by Maggie Marr
A tremble passed through her belly. Telling Justin would definitely have meant she wouldn’t be traipsing around a muddy lot in Wellies, discussing sweet butter grass and artisanal cheese. Nope. This would not have been Max’s childhood. His childhood would have been stuffy private schools and summer camps with all the right offspring of all the right people.
Her head hurt just thinking about that life in the center of the city where everything was money and status and power. This was a better existence for her boy, a better childhood. A place where a solid foundation could be formed, and then when he was older he could choose which life he wanted to live.
Fear trickled through her chest. Later. Older. Not now. She looked off toward the timber where she’d seen Justin disappear an hour before. He wasn’t an outdoorsman, and while there wasn’t anything dangerous in the timber, you could lose your bearings, get lost, if you hadn’t spent a lifetime exploring the land. Scout bounded up to her and nudged the palm of her hand. His tail wagged.
She’d leave Justin in the woods a few more hours. If he didn’t find his way out of the woods by afternoon, she’d be more generous than Nina and maybe send a search party in after him.
*
Travatis didn’t get lost. Justin stood in the center of a group of giant trees and looked up at the sky. He held up his phone and slowly turned. No bars. Where the hell in the entire world, aside from the basement of a parking garage, did one get no bars of service? Just outside Hudson, Kansas, that was where. He tucked his phone into his jeans pocket. Where was the sun? He wasn’t a complete waste of space when it came to the outdoors. He’d heli-skied in Alaska, climbed in the Himalayas, even trekked through the outback. He planted his hands on his hips. He’d accomplished all those outdoorsy events with a guide. A guide who kept wealthy urban men safe while letting them feel like they actually knew what the hell they were doing when they didn’t. Obviously. He couldn’t even tell which direction the sun was.
Was the Kaw to the east of Rockwater Farms? Or west? What the hell, he was smarter than this. If he found the river, he could find his way back to the farm. He’d only been looking for … two hours. Shit. He was lost. This Travati was lost. Not a very good survivalist—no water, no food, no trail out of the woods. Nope. Not good at all.
Damn. Give him a subway system and a city of ten million anytime. This, being in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get out of these godforsaken trees, was the reason the outdoors was overrated. He felt a stinging sensation on his neck and smacked his hand against his flesh, then pulled it away. Little bastard. A mosquito. He was getting eaten alive out here.
Anger tightened his chest. He should have known better than to wander into the woods without so much as a calorie of food or a drop of water. Such fucking hubris. Damn. He was here now. He wouldn’t find his way out by standing here staring at the sky.
He walked over a fallen tree and toward the direction where he thought the river should be running. Sure, this morning, looking out at the view from his window, he’d thought this was a good way for a boy to be raised, wild and open and free, but now he realized it was a good way for a man to get killed. Of for fuck’s sake, he wouldn’t get killed. He’d die of thirst before he was killed. He stopped and heard the trickle of water.
He swallowed. His mouth was parched. He walked toward a tiny stream that flowed over a bed and smooth rocks that glistened beneath the water. Clear. Cool. Refreshing. God. He just needed some of the water. He placed his hand into the stream, cupped his hand, and lifted the water toward his mouth.
“Wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
For an instant the sound of dueling banjos played in Justin’s mind. He let the water in his hand drip to the ground and turned toward the voice.
An older man, maybe sixty-something, stood just up the hill with a stick in hand. His hair was gray. “Get yourself a bad case of giardia if you drink that untreated. Then you’ll have the shits for days. Might even end up in the hospital.”
Shits for days? Nope he didn’t want that.
“You lost?” the man called.
Justin’s chest tightened. Admission of defeat wasn’t really in the Travati playbook, but damn, he was. “Yes. I think I am.”
“You from New York?” the man asked.
Justin nodded. “Accent?”
“Not as thick as some, but it’s definitely there.”
“I’m staying at Rockwater Farms. Have a suite there.” Justin surveyed the forest. “Any idea which way I need to go to get back?”
The man nodded. “Follow me.” He turned and walked away.
Justin scrambled up over another rotting log and toward the spot where the gray-haired man had disappeared. The man grunted as he moved through the forest on a path Justin couldn’t see. Finally he stopped in a tiny clearing where there was an axe and wood.
“Need you to help me get these back. We’re going to load these into that.” The old man pointed at the logs of chopped wood in varying shapes and sizes and then to a modified wheelbarrow. He looked at Justin.
“Well, you’re burning daylight, better get yourself started.”
Justin paused for an instant. When was the last time he’d taken orders from anyone? Most likely before his father died. Only Max Travati had been able to order his boys around without any blowback. Not a stitch. They did what the old man ordered without question. This guy in the worn work shirt and jeans and boots looked to be cut from a similar cloth as Justin’s father. He eyed Justin until Justin started to move, and then the old guy wandered toward a tree. He pressed his hand to the trunk, looked up, and then pressed his ear against the bark.
