of her life, good and bad.”
CJ lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “There’s something to be said for first love,” he ascertained. “I thought I loved those other girls, and maybe part of me did. Alison, though, was the first one I ever loved deep in my bones. And she was right here, under my nose, the entire time. How’s that for irony?”
Chandler smirked. “Chase Junior, did you seriously just use the word ‘irony’ in a sentence?”
He chuckled. “Hell yeah, guess I did. Too many writers in the family.” He smiled warmly. “Don’t ever tell anyone, though. I have an image to maintain, and it suits me just fine.”
He brushed the horse’s mane, pretended to ruminate on his brother’s plea. “It’ll be our secret,” he promised a moment later.
Chapter 8
The gallery felt decidedly empty without Chandler. He had that way about him, Taylor thought—even when he remained quiet and stoic he could fill a room with his presence. Maybe that’s why it had been so easy to be his girlfriend all those years ago; she knew he’d never purposefully hurt her. Instead, she’d been the one to break her own heart. “Water under the bridge,” she muttered to the walls.
Alison had left a note at her workstation, requesting Taylor to drop by for lunch. She was touched by the gesture—how many people bothered with handwritten notes in this day and age? The gallery opening had been enjoyable, her first brush with sociability in quite a while. She returned to work after Riley’s death, but withdrew otherwise. How could she go to lunch with friends and laugh casually at their frivolous jokes? How could she attend a baby shower and share in the joy of new life when her heart had been so painfully ripped from her chest? Soon enough the invitations trickled down to nothing, much like the sympathy cards. Life moved on, promises were forgotten, people stopped dropping by with casseroles…it was unsurprising that her marriage had been the next casualty. Taylor had never meant to hurt Liam, recognizing his own private pain, etched onto his handsome face like the names on a tombstone, but she couldn’t give any more of herself to him. There was no taking, either…they simply inhabited the same space, for a time, until that gave way to separate bedrooms. When they finally came around to the concept of divorce, it was amicable. She didn’t want the house or cars, or money; she simply scooped up the last vestiges of her life, kissed him on the cheek, and flew out of his life forever. Even now, it felt like a badly-stitched gash—the pain had subsided, but the scar was garish and clearly discernible.
The delivery men arrived as scheduled and made quick work of the lightweight canvases—they were more unhandy than anything else, being of varying shapes and sizes. They were efficient and orderly and she merely supervised, not being any more than the temporary person in charge. When their business was completed, the driver signed a form and smiled at her.
“Much obliged, ma’am,” he drawled. His eyes seemed to sparkle—was he flirting with her?
She nodded and returned his smile. “Thank you again for your help.”
“You’re welcome. And tell Chandler we’re grateful for the work.”
“I will,” she assured him. “Have a nice day.” They shared one last smile and he was gone. There was something disarming about him, she thought as she watched the truck pull away, but she was hardly ready for anything that resembled love. Of course she found him attractive—he was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed male. She was familiar with that combination.
At noon she locked the front door and headed toward the office. She emerged on the other side in Alison’s comfortable, welcoming space. She, too, had closed down for the lunch hour.
“Hey, there,” she said as Taylor emerged, food in hand.
“I ordered in,” she explained. “Hope that’s okay.”
She laughed. “I won’t say no to anything, unless you bring a sprout sandwich.”
“No alfalfa here,” she joked. “I grew up on a ranch, too.”
“I had a momentary lapse of reason,” Alison replied. “How would you like a root beer?”
“Straight from the cooler?”
“Absolutely.”
“Absolutely, yes.” Alison laughed and moved to the cooler, where she withdrew two bottles and uncapped them. “Did you do much business this morning?” she asked when Alison was seated across from her at the counter.
“Enough,” she disclosed. “I noticed a lot of paintings leaving the store this morning, so it looks like Chandler also did healthy business.”
Taylor nodded in agreement. “The place is actually half-empty now, and it looks a little barren.”
They ate for a few minutes in silence, both a little cautious. Alison wasn’t quite sure how much to ask about Taylor’s life, and Taylor was unsure about how to talk around the edges of certain topics. More specifically, anything related to Chandler. Easier said than done.
“Some of those paintings, the owners could have picked up themselves.” Alison lowered her head as though revealing a secret. “Chandler knew those guys needed the business, though. Keep it between us, okay?”
“Of course,” Taylor replied. “Chandler always did have a generous heart.”
“This is kind of like his contribution to the world,” Alison continued. “I think he’ll return to the ranch someday, for keeps, but this is his raison d’être for now, and he’s good at it.”
