The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

by Tommie Conrad

  Alice looked at her proudly. “I’ll take that wager. Loser has to bake cookies for the next church sale. Three hundred of them.”

  Taylor pointed an index finger at her mother. “You’re on.” Their focus drifted away from each other and toward the television. Some mothers and daughters related over scrapbooking, recipes, even heirlooms or jewelry. They’d done all of that, but as something of a tomboy, Taylor found it easier now to bond with her mother over a television program, something they could enjoy, dissect, and discuss without conflict. “Wow,” she said a few minutes later. “I haven’t seen trumpets on this show since Marshall and Jeanne had their wedding on the Queen Mary.”

  “Now that was a wedding,” Alice replied. “Still my favorite, after all these years.”

  Taylor thought back to her own wedding, a small, casual affair. Liam had donned a tuxedo, and she’d been in the requisite white dress, but the wedding party and guest list had totaled no more than ten persons. Her mother had been her only guest; she didn’t even bother with a maid of honor. All in all, it had been perfect, as had the marriage, up until the day it wasn’t. She found herself wondering, quite unexpectedly, about Liam, how he was managing, if his life was free of fears and sorrows. She hadn’t spoken to him since January, when she’d called to let him know she’d made it home safely.

  The wedding festivities proceeded, in between several commercial breaks. It took place outdoors, in the courtyard behind an ancient church, its massive stained-glass window providing a stunning backdrop. The audience was filled with friends and foes, the camera panning to capture various characters’ reaction shots. Blade stood at sentinel with his best man, waiting for Raven to emerge—and emerge she did, in the largest amount of white fabric Taylor had ever seen. The dress covered her from head to toe, her face barely visible beneath the veil. When she arrived at the altar and took Blade’s hands, her train stretched all the way to the end of the row of chairs. Just as Taylor and Alice had suspected, Mitch was right there in the audience with Raven’s sister clutching his arm. The two women looked away from the screen long enough to cast a glance at one another.

  The minister spoke his piece, Blade and Taylor recited their lengthy, self-written vows, and the minister uttered those famous last words. They’d no sooner left his mouth than Mitch stood and clutched his arm, his face contorted in pain.

  “Oh, hell,” Taylor said before she could stop herself. “Where’s Dr. Hayes?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Alice responded. “Mitch pushed him down a flight of stairs last year at Thanksgiving. Now he’s living in the Himalayas with amnesia, performing medical checkups on children in the local village.”

  “He can’t remember his name, but he recalls, in detail, all of his medical training?”

  “Apparently,” her mother replied amusedly. They watched the episode come to an end, freeze-framing on a heartbroken Blade as an anxious Raven rushed to Mitch’s lifeless body. The announcer kindly asked that they tune in tomorrow for another full hour, and the credits rolled.

  “I predict major drama between the two sisters,” Taylor surmised. She was interrupted from further conjecture by the ringing of the phone. “I’ll get that,” she offered quickly, leaping to her feet and heading toward the kitchen. She picked up the receiver and issued a bright hello to the person on the other end.

  “Taylor?” Christa’s soft, friendly voice came in reply. “My brother said you weren’t feeling well and I wasn’t sure if I should inconvenience you.” A beat passed. “I apologize if I’ve bothered you.”

  “You haven’t,” Taylor replied honestly, twisting the phone cord around her finger. “I was just resting and trying to get myself back in order.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I was simply wondering if you’d like to come with us to the lake house this weekend. I already asked Chandler but he didn’t want to answer for you. It’ll be Mark and I, and we’re bringing the boys along, of course, so if you’d rather not be trapped under the same roof as a crying baby, I’ll completely understand.”

  “I’ll check in to make sure my mom won’t need me for something, but I’m sure she won’t. I’d love to come.” It may not have been the most ideal circumstance for intimacy, sexual or otherwise, but she also figured they could be a buffer between her and Chandler if things grew tense. He and Mark hadn’t spent much time together lately; this family weekend would be good for all of them. Going out of town with them for a relaxing weekend seemed like the perfect idea.

