The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

by Tommie Conrad

  “We’ll have to do it more often.”

  His eyes sparkled with happiness. “Someday we’ll come up here at sunrise, when the sky is so beautiful that it hurts your eyes.”

  “Okay,” she said with a quick nod. “You didn’t have to work hard to sell me on that one.”

  “I hope it’ll always be that easy.”

  “What?” She gave him a puzzled look.

  His hands flattened against her back; he could literally feel her breathing, her lungs expanding and contracting beneath the skin and layers of clothing. “One of these days I’m going to ask you an important question, and I don’t want it to be hard for you to answer.”

  Her face lifted in awareness but before she could utter another word, he’d torn himself away from her and gone to stare at the horizon. She pressed herself to his back, pushing her arms beneath his and clasping her hands over his heart. It was beating steadily, the rhythm of life easily detectable. “I love you,” she said in a near-whisper.

  He angled his head just enough for her to see the trace of a smile on his lips. “I love you, too. Always.”

  The land rolled before them endlessly, like a series of waves in the ocean. Each line of hills seemed to reflect a different color in the sunlight—some a bright, verdant green, others a misty blue, and a few that even looked to be the color of slate. If she looked hard enough, Taylor also saw her future visible amongst the shadows and light.

  “Ready to ride, ma’am?”

  “Sure am, partner.” They laughed, the sound vibrating from deep inside their chests. He helped her back atop her horse and they rode down, taking the long way. He pointed out the occasional landmark and she would follow his gaze, taking it all in. It had absolutely been worth it, this trip. She could get back into the habit of a daily ride, if it meant more of these quiet moments with Chandler.

  “Chandler?”

  “Yeah? Easy, boy. Take it easy.” Midnight veered from the path, nearly stumbling on a rock the size of a canteen. He guided the horse’s reins with the calm and skill that was part inborn, part honed over years of study. “Sorry about that, T.”

  “No worries. Anyway, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Something I want you to do.” He pulled his horse to a halt and she followed. “I’ve been kind of anxious about it.”

  He pushed up the brim of his hat and gave her an easy smile. “I’d do anything for you. You should know that by now.”

  Taylor nodded, but the movement of her head was more tenuous than self-assured. “I know. Sometimes I forget that it’s not just me anymore. There’s another person’s feelings to consider.”

  He let the reins go slack and rested his elbows atop the saddle. “I’m a pretty tough cowpoke. I can handle it.”

  He listened to her request without speaking, and only nodded when he felt she expected it. He could feel her pain in his chest, in his veins, all the way down to his bones. No matter how much she tried to grit it out, there would always be a part of her missing, an empty place in her heart. He told her what he knew she needed to hear, not sugar-coating or prevaricating in any way. After a while they rode back to the barn, and she watched him put the horses and their tack away before he drove her back to town, to his apartment. They didn’t make love, no matter how great the temptation might’ve been. He held her in his arms, his chin rested atop her head, and watched the sun go down.

  ***

  The crinkling of plastic was the only sound either of them made, and that was unintentional. He held the gate for her, its ancient hinges creaking, and followed her inside. Her goal had been to get to the cemetery early that Memorial Day, and they’d succeeded. The grass was still dewy, slicking up the toes of their boots. There were markers of all shapes and sizes, varying ages and materials, reflective of a cemetery that had been well-used through the years but had yet to fill up. Small American flags, placed to commemorate veterans, fluttered in the light breeze. It was a place of great reverence, tinged with memories of sorrow. Chandler’s recollections of this place were certainly not happy ones.

  He followed in her footsteps to the area where the Holts were buried. Joseph was interred under a double stone, with space enough for Alice at a date, Taylor hoped, would come far in the future. She unwrapped the pink carnations in her arms and placed them in a built-in vase, arranging the bulbs to please her own eye. She stood up straight and sighed.

  “Would you like to be alone?” Chandler asked quietly.

  “No,” she answered quickly. She took the other flowers from his arms, also pink carnations, and placed them atop Riley’s stone. It was a flat marker, standing slightly proud of the ground and to the left of her parents’ stone. Chandler swallowed hard—there was something so wrong, so unjust about the three short years separated by that chiseled dash.

  Taylor went inside her own head for a few minutes, sending silent pleas to each of them, then asking God to continue His watch over everyone, that they might continue to understand and accept His will. She glanced at Chandler briefly, saw the tears that stained his cheeks, iridescent as they left his blue eyes. She reached up and thumbed a few of them away.

  “It’s weird,” he said, clearing away the thickness in his throat. “I lived your father’s death right along with you. It still stirs up a lot of emotion.” He gave her a tense smile. “I’m sorry I never had the chance to meet your son.”

  She rested her hands atop his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft and warm to the touch. “I’m sorry they never had a chance to meet, at least here on Earth. I like to think they’re together, you know.”

  “I know. We could all use a guardian angel here and there.”

  She rose up and kissed him softly. “Thank you for coming,” she said afterward. “It meant a lot to me.”

  Chandler nodded solemnly. “Anytime you wanna come back—anytime at all—don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be right here, by your side.”

