The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga)

by Tommie Conrad

  ***

  “Do you wanna take the lead, bud?” Mark glanced over the reins of his horse toward Chandler. “I know you’re anxious to see her.”

  “Sure,” he said with a broad smile. “Why the hel…heck…not?” He chastised himself, thinking as he took his place at the front of the pack that he needed to watch his language when small ears were present. His leg muscles were burning from the long ride, and his back and shoulders were all out of whack from sleeping on the ground—but when he saw Taylor, he was going to scoop her into his arms, even if he collapsed to the grass afterward. No more campouts, he vowed foolishly to himself—two days without her just wasn’t worth it.

  They descended into the valley, the buildings ahead carrying the tall shadows of early evening. He quickly spotted the four women, and his niece and nephew—but her conspicuous absence made his heart constrict. Something must have gone wrong, he thought instinctively; there’s been an accident, or Alice has fallen ill, or maybe worse. This wasn’t right, dammit; he should’ve made sure she’d arrived there before he left, even if it meant riding on the trail alone. What kind of man didn’t check on the woman he loved before he planned to be gone for any length of time? He’d failed her, and for what he knew wouldn’t be the first time.

  He was the first to dismount, ostensibly to help his nephews down. He then made a beeline for his mother. “Where is she?” he asked worriedly.

  “Chandler,” she said, flattening her lips into a straight line. “She said something came up but not to worry. She regretted not being able to come.” He could read the worry in her eyes, the motherly concern that existed in spite of his adult status and famously-independent nature. “Susan and I have been cooking for hours. Come inside and eat something.” She narrowed her eyes. “And then lie down—I don’t like the way you’re favoring your back.”

  He massaged along his spine and grimaced. “I guess I was too tense when I rode,” he admitted, glancing around behind him. Everyone was happy, none of them noticing the chill in the air. What he forgot, in the midst of his confusion, was that it was still the height of summer, and the wind was warm enough to wrap everyone but him in happiness. In the depths of his mind, he saw the world spinning apart, his happiness evaporating like rain on hot pavement. For his family he wore his best smile, but inside he crumbled to a thousand small pieces.

  Chapter 26

  The texts came in a torrent as his phone recalibrated its signal and whatever internal mechanism made it function.

  “Sorry about this weekend. Had a surprise visitor.”

  “Who?”

  “Liam. My ex-husband. I know it’s weird. We’ll talk soon. May need to take Monday off.”

  “I should come see you.”

  “I’d like that. You two could meet.”

  Chandler wasn’t looking forward to that. Liam was, by all accounts, a pretty nice guy, a faithful and loving husband who had stuck by his wife when they’d been confronted with the worst tragedy that could befall two parents. He represented a stability that Chandler didn’t; he may have been wealthy and ambitious, but he’d rarely been rooted to one place for any period of time prior to opening the gallery. He wanted to settle down, but what if it didn’t work? What if this was yet another temporary respite for him? Maybe Liam had come to collect her and take her away. He and Taylor shared something that she and Chandler didn’t, and maybe never would. It was painful to consider, and on the drive to her house Monday working he worked himself into an angry, irrational lather. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the truck’s engine and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked angry, resembling his brother being thrown in the practice arena. That poor horse didn’t know who he was dealing with—CJ rode him the next day for ninety-two points.

  He shuffled up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. Taylor answered it with expediency, as though she’d been attuned to his movements. He couldn’t know that she’d been watching him through the living room window, chewing nervously on her lip.

  “Chandler,” she said, her voice breaking between syllables. “Please, come in.”

  He followed her into the living room, where a man rose to his feet. Chandler took the stranger’s measure, having already seen him in pictures. He was of slight build, standing not much taller than his ex-wife. He wore a clean white shirt and slacks, as though he’d just come home from a hard day at work and removed his jacket and tie before sitting down to rest. He placed a cup and saucer atop the side table and extended a hand.

