The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

by Tommie Conrad

  “That don’t make no sense,” Bree argued. “Spots make him pretty. A swishy tail makes him fast.”

  Max climbed onto the couch, eyes downcast. Taylor curled her arm around his shoulder and arm hesitantly, gauging his reaction, but he didn’t flinch. “What do you think?” she queried gently. “About the horse?”

  He shrugged, nibbling on the cookie for a silent minute before consenting to answer. “Pretty horses are the best. Speed don’t matter.”

  “You know what?” she said, looking at the three of them in turn. “I’ve never seen a horse I didn’t like.” They watched her, seemingly transfixed by the learned words coming from her mouth. “There are beautiful horses everywhere, in every corner of the world. Some are made for speed, and others for work; and some are just for play, for trail riding and having fun. I guess you three are the most familiar with cow horses and broncos. Make no mistake, though—they all have their purpose.”

  Having quieted Matt for the moment, Christa found the rest of the kids eating silently, reveling in Taylor’s gentle words. “How would you three like to watch a movie?” she asked to a small chorus of cheers. She turned on the television, well aware that she’d have three napping kids on her hands soon enough.

  Taylor followed her back to the kitchen and immediately overtook the cleanup duties. “Let me take care of this,” she offered commandingly. “You’ve done enough.”

  Christa acquiesced with a smile. “You seemed to have them well in hand while I was gone. I may bring you in as my teaching assistant.”

  Taylor shook her head dismissively as she bent down to load the dishwasher. “When you’ve got kids that sweet, it’s easy.”

  “Nonsense,” Christa answered. “I won’t argue with you that they’re great kids, but they also require an adept touch.”

  “I was trying to defuse one of those famous Adams-Jasper debates,” Taylor murmured, pulling her hair into a loose hold. “You know it is.”

  Christa laughed. “I do. Horses?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I once had that argument with Mark. Only in our case, it was a prelude to something else.” Her eyes brightened with a private memory. “Thank you, though.”

  “You’re welcome.” She inhaled deeply. “Wary as I was, I’m glad Chandler dragged me out here today.”

  Christa smiled, pulled her into a light hug before she went to check on the children. “Me too.”

  ***

  Several miles away, Mark and Chandler rode on either side of the herd, moving it south. The ranch hands galloped in formation with them, occasionally breaking off to round up strays. With spring coming on, they wouldn’t have to expend energy with putting out hay on a daily basis. The cattle balled and make a ruckus, as per usual, but Mark moved them with aplomb, nary a look of frustration or weariness crossing his face as he called out directives. Chandler even saw him smile once or twice. As they pusher closer to the bunkhouses, Mark hung back, motioned to Chandler with a nod of his head so he’d do the same.

  “Let’s rest the horses over by that stand of trees,” he suggested when they were alone, his eyes still fixed on the herd and its attendant cloud of dust. The hands knew what they were doing; he was merely the driving force, and didn’t have to worry about what might happen when he was out of sight. Chandler followed him to the low boughs of a spruce pine, where their horses began to nicker. Mark swung out of the saddle and fed his horse, Rowdy, the handful of oats that he kept in his pocket. “Thanks for coming out today,” he said appreciatively. He ran both hands gently over Rowdy’s head and mane.

  Chandler rested his arms atop the saddle, smiled at Mark. “It was no trouble. I always have time for this.” He laughed. “I wonder what people would say if I boarded Midnight in town and rode him up and down the streets?”

  Mark tipped back the brim of his hat and grinned. With a red handkerchief tied around his neck, he looked like an old-time bandit or marauder, but the healthy glow in his eyes betrayed such notions. “They’d probably say, ‘Oh, there goes Chandler Adams, biggest show-off around these here parts’.”

  “That sounds more like CJ than you,” Chandler surmised. “So what would you say?”

  “I’d say, ‘Look, there’s a man and his horse’.” They smiled at one another. “I know Christa’s really glad you brought Taylor out here with you today. And not just because she agreed to watch the kids.”