  Chapter 20

  The next morning started with a flurry of activity. He’d asked Taylor to come in late, intuition telling him that she could use a little more time with Alice even if she tried to convince him otherwise. He went to work early, taking down every canvas until the walls were blank. Then he worked to rearrange the paintings, allowing light to catch on different images, highlighting some pieces for the very first time. Even though he had years of experience with a paintbrush, he was reluctant to admit he was still a novice at staging his finished art. He was washing the windows—over-washing, really—when Scott strode into the space.

  “I didn’t know if you were open or not, kid, so I took a chance.”

  Chandler dropped what he was doing, smiled, and shook Scott’s hand. “My door is always open for you, sir. How can I help you this fine morning?”

  “Well,” he said, a little more cautiously than usual, “I have good news and bad news. Good news is I’m headed to Texas for a lengthy assignment. I may be gone up to a year, photographing this and that. Bad news is I’m gonna miss all the good stuff around here—4 of July with your family, the annual campout, even the Labor Day Rodeo.”

  Chandler laughed. “I’d wager the bad news is worse than the good, but I know how much you love your work.”

  “I do that,” he agreed.

  “Do you have someone to take care of your ranch while you’re gone?”

  Scott nodded. “Sure do. And I told your father already so I know I can count on all of you to check in from time to time. Just do me a favor and check on Dad, too. He’s no spring chicken and, well, I don’t have to tell you that I worry about him even though he’s more or less retired from the feed store.”

  “You can count on me, Scott.” They shook hands again. “Take some shots for yourself while you’re down there. Maybe I’ll hang them up here when you come back.”

  He smiled at Chandler. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” Scott gave him a once-over. “I can’t believe how fast all of you grew up. It’s crazy.”

  Chandler nodded in agreement. “I still can’t beli
eve I’m an uncle. Now that’s crazy.”

  “But in a good way,” Scott surmised.

  “Definitely.”

  Scott looked toward the door. “My flight is leaving soon. Listen, if you decide to get married before I come back…”

  “I’ll find some way to let you know.”

  “Thanks. Well, see you when I get back, and good luck with everything.” He turned to go and Chandler watched with admiration.

  “Have a safe flight, Scott, and Godspeed.” Scott waved him goodbye through the window, and Chandler sighed. He found himself thinking about Scott’s solitary lifestyle, how he’d never gotten serious with a woman, passing into middle age unmarried and childless. He hoped that wouldn’t happen to him, although he was still had his entire life ahead of him. He turned from the completed window and went back to his work. He was getting ready to rehang the final painting when his grandmother strolled into the shop. She was moving slower these days but didn’t carry the outward appearance of anything less than good health. He pulled her into a gentle hug and left a kiss on her cheek. “What brings you in here today, ma’am?” he asked as though she was any other customer.

  Christina laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I have a special request for you, if you’re up to it.”

  “Name it,” he replied quickly. “I’m all ears.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “Your grandfather and I would like to donate something for the auction, the one benefitting our scholarship.” John and Christina Collins had been involved, for many years now, in a scholarship fund for high school seniors. It was a need-based grant that provided funding throughout four years of study. The only requirement was an essay—students from all fields of study were considered. “We were hoping you’d do a painting for us.”

  “I’d be happy to, Grandma. What’s the timeframe on this?”

  “The auction will be held in early September.”

  “That’s doable,” he replied. “Subject matter?”

  “Anything you’d like,” she answered. “Maybe something hopeful, though. Something that showcases the wonders of nature or life or simply something beautiful. Maybe even all of the above, if you can swing it.”

  He winked at her. “I’m your man,” he teased. “I’ll get to work on it ASAP.”

  “Thank you so much, sweetheart.” He kissed her on the cheek and they said their goodbyes. He hung the last painting and was making some notes at the front desk when Taylor arrived.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “I fixed breakfast and cleaned up afterward, and I lost track of time.”

  He pulled her into his arms, placed his lips atop the pulse in her neck. “I told you come in late, remember?” His mouth moved to hers. “I’ve been plenty busy this morning.”

  She stared at him, tracing the sharp line of his cheek and jaw with her eyes. “Good. I’d hate to think you were alone. This place looks different, by the way.”

  “I rearranged some things,” he explained. “Keeps the customers on their toes.”

  “And me, for that matter,” she teased.

  “Don’t want you on your toes,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes. “Unless we’re in the shower.”

  She ran her thumb along his eyebrow. “Brute.” Then she laughed heartily at what he’d said. He was the kindest person she’d ever known, and she silently willed him to always look at her with such adoration, such want and need. Was she foolish to want a lifetime of this?

  “Have I told you today how beautiful you are?” His finger lifted her chin upward.

  “Not today, cowboy.”

  “You’re beautiful.” His lips met hers.

  No, she thought. Not foolish at all.

  ***

  Taylor pulled off her sunglasses and laid them aside. She closed her eyes and felt the sun’s warmth seep through the lids, filling her with a contentment and peace. Yards away, Chandler was swimming like a seal in the ranch’s secluded swimming hole, shrouded on every side by stands of trees. She heard him turn over and splash in the water, liquid sluicing off him like he was a duck. It wasn’t fair, she thought amusedly, for a man to have been born with a talent for art and swimming. There was no pool on the ranch—if a person wanted to swim, this was their only option.

