The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (2 page)

“Please.”  Alison walked toward the middle room of the gallery and glanced back at her brother-in-law.  “If necessary, he would have scraped the road himself.”
 

Chandler laughed at the mental picture he conjured and wished Alis
on a safe trip home.  He was alone again, with all of his thoughts, anxieties, concerns—and, as always, his brushes and paints.  He cleared the room of his cleaning supplies and headed back to the office to close out the day.  Alison was right, of course—and tomorrow would be the day he’d stop fooling around and finally stick some paintings on the wall.

***

Taylor awoke from her slumber and yawned.  She felt rested, refreshed, but no less anxious as it hit home one more time that she was back in Wyoming.  It wasn’t the worst place in the world to be, but sometimes reality hit hard.  She slipped from under the covers and into her robe—she was still habituating to the cold mountain air—and ambled into the kitchen, where Alice was sipping coffee and completing her crossword puzzle for the day.

“Good morning, sweetie,” she said, smiling but not removing her eyes from the paper.  “There’s ham and eggs on the stove.”

“Thanks, Mom.”  Taylor grabbed a warm plate from inside the oven and served herself.  She ate quietly while her mother finished the crossword and smiled, satisfied with her work.  She took a drink from her coffee and glanced across the table at her daughter.

“Plans for today?”

She chewed and thought on it for a few minutes.  “I was thinking about looking for a job.  Do you know if there’s a temp agency in town?”

Alice shook her head.  “I don’t think there is, but I have been perusing the newspaper for listings these past few weeks, since you first told me you were coming back home.”  She smiled, somewhat
warily, as though she worried the expression might be inappropriate.  “I circled one that seems perfect for you, T.”

Taylor grabbed the paper carefully and looked down at the classifieds.  She read
aloud what her mother had circled, dissecting the words as she spoke them.  “Help Needed:  Someone with extensive computer knowledge and customer service experience to help run small-town gallery.  Résumé preferred but not a prerequisite; apply within.”  This was followed by an address and a set of phone numbers.  “It’s right on Main Street,” she murmured, “so that’s good.  Is it a new business?”

“I think so,” Alice rejoined.  “I’m not sure it’s even open yet, if they’re still in the market for someone to work the front desk.  My computer is hooked up and
the printer is full of paper if you need to work on a résumé.”

“I believe there’s a current one in my email,” Taylor postulated.  “I just hope I have enough experience.”  She frowned.  “A gallery?  Here?”

“Small-town folks love arts and crafts, too,” Alice responded.  “And appreciate their value more than most, I’d imagine.”

Taylor smiled at her mother, who never failed to surprise
her with the depth of her insight—or her kindness, for that matter.  She only wished she’d been so blessed.  “Thanks, Mom.  You’ve taken the guesswork out of this already.  I’ll get dressed and head down there as soon as possible.”

She stood and kissed Alice on the forehead as she raced from the room.  “Good luck, dear,” she called after her daughter.  “Although I don’t think you’
ll need it,” she added under her breath, smiling softly to herself.

Taylor showered, dried her hair, and rummaged in the closet until she found a navy skirt and matching jacket.  She looked herself up and down in the mirror and paused.  Maybe it was too so
on to pursue a job.  Should she take the time to rediscover herself first, spend extra time with her mother?  What was it that she truly wanted?

She sighed.  Life was too short to second-guess anything, even something as simple as a job interview.  She hea
ded straight for the computer, appreciative that her mother had taken the effort to scan the classifieds that morning.  She’d have to stand on her own two feet soon, but for now it was nice to have someone to give her a slight push.

Chapter 2

Chandler spent the morning eyeballing measurements and securing fasteners to the walls.  He hung up one large canvas, checked it with a level, and stood back, satisfied with his work.  He worked steadily, performing the same checks with each canvas, until his pile shrunk down to nothing.  His diligence paid off; he finally had something to present, if not to the public, then at least to family.  He clambered back to the office, making a mental note of how many canvases were left, and wondering whether or not they’d all fit in the front room.  Of course, they would all be available for viewing online. 
Hmm
, he deliberated—
do I need to paint faster?

If demand exceeded supply, well, he figured that wasn’t a bad problem to have.

Taylor stopped on the sidewalk outside and looked up at the sign—simple, with red letters spelling the word ART on a white background.  Through the large glass windows she saw nothing but a stark white interior, devoid of anything but a reception counter in the middle of the room. 
Yeah
, she thought,
Help Needed
was the right thing to post in the classifieds
.  She inhaled deeply, gave herself a pep talk, and opened the door.  It closed silently behind her but for whatever reason, the owner was quickly alerted to her presence.  She moved to the counter and stood rigid and upright, feeling as nervous as a fat hog at a barbeque.

“Just a minute!” she heard a familiar, purely masculine voice call out.  She chewed on her lower lip.  Why woul
d that voice sound familiar?  She caught the sound of something clattering to the floor, a sliver of an expletive, and watched him emerge into view.

Chandler froze when he saw her, and noted that she did the same.  The world seemed to turn sideways as he took in her face, the fi
rst woman to ever break his heart, the woman he’d never really expected to see again.

“Taylor Holt,” he said in reverence.  His mouth hung ope
n inanely as he stood there, and Chandler quickly yanked off his hat and circled the brim nervously between his fingers.  “I mean, McCook.  Taylor McCook.”