  “William McCook,” he said without preamble. His eyes and expression were warm and friendly, and Chandler understood immediately why Taylor had fallen in love with him. The man was completely lacking in pretense, and didn’t tower over her in that gawky way Chandler always had. No, when Liam wanted to look her right in the eye, he didn’t even have to lower his chin.

  “Chandler Adams,” he answered roughly, clearing his throat over a firm handshake.

  “It’s nice to finally put a face with the name,” Liam stated. “Taylor has told me so much about you, and your paintings have been well-received at the hospital.”

  “How are things at the hospital?” Chandler asked to fill time.

  “I just received a promotion,” Liam replied, “though I’m not sure I earned it.”

  “Don’t let him sway you,” came Taylor’s voice from the doorway, sounding incredibly distant and otherworldly to Chandler’s ears. “Few people do as much for that hospital as he has.”

  “It’s my job,” he said modestly. “Taylor tells me that you’re a pretty hard worker, too. You run a gallery, you’ve been remodeling a house, and in your spare time you’re a cattleman. When you do find the time to sleep?” he asked jokingly.

  “It’s not always easy,” he admitted begrudgingly. “Look…”

  “Where are my manners?” Liam asked quickly. “You came to speak with Taylor. I’ll be in the kitchen topping off my coffee if anyone needs me.”

  “Thank you,” Taylor said as he swept from the room. Her eyes met Chandler’s. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “This wasn’t my plan for the weekend at all.”

  “How long does he plan to be here?” Chandler asked gruffly.

  “Long enough to get his head on straight. We didn’t discuss specific dates.”

  Chandler nodded, processing that information. “Is this a mind game, Taylor?”

  Her body stiffened, and desire swept through him—he wanted to massage her figure until it went smooth again, until they were loose-limbed and sated. “I had no idea he was coming, Chandler. I was getting ready to bake a pie and take it to your mother. I arrived home and he was here, waiting for me. We shared a child—I wasn’t going to turn him out or brush him aside. You and I share a bond because we went through my father’s death together. Liam and I share a bond because Riley was our son. Surely you can understand that a connection like that is unbreakable.”

  “What I can understand,” he said in a low, shaky voice, “is that you and I are pulling away from each other, a little more every day. I’m terrified of losing you, but maybe I need to do it before we get any more serious. Make a clean break.”

  Her face molded with the shock of disbelief. “We could scarcely get more serious than we already are, Chandler.” He felt her draw close and poke her finger gently into his chest. “I’ve said things to you, done things with you that I’ve never done with another man.” Her voice was soft but resolute. “And you told me that you’d never been in love with another woman.”

  “That’s true,” he said hoarsely, brushing his fingers over her face. “I’ve never felt this strong pull with any woman but you, and if I live another hundred years, I never will. If we keep going on this path, though, I’m just going to wind up hurting and disappointing you. It’ll be like before.”

  “Before?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. “When we were kids?”

  “I smothered you,” he remembered. “I couldn’t let you breathe unless I did it first. I treated you like a piece of
porcelain, and I ruined everything.”

  He felt two unsteady hands atop his chest, heard her release a sharp gasp as her eyes began to water. “I can’t keep apologizing for that, Chandler. I gave you your freedom and maybe it was wrong at the time, but you went to New York and made a name for yourself. You got out from under your brother’s shadow and you’re a success in every area of your life. Family comes to you for advice; they seek your input and hang on every word. You’re wise beyond your years. And you make me feel like I am perfect. Nobody is perfect, Chandler—nobody—but you hold my in your arms and I feel like I’m the epitome of something.”

  “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and I know how selfish that is.” He wrapped her up tightly, pulled their mouths together in a fierce kiss. He forced his tongue into her mouth and tasted the heat of her passion for what he knew would be the final time. They were gasping for air when he pulled back. “Go home with him, Taylor.” His voice went up an octave, and his arms fell to his sides. “Reconcile. Heal each other. He’s your match, not me.”