  “That’s great,” Christa said, relief obvious in her tone. “I’m sure we’ll talk again beforehand, but the plan is to pick you up Friday after work and drive up there. Just bring yourself and some clothes. Mark and I will take care of the rest.”

  Taylor nodded to herself. “Thank you again for the invite. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

  “Sounds good.” A distinct howl of “Mommy” came from the background, and Taylor’s throat constricted. “I have to go,” she apologized. “My favorite job never stops. Goodbye, Taylor.”

  “Goodbye,” she said, hanging up the receiver. She leaned against the wall and stared absently into space. Momentarily Alice appeared in the room, heading for the refrigerator.

  “Anyone important?” she asked with concern.

  Taylor nodded. “Christa wants Chandler and me at the lake house this weekend. Will you be okay if head out of town?”

  Alice poured some iced tea into a Mason jar. “Of course,” she quickly responded. “Go have a good time and work on your tan lines.”

  She smiled guiltily. “I don’t have any of those.”

  Her mother responded with a thoughtful grin. “When I was your age, neither did I.”

  ***

  “Are you a good swimmer?” The question fell effortlessly from his mouth; he could just as easily have been asking if she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.

  She stared out across the shimmering water, the subtle breeze forming infinitesimal waves. “I’m fair.”

  “Me too.”

  “Please. I’ve seen you swim before, and you’re more than fair.” A small laugh escaped her lips. “It’s a shame our high school doesn’t have a swim team. You’d be the star.”

  He shot her a mischievous grin as their legs dangled off the pier. “How would you like to have a race?” He extended his tanned right arm toward the horizon. “From that tree over there and back to the dock.”

  “Chandler, your arms and legs are, like, twice as long as mine. It’d hardly be a fair fight.”

  “Come on,” he said with a wink. “I’ll even give you a head start.” When he ducked his head like that and looked at you—right through you—with those piercing blue eyes, she imagined him having no trouble selling ice water to the Devil. Then he pressed his lips gently to hers and the pitch was complete.

  “Okay,” she replied, upping the ante. “Fastest two circuits there and back—no heads starts. I want it to be a fair fight.”

  “Deal,” he said, shaking her hand. The sensation of their fingers clasping bordered on overstimulation on that point, but she couldn’t focus on that right now. She had a race to win.

  Taylor drifted back to the present day, glancing around the spacious interior of the truck. Mark and Christa were in the front, with Matt snoozing happily in his secured safety seat. His nose and lips fluttered intermittently, the only clue to what might have been going on in his small mind. She and Chandler were in the back, with Max safeguarded in his own seat between the two of them. He’d fallen asleep, too, a hardboard picture book resting in his lap. The two men were discussing something about cattle and cutting enough hay to last through the winter. Christa didn’t participate in the conversation—she kept a watchful eye on her two sons but otherwise remained quiet.

  She stared out the side glass. It was nearly summer, each day lengthening until they reached the solstice. It would still be light outside when they reached the lake, the house undoubtedly shadowed in the last vestiges of the sun’s glow. All of he
r memories up there had been good ones, and she hoped history would repeat itself this weekend.

  Mark’s voice startled her. “Taylor, remember the last time we were all up here?”

  “I do,” she said emphatically. How could he have known what was bouncing around inside her mind?

  “You beat Chandler across the lake and he pouted for a week.”

  “I’ve never pouted in my life,” Chandler said, his contradiction gentle. Christa scoffed wordlessly. “I got a cramp that day. I should’ve stretched before I dove headfirst into the water.” His eyes met Taylor’s. “At any rate, there was never another person I enjoyed swimming with more than you.”

  “Pardon us while we gag,” Mark joked. He and Christa stuck fingers in their mouths but refrained from the accompanying noise. Brief laughter then spilled out between the four of them, kept purposefully quiet for the kids’ sake.

  They arrived at the house, with plenty of light still left outside. Chandler and Mark carried the luggage inside without hesitation, while Taylor volunteered to carry Max upstairs. Christa accepted gratefully and Taylor followed her up to the nursery. She nestled both children into their blankets and kissed them before she proceeded to unpack their clothes.