  She heard him emerge from the water and grab a towel to dry off. She opened her eyes long enough to see his own make a sweep of her body, the towel slung over his shoulders.

  “You look damned good,” he drawled. “Might I interest you in a swim?”

  She shot him a rueful glance. “Maybe later. I still can’t believe you got me in a bathing suit.” His wet fingers grazed her bare stomach. “A two-piece, at that.”

  He smiled without parting his lips. “The human body is nothing to be ashamed of. Especially for you, sweetheart.”

  She stared at the well-defined contours of his arms. “I’ve hardly had time to get fat since we’ve been dating. Being your girlfriend is quite the workout.”

  His hand found her inner thigh. “Horseback riding is great for the calf muscles,” he said from the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh, I’d agree,” she replied. “Especially once the soreness stops.”

  Chandler rolled over onto his stomach and stared in her eyes. “I massaged them.” His hand trailed up her chest, brushing the bottom of her breast through the fabric. “And then some.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Why is it I think you had more than swimming on your mind when you brought me out here today?”

  “Did I?” His fingers slipped under the fabric, against the peak of her breast. “I just wanted to work on my tan.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Everyone is off the ranch today except for the hands, and they’re miles away.”

  Chandler was the only man she’d ever made love to alfresco, and if he wanted to repeat the experience, she was game. With his short, wet hair and beads of water dripping down his neck, somehow she found him more enticing than usual. Or maybe it was the heat. For early June weather, this was pretty nice.

  She pulled his face to her mouth and he rolled atop her, his wet skin clinging to hers. His kisses were tender and skillful as he made achingly slow work of her top, unfastening the catch and sliding it over her shoulders. He left a trail of wetness, his mouth gliding over her chin, neck, and collarbone. He kissed her along the sternum, making small movements with his lips. Her skin tasted of heat and fresh air, the sun casting shadows of tree branches and their leaves on her, strange silhouettes forming on her face and body. He took the hard peak of one breast in his mouth, exciting it with his lips and teeth before moving to the next one and repeating the exquisite torture. He could feel her body twist beneath him, his fingers chasing gooseflesh over his skin as she slid them through his golden hair.

  He pushed off the rest of her bathing suit, admiring her naked form with his eyes and hands. The heel of his palm slid between her legs; she arched her body in pleasant surprise. His fingers slid into her slowly, his thumb rubbing and stroking. She moved her hips upward against his hand instinctually, powerless to stop what was unfurling between them. He clamped his lips passionately over hers, gathering her soft whimpers inside his own mouth. He had only meant to tease her, an enticement before the show, but the orgasm unspooled before either of them had time to react. She gripped his back, trembling with release, and went limp and replete beneath him. He held himself above her but she could hear his labored breathing alongside her face.

  “Chandler…”

  “I know,” he whispered. He struggled out of his trunks until he was naked above her. She opened to accommodate him and he slid into her with one powerful thrust. He burned inside her, atop her, all around her like hot iron, the hard heat ready to melt and reform something else in her grasp. She could feel him sliding deeper into her with each thrust, his hips in concert with hers, their bodies molding together with each passing moment. She moaned her pleasure, not giving a damn who or what might have been nearby. Time stood still, hi
s heavy breathing the only other sound in the world, until the madness stopped, his body shuddering with release.

  He felt her second climax, her body breaking along with his into a thousand beautiful pieces. He shut his eyes so tight they hurt, water seeping from beneath the lids as he gasped his release. He struggled to clear his vision, found her face. He pulsed inside her, felt her hum against him, the aftershocks like volts of electrically-charged ecstasy. Were they still alive? His body felt like it had liquefied. Maybe that was just the warmth between them, pooled at their hips, radiating outward across her breasts and his limbs. When his thumb flicked her nipple, sensation washed through each of them again. The sun’s warmth on his bare flesh was nothing compared to the heat her touch was sending through his veins at that moment. When he withdrew from her, he felt her fingers slide downward, over his stomach, between his hips. The world spun upside down, the ground suddenly above him and the sky beneath, with Taylor the only thing to keep him from falling headlong into nothingness. The only way to right it again, he knew, would be an entire afternoon of this—or maybe a lifetime.

  ***

  Taylor awoke slowly, saw the curtains blowing in the open windows. She was in Chandler’s bedroom, at his house, and it was Sunday. She’d lost track of time—yesterday had been spent wearing very little clothing, sunning and doing other, more pleasurable activities, at the swimming hole. Afterward, when they became aware either of the creeping darkness or their own hunger, they’d driven back to his house. Sometime following dinner he’d chased her up the curved staircase and undressed her by moonlight. The evening turned hazy after that, and she had no clue when either of them had finally gotten to sleep. She gaze the room a cursory glance—aside from the bed and a nightstand, there was no furniture. There was also no Chandler. Her clothes were God knows where, but she saw his shirt lying in the corner. She sat upright—where the hell were his jeans? Her jeans? She climbed from the bed, buttoned his shirt across her chest, and checked the bathroom. No one there. Still no sign of their clothes.