  Chandler looked his best friend smack dab in the eyes. “There’s something unspoken in there, Jasper. Spit it out.”

  Mark smiled, slightly humbled. “I was just trying to determine how serious you are about Taylor before you go and get the whole family attached to her.”

  “It’s only been a month,” Chandler reasoned in a quiet tone. “And to answer your articulated question, we’re pretty serious, bud. I love her.”

  Mark arched his eyebrow with pronounced hilarity. “Do you love her more than your horse?”

  “Yes,” Chandler replied. He rubbed Midnight’s shoulder. “A little bit, anyway.” Mark mounted his horse, gathered up the reins, and they settled their animals at an easy trot. “You know, if I was to get married, we wouldn’t have this free time to goof off.”

  Mark burst out laughing. “Free time, my ass. Besides, look at how long I’ve been married, and we still see each other on a pretty regular basis.”

  “You married my sister,” Chandler reminded him, as if he needed to. “So you’re kind of stuck with me now.”

  “Exactly the way I like it.”

  They rode wordlessly back to the barn, removed the horses’ tack and gave them a rubdown before returning them to their stalls for the night. Afterward they climbed into Mark’s truck and made their way toward his house.

  “Listen, Mark,” Chandler began, then fell silent.

  “I’m listening.”

  “This is really premature, but if I did ask Taylor to marry me, you’d be the first to know.”

  “Sounds good, bud. I could even help you pick out the ring.”

  Chandler laughed. “I’d be okay with that.” He looked toward the horizon, saw the cattle grazing.

  “You’re really happy, Chandler,” Mark conjectured. “I can see it all over your face.”

  “I am,” he agreed.

  ***

  “You’re sure you can’t stay for dinner?” Christa was tossing salad ingredients together, concern evident in her eyes. “There’s plenty to go around.”

  “I’m sure,” Taylor replied, “but I appreciate the offer. I imagine Chandler will be eager to get back to town.”

  Christa nodded before gathering plates to set the dinner table. “Just don’t turn him into a city slicker,” she teased. “We’d really have to pick on him then.”

  “I don’t think there’s any risk of that happening. He’s shown me his house so I know this ranch is a big part of his future.”

  Christa shoved the salad in the refrigerator and scrubbed her hands clean. “Isn’t it a great house? Did he show you the studio in the backyard? It’s empty right now but I’m sure someday it’ll be the place where he creates something beautiful.”

  Taylor responded with a bashful smile. “We didn’t have a chance to make it outside,” she said.

  “Oh.” Christa gave her a comprehending gaze. “Another time, then.” Taylor nodded. They were interrupted by noises outside. “I think I know who that is.” Mark and Chandler pushed through the front door momentarily, carrying a thread of laughter with them.

  Max, who had been dozing with a picture book ever since his cousins left, bounded off the couch and into his father’s waiting arms. “Hey there, champ. Did you save me any cookies?”

  The boy pretended to study his father’s question thoughtfully for a few moments. “One or two,” he said with a laugh. Mark smiled back at him, cookies the farthest thing from his mind as he kissed his son on the forehead. He sidled up to Christa and pressed his lips to hers.

  “And how is my beautiful wife?” he asked calmly.

 
“Better, now that you’re here.” Chandler didn’t greet Taylor with a kiss, but scooped her in his arms, held her back against his chest. He carried the aroma of the ranch, horses, hay, and pine. She leaned into him, felt his embrace grow tighter.

  “Did you miss me?” Chandler asked quietly. She rested the warm palm of her hand against his cheek.

  “A little bit.”

  Chapter 18

  “How many cowboys does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

  Alison asked her question with only the slightest touch of sarcasm. It was tempered mainly with happiness and humor. She, Christa, and Taylor stood together, watching the men work. The children were playing in Chandler’s living room, save for Matt, growing like the proverbial weed and resting in Christa’s arms. The appliances had been delivered, and on this Saturday they’d finally gotten around to pulling off the shrink wrap and shoving them into position. There’d been some professional supervision of range and dishwasher, and now Chandler, Mark, and CJ were figuring out the proper method to plug in the refrigerator without one of them being trapped behind the surrounding cabinets.