“Not really. He’s always been a capable person, but I never predicted this move. But I’m glad he’s here, and you can’t beat his rental rate.”
“Free?”
Alison nodded. “And he’s a great babysitter. It’s a win-win.”
Taylor sighed. “How would you like to see a picture of my son?”
Her face was weary, but she nodded in accord. “Only if you’re sure, T.” She laughed. “Do people still call you that?”
“My mother does,” she confirmed, “and Chandler did, the other day. It was unexpected but…familiar.” She smiled uneasily. “I didn’t hate it.” She unzipped her purse, withdrew her wallet, and shared a laminated photo with Alison. “Sometimes I cry when I see it, and I’m afraid of water damage,” she explained. Alison nodded, her face awash in compassion.
“His name was Riley?”
“Riley William McCook. I wouldn’t trade a day with him, you know? Even with all of the pain that came after…for a few years he was the most important part of my life.”
Alison rested her fingers in the corner of the image, her mouth formed into a tight smile. “He’s beautiful, Taylor. I can see why you wouldn’t regret his life.”
“He looked like Liam—that’s my ex-husband—so the only proof he was even mine was that I remembered giving birth to him.”
“I sympathize completely,” Alison rejoined. “I love my two more than anything, but they look for all the world like CJ.” She rolled her eyes humorously. “Sometimes it’s alarming. Other times I’m glad.”
“You love being a mom,” Taylor guessed.
“I do. You have these times in your life where you wonder if you even want kids. Then you wonder if you’ll be any good at marriage. And CJ, for all of his bravado, makes it easy.”
Taylor bit her lower lip. “I actually wondered if you two would make it as a couple. You both seem so…”
“Hardheaded? Determined? Coarse?” Alison laughed. “All of the above. It works for us, but every relationship is different. And in some ways it feels like kismet—we were there for each other at exactly the right moment.”
Taylor considered fate, luck, and predestination for a moment. Was this Alison’s not-so-subtle way of pushing her and Chandler together, or was she so supersensitive that she saw intent where there was none? “I’m not sure I’m much of a fatalist,” she expounded. “I’ve managed to hang onto my faith, but little else.” She gave Alison a brittle smile. “Does that make any sense?”
“Of course it does,” she empathized. “No matter how happy any of us are, no matter how great things seem, no one’s life is perfect. There are always tragedies, setbacks, disappointments, and assorted maladies. Sometimes we simply endure.”
Taylor nodded reluctantly, grateful as she was for Alison’s easy friendship and guidance.
“I’ll clear up,” Alison offered. They were long past finished with their lunch. “Time to reopen the store.”
Taylor smiled. “Same here.” She stood and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for the meal, Alison. And everything else.”
Alison smiled back at her. “Anytime, T—anytime.”
***
She gave Alison a quick goodbye at the end of the day and locked up the gallery before heading home. It had been rather lonely, aside from the stray customer or curious visitor. After a week of wall-to-wall Chandler, she’d missed him more than she was willing to admit. She found herself wondering, foolishly, if he shared those feelings, if he pined for her. And she regretted the suggestion almost immediately. He was…well, handsome in every sense of the word, and he’d be wasting too many good years of his life if he chose to pursue Taylor. Except that, she acknowledged in the safety of her own mind, her defenses were lowering slowly, like a drawbridge, and in a moment of weakness, she couldn’t be sure of her actions. Hurting him again just didn’t feel like a viable option.
She found her mother in the living room, hard at work on another crossword puzzle. Beside her were yarn and knitting needles, although Taylor remembered she hadn’t completed a project, to her knowledge, in years. Alice’s brow furrowed in concentration, but she had just enough time to greet her daughter with a customary hello.
“What happened today, Mom? Anything interesting?”
Alice cleared her throat. “Raven didn’t get there in time—Blade and Tricia were already starting their honeymoon. Mitch met her outside the church and begged for another chance.”
“Even though he’s still diddling with her sister?”
She frowned. “Raven never was the sharpest tool in the shed.” Her face lifted and she smiled at her daughter. “How was your day?”
“It was good, actually. Kind of quiet without Chandler, but Alison and I had lunch together.”
Alice pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiled as she resumed her intense work. “Where was the Young Mr. Adams today?”
“He was on the ranch, Mom. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason.” She smiled faintly. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t run him off from his own place of business slash residence.”
“Mom,” Taylor replied with mock annoyance, “your mind wanders to the strangest places. If he didn’t want to be around me, he wouldn’t have hired me.”
Alice cleared her throat at her daughter’s turn of phrase.
“Mom?”