  “Thank you again for your help,” she said, refolding impossibly small shirts and placing them in a drawer. “I can manage both of them—luckily I have strong arms—but it’s nice to have a helping hand.”

  “Of course,” Taylor said, wishing she could bottle Christa’s unflappable poise and use some of it on herself. “Could I ask you a personal question?”

  “You can.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Christa smiled and nodded. “Absolutely. Anything is fair game.”

  Taylor exhaled a cleansing breath and spoke in a hushed tone. “Did you pack a bathing suit?”

  Her face softened in relief. “Is that it?” She smiled warmly. “I did pack a bathing suit, but I may not have the chance to wear it. What about you?”

  “I did,” she confirmed, “and Chandler has seen me in—and out—of it already. I don’t know. I mean, are you ever uncomfortable about your body, having gone through childbirth?”

  “Daily. But,” she continued in a lower voice, “Mark absolutely thinks I look better now than I did before the kids were born. Go figure. It may have something to do with him planting the proverbial seed; anyway, he never misses a chance to tell me I’m beautiful.” She gave Taylor a look of concern. “Is it hard for you, thinking of yourself as a mother but not having your child with you? It must be wrenching at times.”

  Taylor nodded solemnly. “It’s just a thing,” she said. “It’s part of the fabric of my life. I have the photos and mementos, the memories, the physical proof that he altered my body, but I don’t have him. I’ve enjoyed being around your kids, though, and Alison’s—it reminded me of what I loved about being a mother. It makes me want to try again.”

  Christa’s eyes widened. “Oh. I guess I’ll have to keep up the hints.”

  “Hints?”

  She blushed, undoubtedly embarrassed by her slip. “I’ve been telling Chandler, whenever we have an extra second of sibling time, that he should take the next step.”

  Taylor bristled at the insinuation. “Don’t pressure him. I know he’s committed to me.”

  “That’s the strange dichotomy of Chandler,” Christa surmised, reaching to adjust Matt’s blanket with an indescribably small movement of her fingers. “Of the three of us, he’s the most level-headed and practical. Physically he can do anything—Dad taught him how to do everything from delivering a calf to breaking a horse, and he took to it like a duck to water.” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “And yet he’s also the most emotional. CJ loves to whoop and holler, and I’ve been known to cry from time to time. Chandler, though—he feels everything to the bone,” she finished, her voice taking on a worried tone. “I think you have both the patience and the resilience to love him. He can be a hard case at times.”

  “So can I,” Taylor admitted with a shrug. Christa nodded understandingly.

  “Are you ready to eat?”

  “I am. Is Mark cooking?”

  “No,” Christa reassured her, “and you should count yourself lucky. He was born to do a lot of things, and do them well, but that’s not one of them.”

  ***

  Taylor turned her head to the side and laid it atop his chest. She felt the rhythmic beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, beneath the hard delineation of muscle. His fingers plaited her hair, the tips brushing her neck and back. She trembled at the slightest touch, the nearness of him.

  “I’m a little embarrassed,” she said in a soft voice.

  He chuckled, the sound echoing through his ribcage and into her ear. “Why?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Well, we just made love in a house full of people.”

  His fingertips danced along her spine, sending a frisson of heat through each of them. “Believe me, Mark and Christa were doing the exact same thing at the other end of the hallway. This place has that effect on people—makes them want to get romantic.”

  She smiled at his understatement and turned her head in the opposite direction. Through the panes of the French doors, past the deck, she could see the sliver of moonlight reflected on the lake, its water black as obsidian around the white fragment. The water was still and immobile, as though it had been turned into a solid surface. He was right, as usual—this place was full of magic. She turned her face toward him and placed a kiss atop his chest. She found his eyes in the darkness, noticed them upturned in the corners—he was smiling.

  “You’re always right, you know,” she said sardonically.

  “It’s my second-best quality,” he jested.