  “My money is on CJ throwing out the first four-letter word,” Christa joked. And had they been using actual currency, she would have won the bet exactly thirty seconds later.

  “What if we used one of the kids?” CJ said, rubbing his jaw.

  “Don’t even think about it, Junior,” Alison warned sternly as she pointed her finger at him.

  His green eyes twinkled as his gaze slid her way. “You’re not the boss of me, honey.” Mark and Chandler shared a funny look.

  “You willing to take bets on that, cowboy?”

  CJ raised his hands in surrender, grinning the whole time. “My apologies, sweetheart. But do you have a better idea?”

  “Watch and learn, boys,” Alison said, crossing the room.

  “Don’t let the sparring fool you,” Christa said in a whisper. “CJ and Alison, they’re always like that.”

  Taylor nodded. “There was no trace of malice in either his eyes or his voice.”

  “Exactly. They challenge each other—at the end of the day, it keeps their marriage strong.”

  The men watched, dumbfounded, as Alison snaked her hand behind the refrigerator and completed the task that had befuddled them for ten minutes.

  “And that, boys, is how it’s done,” she said, rubbing fake dirt from her hands as the refrigerator hummed to life.

  “Sis, if you don’t mind my asking,” Mark said pointedly, “how in the hell did you do that?”

  “Very simple, brother of mine—I memorized the location of the outlet, where it was positioned on the wall. It allowed me to work blind.” She shot Christa a quick glance. “I’m going to check on the kids.” CJ watched her go while Chandler and Mark shoved the appliance into its new home.

  “So what’s your secret?” Taylor asked carefully. “What keeps you and Mark together?”

  Christa readjusted Matt in her arms, heard his soft, happy gurgle. “We encourage each other to be the best we can be—but the real secret is that we’re happy as-is. I don’t want him to change who he is on that fundamental level. There are distinct reasons we fell in love, and only when there’s a shift from those basic tenets does conflict occur.” She angled her head toward Taylor and smiled. “I’m happy to say we’ve been conflict-free for months. Not saying it’ll never happen again, but I’d like to think we’re in a healthy place.” She gave a slight shrug. “Don’t feel the need to emulate any of us, though. Our marriages, our relationships, have their own unique characteristics. You know how it is.”

  “I do.” She watched as Chandler walked toward them, his blue eyes fixed on her like she was the center of the universe. And for him, maybe she was. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

  “She wasn’t telling you any embarrassing stories, was she?”

  Christa smirked just a tad. “She’s already seen the pictures of you wearing a diaper with your baby Stetson. I can’t think of anything more humiliating off the top of my head.”

  “I know a few embarrassing ones,” CJ offered, “but I’m saving them until he makes an honest woman out of you.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m sure Mark has a ton of ‘em in his head.”

  Something instinctual passed between Mark and Christa, and he removed the baby from her tired arms and held the sleeping bundle against his chest. “I do, but Chandler knows an equal number of them about me. That’s why I’m taking them to the grave.”

  “You guys are no fun,” CJ rejoined, a twinkle in his eye. Chandler gave Taylor a reticent look.

  “I’m going to take my girlfriend outside and show her around,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on hers. “Think you’ll be okay without me?”

  “We’ll manage, bud.” Mark smiled at him warmly. “Try not to get lost, you two.”

  ***

  Chandler pulled the ring of keys from his pocket, searched for the right one to open the double doors. The lock was brand-new and opened with a satisfying click. He ushered Taylor inside, placing his hand at the small of her back, and closed the door behind them.

  Every wall was lined with windows, their panes generously covered in a few years’ worth of dust and dirt. The walls were a faded white, discolored, but the paint had yet to chip. The hardwood of the floor squeaked under their footsteps, ancient nails bending and flexing as boards shifted. The entire space was fresh of any furniture; it could have been used for any number of purposes, but Chandler’s was already in place.