Alice slid her capped ink pen atop her right ear and met her daughter’s eyes critically. “You just made it sound as though Chandler wants you in his life. Are you following me?”
She nodded. “He does. He wants me as an employee and a friend. Look, Mom, we’re comfortable with one another. We’re familiar and uncomplicated.”
“No,” Alice countered, raising her lightly-wrinkled hand into the air. “There’s nothing uncomplicated about first love. You two had plans that included the word ‘forever’, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.” The words were harsh but ultimately contradicted by her soft voice.
“I’m lost, Mom. Throw me a bone here.”
“I saw all I needed to know at the gallery opening. He’s protective of you, and adoring, and the feeling is mutual. When the two of you had a few seconds, here and there, of one-on-one time, accidental looks passed between you. It was written all over his face, and you had that kind of doe-eyed look that I had when I was dating your father.”
Taylor frowned. “Chandler and I aren’t dating.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Alice figured. “You should skip straight to the good stuff.”
Her mouth fell open. “I can’t believe you just suggested that! It’s not a very ladylike recommendation.”
Alice shook her head again. “What I’m suggesting, sweetie, is not what you’re thinking. Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said with a lilt. “There is no need for a prolonged period of dating because you’re both so well-known already.”
“Mom, a lot of time has passed, and I barely know him anymore. I have no clue what he did in those years we were apart. I know he went to college, but then again, so did I. Your assertions are a little off-base.”
“And you’re defensive, T. That’s usually the second sign something is happening.”
That statement was met with an arched eyebrow. “And what would the first be?”
Without missing a beat, Alice replied, “Smeared lipstick.”
“I don’t wear lipstick, Mom.”
“Mm-hmm. You’d better start. Give that boy a reason to want to kiss you.”
As if he needs a reason, her conscience retorted. “That would be really inappropriate, Mom—kissing the boss.”
“But if you marry him, it becomes completely okay to kiss the boss.”
“Mom, seriously. I feel like I’m a contestant on some really bad dating show. Even if I was interested in dating anyone—which I am not—I think I could put myself out there without your help.”
“You just seem like you need
an extra push, dear.” She removed her glasses and folded them, placing them on the side table. “If I seem overbearing, I apologize. Your happiness is my foremost concern.”
“I know, Mom,” she replied with a gentle nod. “This week has been like a whirlwind, though—I’ve barely had time to get my bearings. My life has changed a lot in a short amount of time. Besides,” she asked, laying a hand atop her mother’s, “what happens to you if I fall in love, marry, and move out? You’d be alone again.”
Alice smiled warmly. “You worry too much about me, dear, and not enough about yourself. We come from pretty sturdy stock, and we can manage to get through just about anything.” She dropped her free hand alongside the chair and returned holding a canvas bag. “I bought some supplies for you today, Taylor. I hope you won’t mind.”
Taylor took the bag hesitantly and rifled through the scraps of fabric, in variety of patterns, as well as heavy-duty thread, needles, and a few stencils and rhinestones. “Mom, I haven’t sewn in a very long time. How do you know I’m even capable anymore?”
“Some things you just don’t forget. Take my knitting for example. I hadn’t touched my needles in years, but then I picked up a skein of yarn today and instantly I was making a scarf. What colors does Chandler like?”
Taylor nearly choked on her own saliva. After she composed herself, she answered, “He always was a little showy—red and gold, maybe.”
“Good,” Alice replied. “I’d already started with the red. Everyone looks good in red, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Mom.” She smiled in resignation.
Following dinner, the two women sat together, reminiscing, creating, and enjoying each other’s company. Alice placed no demands upon her daughter, and Taylor found that her mother was right—she not only remembered exactly how to sew, stitch, and design, but that she also still relished it. She didn’t confirm her mother’s suspicions with words, but then again, she didn’t have to—and that was fine for both of them.
Chapter 9
“You get along okay without me?”
The question was more for her benefit than his—he knew Taylor did just fine by her lonesome. For better or worse, he was seeing her through new eyes. He’d come back to town with his mind clear, his thoughts purposefully discarded until he saw the whole picture. He wanted her, and not just as a part of his life—he wanted her to be his life. Problem was, he didn’t know how to do it the second time around. Taylor had changed in the intervening years, and he wondered if his assertiveness wasn’t more than a little off-putting. Pieces of her personality remained, unchanged, constant as the mountains in the distance, but she was far less naïve now. So was he. He’d lived enough, seen a good part of the world, and knew that love didn’t come quite as easy for him as his siblings. But he also craved that sense of permanence, of mutual need, of all-consuming love…and, from where he was sitting, only one woman could provide all of that.
The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) Page 8