The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

by Tommie Conrad

  ***

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Bryn looked at her youngest son with a raised eyebrow. He’d been packing all morning, folding shirts and jeans neatly, emptying his closet to the bare walls and piling things he’d outgrown in a separate box. He’d outgrown a lot—he was six-five, far taller than anyone in her family, or Chase’s, and three inches taller than his older brother. He was mature, physically and emotionally, but he was still her youngest, and he’d just been thrown for a loop.

  He looked up, gave her a terse smile, and went back to his work. “I talked to her till I was blue in the face. I begged her not to do this to us.” He groaned, pounded his right fist into his left palm. “You don’t know how different she’s been, Mom. Ever since her dad died, it’s like the wind left her sails. I know that was months ago, but it turned her whole world upside down. She adored him, and he doted on her. She loves her mom, but it’s just not the same. If we…I don’t know, maybe I could help her.”

  Bryn carefully considered her next statement. “Maybe this is for the best. The two of you won’t have to endure the struggles of a long-distance relationship.”

  “Maybe,” he scoffed.

  “Chandler?” He glanced up at her with those woeful blue eyes, and it felt like a sliver of glass raked across her heart. “It’s okay to cry.”

  He looked at her incredulously, with unbridled contempt. That stung her, too, but if he had to take out his pain and anger on someone, better her than himself. “I know,” he said miserably. “And I guess I should have seen this coming. We may never see each other again. I can’t see her coming back here. She’s lost too much.”

  “And what about you?” she asked hopefully.

  “I love it here, Mom, honestly. But there’s a big world out there to explore.” He smiled at her fondly. “We’ll see.”

  “Bryn?”

  She’d just wrested a dish from the oven and set it to cool alongside the rest of the meal. Chase placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. “Are you upset that Chandler and Taylor are dating?”

  “Not in the way you might think. She hurt him before.”

  “He got over it. Besides, she was hurting, too.”

  “What if it happens again?”

  “Then he’ll get over it. He’s a thick-skinned, grown boy, who doesn’t need the two of us for much of anything these days.” He smiled in acknowledgment of the situation. “To tell you the truth, he never really did. He was born with a headful of ideas, his own personality…”

  “…and enough humility to get through anything.”

  “Exactly.” He grinned at her. “Is humility the right word?”

  “Well, he was never shy, but never as outgoing as CJ. Hard to say.”

  “Mark said he was really happy. Taylor seems to be having a good effect on him.”

  “Chase Adams, ever the peacemaker. What would I do without you?”

  “Enjoy the peace and quiet?”

  “Cute.” A familiar light rap at the door prompted Chase to drop his hands and head toward it. Chandler dropped Taylor’s hand just long enough to pull his father into a hug.

  “Long time no see, Daddy,” he joshed.

  Chase laughed. “Good to see you, son. You look well.”

  “Blame her.” His eyes swept toward Taylor.

  “Welcome to our home, young lady. Come on in, you two.”

  She kissed Chase on the cheek. “Thank you for inviting us, sir. Your home is as beautiful as I remember it.”

  He chuckled. “And you can blame Bryn for that.”

  Chandler glanced around. “Is Mom still in the kitchen?”

  “She’s just pulling the main course from the oven. Why don’t you two wait in the living room and I’ll call on you when it’s ready.”

  Less than five minutes later they were seated around the table, just the four of them, taking in the aromas of yet another incredible meal.

  Chandler hummed contentedly; Taylor recognized it as a bedroom sound and grinned to herself. “What’s in this, Mom? Smells unbelievable.”

  Bryn smiled at his kind words. “A little honey, a lot of ketchup, and a few spices. Just a new recipe I’ve been perfecting.”

  “Miss Bryn?” Taylor said cautiously.

  Bryn shook her head. “You don’t have to be so formal, sweetheart. Just ‘Bryn’ is fine.”