  “I was thinking about putting some long tables in over here, to store supplies, especially since this wall just looks back onto the house.” He crossed the room in a few strides—not hard for someone of his height—and the excitement was readily apparent on his face. “And over here I could set up my easel, though the mountains might distract me.” He turned toward her, hands on his hips, and smiled. “What do you think?”

  Milky light filtered in, giving her beauty a raw, haunted quality. “I think it all sounds wonderful. And you look very happy. Happy always looks good on you, cowboy.”

  He stared at her for a charged moment. “Maybe this’ll be your space, too,” he finally declared.

  “My space?” He found her so beautiful in that moment, in the space where he planned to spend the next fifty years or so creating, that even the inflection of her voice turned him on. Her green eyes wavered briefly from his gaze, as though she was taking a cursory glance at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Then she returned those emerald irises to him and smiled again. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course!” he said with a pronounced nod. He crossed the room and clasped her hands, holding them in the space between as they stood face-to-face. “We’ll have to wash the windows, of course,” he said with a sheepish grin, “and we can sit here while the sun streams in. I’ll write poems while you sew those amazing bags, or you can paint or draw, and I’ll just watch you.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, “the two of us painting together. I’d never be as good as you, but the company would be worth all of the practice.”

  He pulled his face to hers, kissed her jawbone and earlobe. “Us artistic types can be temperamental,” he warned softly. “Just as a point of reference.” He met her eyes again.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of you, Chandler. Even when times got rough between us, you were always…”

  “Calm,” he contributed. “Collected.”

  “Yes. I mean, don’t you ever get so mad that you just want to scream? Throw things? Slam your first through a wall?”

  “That’s not me,” he replied in a low voice. He couldn’t figure out if she was testing him, or simply trying to get inside his head. “I’m pretty uncomplicated. I love my family, I love this ranch, I love my career, and I love you. I’m not great at romance, but I’m trying.”

  Taylor arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re also modest to the point of absurdity.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”


  He frowned comically. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I guess I’m still trying to figure this whole thing out.” He brushed the hair away from her ear, and trailed his fingers along an imaginary line toward the nape of her neck. “And I worry sometimes that I’m moving too fast.”

  Chandler watched her face register worry and unhappiness. “You’re not trying to let me down easy, are you?”

  He shook his head and watched her breathe a sigh of relief. “No, honey. That’s the furthest thing from my mind. But if you ever feel like I’m pushing you, like we need to cool it…I hope you’ll let me know.”

  “Button-ripping aside, you’ve been a perfect gentleman,” she said, her eyes alight with humor.

  They shared a brief laugh, one that echoed through the vast, hollow space around them. “I’m still finding those damned things in the couch cushions.” His mouth drew close to hers.

  “They’re like souvenirs, then.” He nibbled at her lips and felt the tingle in his bones. Shame they weren’t alone, he thought.

  “Maybe I’ll use them in a collage.”

  She laughed between kisses. “Sounds existential.”

  His hand rested lovingly on her hip. “More like reverential.” He sighed when the tip of her tongue skated along the inside of his lower lip. “Dammit, we have to head back inside.”

  “I know,” she said. “Later, though.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, taking in sharp breaths.

  ***

  That weekend, they went to the old dancehall in town and invited Mark and Christa to join them. Taylor had quickly developed a deep affection for them, admiring the easy way they seemed to coexist, how they shared a look or a touch, or snippets of their days. She loved Chandler, but wondered if she’d ever be able to feel something like that. Maybe she’d had it with Liam, but probably not. It was hard to imagine she could have loved on a higher plane, giving freely of herself before throwing it away.

  They were seated at the end of a long table, couples facing one another. Christa leaned in so her voice could be heard over the live band. She rested one hand on Mark’s shoulder and the other between his shoulder blades. “Thank you so much for asking us to come along tonight.” She smiled. “Mark hasn’t taken me dancing in ages.”