“Chandler.”  Her face reddened and she found herself at a loss for words.  He’d always had that effect on her, the boy whose face seemed to have been carved on Mount Olympus.  Why he’d ever taken notice of her in h
igh school was beyond her comprehension.  He could have had any girl in their class, in the school.  Yet he’d chosen Taylor, or, more accurately, they’d chosen each other.  They had each dated others but their relationship was the first serious one of their lives.  She hadn’t thought about him much over the years, moving so far away from that life and never expecting it to resurface.  But here it was—here
he
was.  A sudden rush of memories warmed her and she swallowed back a surge of emotion.  “It’s Holt again,” she clarified after an uncomfortable silence.  “I’ve divorced.”

He nodded but his mouth remained agape, and he became conscious that he looked like a fool.  “I’m sorry to hear that, Taylor.”  His mouth pulled shut and his jaw trembled with anxiety.
  Damn, why did he feel so apprehensive around Taylor?  Just because he hadn’t seen her for the better part of ten years…just because she’d been his first love. 
Calm down, cowboy
intoned the voice in his head—his father’s voice.  “Are you living at home again?”  He moved his head from side to side.  “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” she responded.  “Yes, I’m living with my mom again.”

Stillness descended between them as they surveyed one another.  Taylor noted that Chandler’s face had sharpened up, become more angular.  He’d matured into a taller, leaner version of his father, blessed with his mother’s gentle expressions and ease of empathy.  Somehow his blue eyes had grown bluer, and they appeared to read every line of worry on her face.  It was no surprise when he was the first to attempt dialogue. 

“So…”
  His inarticulate response trailed off into the silence.

“What am I doing here?”
Taylor assisted.

He laughed uneasily.  “What are you doing here?”

“My mother told me there was a job opening at this locale, but I think I’ve made a mistake.”

He raised a hand, fearful that she might bolt out the door before they had a chance to have a decent conversation.  “Did you bring a résumé?”

She handed him the stationary detailing her education and work history.  “Your listing said to apply within.  I hope it’s okay that I showed up without making an appointment.”

“It’s completely fine,” he responded, his gaze locked onto the paper.  “Medical records?”

“Yeah,” she said, “just like…”

“My mother,” he
finished.  “She’s a pretty good influence.”

“I had all of her cookbooks back in New York,” Taylor admitted, “and I used them frequently.  I bought them home with me, but I don’t think they’ll get much use in Mom’s kitchen.”

Chandler looked into her eyes and smiled.  “How is Miss Alice?  I see her every now and then but it’s been a while since we’ve actually spoken.”

“She’s in better shape than I am,” Taylor replied.  “That’s a big part of the reason I came back home.  She can keep me on an even keel.”

Chandler laid the résumé flat on the counter and smiled at her.  “Look, you’re the first person to come in here with the requisite skills.  You know something about customer service, and you know how to answer a phone.  Personal history aside, if you want the job, it’s yours.”

“Could I have a day to think about it?”

“Of course.”  Chandler stared at her—God, she’d only grown more beautiful.  Her face was rounder and her hair was longer, and she was definitely a woman now.  Those killer green eyes hadn’t dimmed, either, but somehow they seemed more seasoned, worldly.  “Is your mom going to watch your son while you work?  Riley, wasn’t it?  I saw a picture of him once but…he must older by now.”

Taylor’s heart clenched and the room spun onto its side.  “Chandler
.”  She lowered her face, rested her chin atop her chest, and gathered up her thoughts.  “Riley died, around two years ago.”

He gripped the edge of the counter to hold himself upright and stood there, immobile, the world ceasing to make sense.  He met her
wet eyes and shook his head in contrition.  “I’m so sorry, Taylor.  Shit, I’m sorry.  Dammit.  I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” she replied weakly.  She wiped a tear from her eye.  “I didn’t really expect to find you here, Chandler.  Of all people, I figured y
ou’d travel far from home and never look back.”

He frowned, the guilt locking around his limbs now.  It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have known something important about the girl he love
d…or loved, once upon a time.  His brain seemed confused about what she really was.  “I traveled some,” he expounded.  “I always returned here when I needed a place to rest.”  He stared down at her resume again, not reading the words so much as distracting himself.  “I really am sorry about Riley,” he repeated.  “That must’ve been the worst thing in the world.”

“It was,” she
confirmed.  “I’ve now experienced enough heartbreak to last a lifetime.”

“Do you need to sit down?”  Their eyes met and she felt safe there in his gaze.  She also felt vulnerable,
a massive contradiction.  “There’s an office in the back.  I just hadn’t gotten around to placing a seat up front because it’s been only me here.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, not because she believed it but because she had to be.  She missed Riley ev
ery day, finding that he haunted her dreams and silent moments.  She’d hear his laugh or see him playing in a park—but it was never him, just a mirage, wishful thinking.  Her mother insisted this was normal; sometimes, she could still hear Joseph’s voice, years after his death.  Either it was truly okay, or the Holt women had gone around the bend together.   “Look,” she said, turning toward the door, “it was great to see you again, Chandler, but I’m not sure this would be the right move for either of us.”

He stepped around the counter at lightning speed and took her right hand in his.  Too familiar, he knew, but he couldn’t shake the feeling in his brain that this was happening for a reason.  He wished he could’ve known Riley, or even met Taylor’s ex-husban
d.  She’d gone through a lot in their years apart, but she stood straight and firm, responding to the touch of his hand with a questioning gaze.  “You can use both the distraction and the job, right?”

She nodded reluctantly.  “Right.”

“And I could definitely use someone with experience to help me get this thing off the ground.” 

Taylor looked around, trying to keep her mind off the warmth of his hand as his fingers squeezed hers.  “An art gallery, huh?”

“Yeah.”  He laughed.  “Ever think you’d see the day?”

“Maybe.”  She returned her eyes to his face.  “Okay.  But level with me. Are you selling any paintings?”

“Here and there,” he said with a shrug.  He lowered his voice to a whisper.  “I sold one to Rafe Rader.”