  She nodded a bit nervously, wanting desperately for any residual animosity Chandler’s parents might have toward her to be eradicated. “Back in New York, your cookbooks were a Godsend. My mother didn’t pass her cooking skills onto me, although not for lack of trying. When I needed something extra-special for a reception at work or a baby shower, you were my go-to.”

  Bryn’s face warmed. “Thank you, Taylor. It means a lot to receive that kind of feedback. That’s why I keep doing what I do. Did you follow my blog as well?”

  “I did, and I promoted it to anyone who I knew would be interested.”

  Chandler laid a hand atop hers. “See? She’s a great salesperson.”

  Chase prompted his son to start eating and stop gabbing. “Dig in,” he said firmly, “and enjoy.”

  The meal went well, with Chase generally directing the conversation. Bryn yielded to him, mainly because she talked with Chandler on a more regular basis than he did, even if it was just a few minutes here and there on the phone, or a via brief emails. Chase had always preferred face-to-face interactions—not an easy thing now that Chandler spent most of his time in town. Without tearing Chandler prematurely away from his business venture, she ruminated that having him settle down, come back home to the ranch wouldn’t be such a bad thing—so long as it was what he wanted.

  After dinner Bryn asked Taylor to remain in the kitchen with her while she cleaned up, and Chase and Chandler ambled off toward the living room to talk, as Chase so eloquently put it, “man to man”. Taylor watched apprehensively as Bryn loaded the dishwasher.

  “Do you need any help, Bryn?”

  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and smiled at Taylor. “No, I’m okay. If it’s just Chase and me, I usually have leftovers—but not when Chandler’s under this roof.”

  “Do you miss cooking for a large family?”

  Bryn nodded. “Sometimes. There’s always the holidays, of course, to keep me busy. And some permutation of grandkids running around. They like my cooking, too, thankfully.”

  “You must be so proud of your children,” Taylor assumed. “They aren’t just family—they’re all friends.”

  Bryn started the dishwasher and joined her, both of them seated at the counter. “You are like me in that respect, Taylor—as only children we were always outsiders, a little different, had to learn to cope with our loneliness. I hope you don’t think me too forward, saying all of that.”

  “No,” Taylor answered, raising a hand in reassurance. “You’re right. A part of me envied their relationship. Christa and Alison were gone most of the time and the boys tightened up as a unit.”

  “That they did,” Bryn agreed. “And I used to worry they were doing something illegal, but they were never arrested, nor did they ever miss a day of work on the ranch.” Uneasy laughter passed between them. “Taylor?”

  “Yes?”

  “This may be too forward of me, as well, but are you and Chandler getting serious?”

  She nodded. “I think so. Look, I pushed him away with too much haste, and was too young and stupid to realize how happy he made me. In spite of what happened then, those mistakes that I regret, he forgave me easily. I love him for who he is now. I’m not simply holding onto a memory and hoping to build a future around it. I don’t know if it makes any sense but that’s how I feel.”

  “Your words, and your feelings, seem genuine,” Bryn replied evenly. “If I seem overbearing, it’s only because I want what’s best for my son.”

  “Believe me,” Taylor countered, “you are far from overbearing. Alison and Christa have been quick to take me under their wing, but I’
d like to spend more time getting reacquainted with you.”

  Bryn took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. “I’d like that, too.”

  ***

  Chandler finished reading the article and handed the magazine back to his father. “What do you think about that?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Dad. Something about their findings doesn’t jibe with me.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” He closed the periodical and laid it atop the coffee table. “It made your mom really happy, you coming out here tonight.”

  Chandler met his father’s blue eyes, found them indecipherable. “Why wouldn’t I have come?”

  “No reason in particular.” His face, lined with age and wisdom, relaxed. “I think she’s just worried you’ll forget about us old folks.”

  He gave his father a sidelong glance. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were putting pressure on me to move back home…like yesterday.”