  “Fine,” she said, abruptly withdrawing her hands from his chest. “I lost my father and my son. They were a part of me, of my biological makeup and my heart. You’re just another warm body in the world, outside of me. I survived without them. Somehow I managed. I’ll survive without you.”

  He stepped away from her, his boots falling heavily on the floor. He scooped up his hat and what was left of his pride. Admittedly, the hat was more substantial at that point. “Don’t bother coming into work” he barked.

  “Don’t worry,” she retorted. “I don’t need your charity.” The door slammed and she recoiled, feeling the echo of it in every filament of her body. His arms had been around her just a minute earlier, filling her with warmth. Now as she replicated his motion, she felt nothing but an icy chill. The tears cascaded from her eyes and her body was wracked with sobs.

  Liam appeared in the doorway. “I heard shouting,” he said anxiously. “Raised voices.”

  Taylor nodded. “I just made the biggest mistake of my life—for the second time.”

  His eyebrows were raised in inquiry. “What happened?”

  “He told me to reconcile with you.”

  “We’re divorced,” he reminded her.

  “And I told him I could survive without him.”

  He pulled her into a companionable hug, tried his best to quiet her sobs. The warmth and heat of marriage was absent now, and he took great care not give either of them the wrong idea. He gripped her shoulders and she stared into those green eyes—her son’s eyes. It felt so reassuring to have at least one reminder of him still on earth. Liam’s mouth opened to speak. “I’ve only just met him and he just hurt you, but I like Chandler. He seems like a stand-up guy. Sturdy.” He smiled amusedly. “Looks like he could break a horse barehanded.”

  A laugh escaped through her tears. “He’s all of that and more.”

  “I guess that settles it, then,” he said with unexpected resolve.

  “What?” she asked, wiping away makeup with her tears.

  “I’ve gotta stick around until you two crazy kids sort this mess out.”

  “You can’t do that, Liam. You’ve got a career, and someone who misses you.”

  He shrugged amiably. “I’m on vacation.”

  “Who wants to spend their vacation with a stubborn woman?”

  He laughed softly. “Don’t talk about my son’s mother like that. For her, I’d do anything.”

  ***

  The room spun through cloudy eyes.

  He blinked the surroundings of his apartment into focus. When life resembled a gyroscope, twisted and hazy and upside-down, he was usually in the aftermath of an orgasm, with Taylor clasped to him like a pretzel. Instead he was alone and hung-over, and his head was pounding.

  He slung an arm over his forehead to make it stop, but it pounded louder. Someone was at the door. “Come in,” he said with a thick tongue. His eyes fell closed; for all he knew, he’d just granted entry to a serial killer.

  Mark’s boots echoed loudly on the hardwood, every footfall like the banging of a sledgehammer. “Your place was locked up tighter than a drum,” he said in a careful monotone, “but Alison let me in your office.”

  “The benefits of making her my business partner,” replied Chandler in an oddly-coarse voice.

  “I’ll never have privacy again.”

  Mark’s eyes spotted the culprit on an end table. “Tie one on?”

  “Spare me the self-righteous bullshit, Mark. I’m not in the mood.”

  Mark picked up the half-empty bottle of amber liquid and gave it a cursory glance. “Imported from Kentucky,” he observed dryly. “Nice.”

  “Did you come here for any specific reason, or just to make wry observations about my life?”

  He set down the whiskey and headed straight for the fridge, where he withdrew a chilled bottle of water. “Drink this,” he commanded. “And don’t give me any lip.”

  Chandler turned the water up and felt it burn all the way down his raw throat. Then Mark’s hand was on his back, pushing him up so he wouldn’t choke. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he answered. Chandler blinked his eyes again, pulled his best friend into focus. “I didn’t like the cut of your jib yesterday,” he said solemnly. “I should have talked to you then but you’re a big boy and I figured you could handle it yourself. You looked like a dog that’d just been kicked off the porch. Now you look like a dog that’s been kicked off the porch and gotten drunk down in the dirt.”