  She leaned her face above his, eye-to-eye now. “What’s number one?” His mouth pressed to hers, his lips fueled with ardor, was all the answer she needed.

  ***

  Around noon the next day, Chandler and Mark were sunning themselves on the end of the dock, Max seated quietly between them. The conversation was sparse—mainly father and son skipping stones while Chandler watched the water ripple, observed the leaves shimmering in sunlight, or listened for the occasional call of an animal.

  Fresh out of pebbles, Mark leaned back on his elbows, the skin protected from the weathered wood by a thick towel. “This is the most relaxed I have been since—well, since I can’t remember.” He reached up to tousle Max’s hair. “What about you, cowboy? You like being up at the lake?” He nodded briskly. “Next time we’ll bring some fishing poles.”

  “Uncle Chandler, do you know how to fish?” His gaze swiveled away from the lake and he found Max looking up at him expectantly.

  “Sure do, champ. Learned when I was just about your age—me and your dad both did. Every man’s gotta learn how to bait a hook.”

  “I’ve been teaching him how to cinch up his saddle,” Mark said in an affectionate tone. His thumb brushed an imaginary speck of dust away from his bare stomach. “He’s pretty da—, darn good at it,” Mark self-corrected. His eyes travelled to the glass doors at the back of the house, where Christa stood waiting. “Looks like your mom wants you for lunch, chief. You ready to eat?”

  “I’m hungry, Daddy!” he responded, drawing laughter from his father and uncle.

  “Okay, then,” he said with a warm smile. He helped Max to his feet. “Head on up the dock slow now,” he cautioned. “Love you, kid.”

  “Love you too, Daddy.” Max moved leisurely up the dock, taking deliberate steps, and Mark’s eyes never left him until he was safely ensconced in the house. When his eyes met Chandler’s, they shared a meaningful look. Mark looked away quickly, his mouth twitching in discomfiture.

  “I hope I’m that good with my kids someday,” Chandler said hopefully. “Someday,” he repeated.

  Mark glanced around again, made sure no one was within earshot. He returned his gaze to the water and exhaled a loud breath. “So you looked at the ring, pu
t it on hold, even dragged me down there to have a look at it. Are you any closer to buying it?”

  “Maybe.” He felt warmth—either from the sun’s glare or Mark’s wary eyes. Perhaps both.

  “That’s a nice, noncommittal answer,” Mark said in an easy drawl. “My feelings toward Max didn’t come easy—you know that better than anybody. Things in life have always come easily to you—school, ranching, art, too many other talents to list. You’re a great brother, son, and friend. Your main hang-up has been in the love department. You’ve struggled to give your heart away, because when you do, you want it to be for the long haul.”

  “I’m an amateur at romance,” he surmised. “I suck at it.”

  “Would you like a handkerchief?” Mark offered in a sarcastic tone. “Wait a minute, I forgot to stuff one in my trunks.” He smiled sharply. “Sending a woman flowers, taking her for a horseback ride, bringing her up to the lake—all horrible things. We’ll stone you later, bud.”

  “Point taken.” Chandler listened to the wind rustle through the cottonwood leaves. “Sometimes I exaggerate my problems.”

  “This is how we know you’re human, Chandler. The fact that love makes you just as nervous as the rest of us. Do you know that there are still times I look at your sister and have no earthly idea what to say to her? We have two kids, man, and she still makes my palms sweat and my mouth go dry.”

  Chandler found himself taken aback by Mark’s candor, which was odd—he couldn’t think of any secrets he’d ever kept from Mark, although there were certain boundaries within their friendship. “That’s how you know, huh?”

  “Hmm?” Mark asked with a smile.

  “That you’re in love.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, Chandler. That’s definitely one way you know.” They settled into silence for a few minutes, listening for the sounds of a chirping bird or a fish splashing around in the water. Their quiet peace was upended when Taylor made her way out of the house and down the dock, a sarong tied around the lower half of her bathing suit.

  “Mark,” she asked unexpectedly, “would you mind if I had a few minutes alone with my boyfriend?”