  Chase clasped his hands together in self-reproach. “Sorry, son. That wasn’t my intention.” He smiled faintly at his youngest son. “You’ll find someday, when you have kids of your own, that it’s pretty difficult to turn off the parental-worry feature hardwired into your brain.”

  Chandler dipped his head toward the floor, feeling sentimental. “Call me mawkish, but I hope I’m just like you when I grow up.”

  Chase laughed, slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Just don’t let that happen too fast, okay?” Chandler nodded with a bright grin. Chase cleared his throat and took in a calming breath. “You and Taylor getting serious?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You answered pretty fast, son.”

  “I don’t know what else to say, Dad. It’s barely been two months but she brought that missing piece to my life. It feels like I could tell her anything, and she wouldn’t judge me. I don’t know.” He lowered his voice in pitch. “Sometimes I’m worried that I’m just her knight in shining armor, trying to rescue her, nurse her back to health like a wounded bird. Only she doesn’t need that. She just needs a man to treat her like she’s strong enough to overcome anything, because she is. She’s already proven that with no help from me.”

  Chase smiled with the knowledge of a man who’d been there himself. “Sometimes it’s enough just to make a woman smile. I know that sounds simple, maybe even trite, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Dad, how’d you get so smart?”

  “Just dumb luck,” he said with a self-effacing shrug. “But don’t tell your mom—she’ll start wanting me for something besides my body.”

  “Don’t worry,” he replied jokingly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  ***

  Taylor turned her head to the left, stared at Chandler’s face, illuminated by the soft interior lights of his truck. They were headed back to town, headlights cutting through the cold Wyoming night. “I’m worried that your mom dislikes me.”

  Chandler kept his eyes fixed on the road, replied to her adroitly. “You’re at somewhat of a disadvantage because Mom already had built-in affection for Alison and Mark. But I’m pretty sure she likes you. Besides, you’re the only girlfriend of mine that she’s ever met.”

  “Seriously? None of the others?”

  “Nope.” He afforded her a quick glance. “Like I told you before, I was rarely home in those days. Mom and Dad offered to come and see me, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t want them disrupting their lives.”

  “Or maybe,” she deduced, “you were afraid they’d beg you to come home?”

  “Maybe,” he echoed. His eyelashes flicked in the dim light. “Was it okay? The meal, I mean. Hanging out with my mom.”

  “It was great,” she said, her voice uneven. “Seriously, I enjoyed it. I just worried I was saying all of the wrong things.”

  Chandler twiddled his thumbs against the steering wheel. “It’s hard to say the wrong thing to my dad, unless you argue with him over the right kind of cattle feed. And my mom is easy, too, just damned protective of us kids. You could understand and appreciate that.”

  “Definitely.”

  “They like you,” Chandler promised. “And the more time they spend with you, they’ll grow to love you as much as I have.” Their eyes met in the dark. “Well, maybe not that much.”

  She gave him an easy grin, confident that he was right. If she messed things up again, she’d probably spend the rest of her life regretting it.

  Chapter 17

  Christa pulled the baking sheet from the oven and placed it atop a rack to cool. The baby monitor sat close by, and Matt was sleeping soundly in his crib. The other three children were playing in the living room, growing quieter as the smell of cookies became more prominent throughout the house. CJ and Alison were at a horse show, Mark and Chandler were out on the range, and she and Taylor were on kid duty for the day. She pulled out tubes of blue and yellow icing, set them aside for later.

  “These cookies smell amazing,” Taylor said, eyeing them hungrily. They were celestial shapes, stars and crescent moons. A pang of remembrance tugged at her insides.

  “They’re Max’s favorite,” Christa replied softly, breaking one of the uglier cookies in half and handing the larger piece to Taylor. “What did your son like?” she asked carefully.

  “My son?”

  “Yes, your son…”

  “Riley. His name was Riley.”

  Christa nodded, almost to herself. “I hope you don’t think me a horrible person for asking.”