  “Her ex-husband’s back.”

  “And let me guess. You got mad as hell for no good reason, went and told her she could do better than you. That about the size of it, cowboy?”

  Chandler nodded ruefully. “She said he was here for a vacation—he said the same thing—but it’s more than just that. We’ve been off-kilter for a long time, and I’m sick of worrying about every step I make.”

  Mark frowned, his brown eyes locking and loading into a deadly glare. “Don’t you dare try to cut and run on her, Chandler. You have been disgustingly happy ever since that woman came back into your life, and don’t try to pretend otherwise. You’re trying to take the coward’s way out because you’re scared to death.” He jutted a finger in Chandler’s face. He tried to swat it away but found himself still too drunk to hit the mark. “God, I haven’t seen you this hammered since my bachelor party. We had a good excuse then.”

  “I haven’t eaten today,” Chandler said breezily. “This is all that’s in my stomach,” he announced, reaching for the bottle. Mark picked it up and carried it to the sink, where its contents joined the wastewater in the pipes. “Hey, you owe me a fifth, Jasper.”

  Mark tossed the empty bottle in its specific recycling container. “What I owe you is a kick in the ass, bud. Remember when I was down and out? You stuck me with the metaphorical cattle prod until I started thinking with my head again.”

  Chandler fell against the couch, smacked his lips a few times. “You know what, Mark? You are right. Always, always, always. No one is smarter than Mark Jasper.”

  He sat down on the couch and yanked off Chandler’s boots. He searched in the closet until he found a blanket. It may have been ninety degrees outside, but his best friend was shivering. “Thank God I got here before you drank the whole bottle,” he said to himself somberly.

  “What are you doing now?” Chandler asked through closed eyes as Mark began to remove items from the kitchen cabinets.

  “I’m going to put some food in your stomach,” he said, dumping olive oil in a skillet. “It’ll be a little harder to pump some sense into your brain. Do you have a coffeemaker?”

  “Never touch the stuff,” he replied, or seemed to. None of the syllables were aligning properly in his head.

  “I’ll text Alison.” He removed his phone from his pocket and keyed something in.

  “I don’t want her seeing me like this.”

  Mark fumbled through the vegetable
crisper until he found some carrots. “Right now, bud, that should be the least of your concerns.” Chandler winced as he heard the knife blade slicing through them and into the cutting board. “Wimp,” Mark said, smiling to himself.

  “Don’t you have a ranch to run?” Chandler asked drowsily. He’d be out soon enough, swimming through a sea of booze-fueled nightmares.

  Mark shook his head softly. “Don’t you have a life to live?”

  ***

  Alison made her way up the stairs so softly that she startled Mark. In her hands were two coffees. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “Anytime. How’s he doing?” she said, motioning toward the couch with her head.

  “Out like a light,” he pronounced. “He went over there, fed Taylor a few lines of bullshit. Strong-willed lady that she is, she had none of it. Didn’t eat a thing today but half a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Nice.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, sniffing the air.

  “Some pasta that I threw together. I hope it’s edible.”

  “Smells good, anyway. Look, I’m going to get out of here before he wakes up. Probably won’t be a pleasant sight.”

  “To say the least.”

  “Should I perform search-and-rescue, go get Taylor’s point of view?”

  “Not right now,” Mark surmised. “Give them both time to lick their wounds.” Chandler snored himself momentarily awake before going out again. “Some of them are pretty deep.”

  “I’m gone,” Alison said. “Later, bro.”

  “Later,” Mark replied with a nod. He plated the food and carted it and the coffee over toward the couch. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Chandler stirred, gave him a miserable look. “What’s this?”

  “Call it an intervention,” Mark declared. “Sit up.”

  He staggered upward, clutching his stomach. He felt the unfortunate side effects of drinking on a bladder and excused himself. When he came back, he’d replaced his Western shirt with a plain white one. He looked peaked and Mark felt a heap of sympathy for him. The kid was hurting.