  “I could never think of you like that.” Christa smiled in relief. “He was into all things space-related. Loved astronauts, rocket ships, and stars.”

  “Max likes those things, too. He’s also obsessed with being a cowboy, just like Little Chase. It’s in the blood.”

  Taylor finished the cookie-half and leaned back against the counter. “I had dreams of what he would be like when he grew up, even though I knew that would never happen.”

  “I was like that after Max’s accident. I had all of these fears and anxieties that he’d never achieve my dreams for him. I guess that was silly. I decided I just wanted him healthy, and now he is.”

  Taylor considered her next question for several moments before asking. “Does he still require brain scans?”

  Christa nodded in the affirmative. “But they’ve all been clean so far. Let’s hope they stay that way.” She smiled nervously. “I’m so worried about him learning to ride a horse.”

  “That’s mother’s instinct. I was worried about Riley learning how to walk, that he might fall down and bump his head.”

  “It makes you totally paranoid.”

  Taylor glanced around, saw three sets of eyes trained on the kitchen. She laughed silently. “You’re doing a great job, Christa. Seriously. And from what I’ve seen, you’re pretty great with other people’s kids.”

  Christa smiled warmly, in gratitude, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been thinking, someday, about staying at home. I love teaching, but I would also love to have another baby when Matt gets a little older.”

  “Have you talked about it with Mark?”

  “The baby part,” she hedged, “but not the stay-at-home part.”

  “The way I see it,” Taylor postulated, “you should pass those beautiful genes of yours onto as many children as possible.”

  Christa laughed, a light blush crossing her cheeks. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  A neat line of children, arranged oldest-to-youngest and train-like in its formation, padded toward the kitchen.

  “I guess that’s my cue to get to work,” Christa said, laughing under her breath. Little Chase looked up at her with those big blue eyes and smiled.

  “Aunt Christa?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “My stomach is talking to me.”

  Both women laughed. “And what does it say?”

  “It says ‘cookie time’.” She handed him a cookie, covered with blue icing and di
agonal yellow stripes. “Thank you,” he said, plopping the edge into his mouth.

  “You’re welcome. Sit down and eat it—no running through the house with food in your mouth.”

  Bree was next. “Could I have a yellow star with blue spots, please?” she asked politely.

  “Yes, you may.” Christa fixed it to her specifications and she said “thank you”, taking it with her and eating slowly.

  Taylor glanced at Max as he stood there, brown eyes luminous in the glow of the kitchen lamp. “Last man standing, huh?” she teased. He grinned.

  “Anything special you’d like done to your cookie, cowboy?” Christa asked with a judicious blend of motherly warmth and concern.

  Max laughed. “Make it ugly, Mommy.”

  “Ugly?” Her face quirked into a curious expression. “And why is that?”

  “It’s just going into my tummy. So don’t make it pretty.”

  “You’re a very pretty little boy,” Taylor said. Christa’s concentration was partly on her work now, but mainly on her son. Max crinkled up his nose but kept smiling.

  “Mommy says I’m handsome.”

  “You are that,” Christa assured him. “You’re the spitting image of Daddy.”

  “Daddy’s tall,” Max countered.

  “So he is.” Christa knelt down to eye level, tousled his hair and handed him the cookie. “Enjoy.”

  Max kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mommy.”

  “You’re welcome.” She watched every step he made before returning her focus to Taylor. “And what would you like on your cookie, Miss Holt?”

  “Ha-ha. Just a few spots of color for me. I’m watching my icing intake.”

  Christa was finishing Taylor’s request when Matt squealed into the baby monitor. “Duty calls,” she said happily. “Watch the others for me?”

  “Of course.” She nibbled on her cookie, watched Christa disappear into the bedroom, and headed for the couch. She found the children having a lively debate on whether or not spotted horses were better than plain ones.

  “If it has two spots on its forehead,” Little Chase conjectured, “it can run two times as fast.”