What in the hell? Justin pulled his eyes away and continued to load the cart.
“You from around here?” Justin called.
“You got breath to talk then you’re not working hard enough,” the old man yelled back.
Good enough for Justin. He straightened his spine, then dumped an armload of fresh-cut logs into the back of the wagon. He didn’t need to make small talk with this fellow; all he needed was to complete his part of the bargain so that he could get back to Rockwater, take a long shower, and get some work done. He lifted the final five logs and carried them over to the cart. Heaped with wood, that wheelbarrow would be heavy.
“Now we head back.” The old man started walking uphill.
Justin looked around. What the hell? Who was pulling this cart?
The old man stopped and turned. “Grab the damn handles and let’s go. You got some desire to be out here after dark? You’re not one of them alien watchers come out here to try to spot a spaceship, are you?”
Justin’s eyes narrowed. “No, sir, I’m not.”
“Good, because them people about as wackadoo as they get.” The man turned away. “Almost as bad as all them New Yorkers want to live on top of each other.”
Justin ignored the comment. He lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow. Lucky for him, the one thing he wasn’t was out of shape. He might not do manual labor, but damn if he didn’t work out six days a week. Today he was thankful for every kettlebell he’d ever lifted. He strained to push the wheelbarrow forward. Sweat dripped over his temples. He heaved and pushed and heaved one more time and finally the wheel turned. Slowly at first, he kept pushing forward with every muscle he had. He glanced up at the old man ahead of him. He sure hoped the guy didn’t need to go far.
Rockwater Farms and The Red Barn were embarrassingly close. So close that if he’d walked for another five minutes up a hill and around a bend he would have ended up in front of the big white farmhouse. Damn. What an idiot, but he didn’t let on. He kept himself leaned forward as he pushed at the wheelbarrow and followed the old man past the restaurant, up the hill, past the farmhouse, and around the corner to a shed that wasn’t really a shed but more like another barn. The man threw open the door and waved Justin and his wheelbarrow into the wide-open space.
“You can unload the wood there.” He pointed to a spot at the end of a lon
g workbench. On the other side were carvings from wood of varying sizes. Some were giant bears and horses, and even an eagle, while others were miniatures with intricate designs that he couldn’t make out from across the room.
The old man lifted one piece of wood from the cart and set it on his workbench and then sat on the stool beside the bench. Hands on either side of the giant hunk of wood, he sat there and stared. Justin kept unloading wood. What the hell was this guy doing? Obviously he was a craftsman and he worked at Rockwater Farms.
Then it clicked in Justin’s mind. “You’re Roy Hayes.”
The man turned to him with angry eyes as though he’d forgotten there was anyone in the room aside from himself and that piece of wood he was staring at.
“You about done?”
Justin nodded. This was Aubrey’s father and Max’s grandfather. He set the final piece of wood on the ground beside the now very large pile. He turned toward Roy, who still sat at his workbench but instead of staring at the piece of wood was running his hands over the bark and looking at the ends.
This man had been the primary example for Max of what a man was supposed to be. He glanced from Roy to his work. Could have been worse. The man had talent, dedication, and he obviously knew what the hell he was doing. What else did this man know?
“I’m Justin Travati.”
“I know exactly who you are,” Roy said. He lifted the piece of wood and pulled a piece of bark from its side. “Why the hell you think I made you carry my wood?”
The muscle in Justin’s jaw tensed.
“Lucky I didn’t leave you to rot in the timber.”
“And you’re lucky I don’t fight with old men.”
Roy set the piece of wood on the table. He stood from his seat. “I may be old, boy, but I can guarantee you I’d get some licks in before you knocked me down. Wouldn’t be near what you deserve after what you did to my family.”
Justin spun on his heel. “What I did?” He took two steps forward and stopped just on the other side of Roy’s workbench. “I didn’t steal a man’s child, Mr. Hayes. No indeed, that was your daughter.”
“Steal?” Roy leaned forward over the workbench, his eyes hard as stone. “More like you done the worst thing any low-life, scum-sucking man could do. Took advantage of a young woman in the city, got her”—Roy’s nostrils flared as he fought his temper—“got her in the family way, and then wouldn’t do the right thing. Just sent her packing. Back here. To me and her sister and her mama to take care of what you done.” Roy picked up the piece of wood. “Boy, you’re lucky I didn’t take a log to your head out there in the woods.”
“That’s the story you got? Mr. Hayes, no disrespect to you or your family, but I think you better check with your daughter on those facts, because I can guarantee you that the story you just told me, the way you think this happened, was not the way it went down, sir.”
“Now you’re calling my girl a liar?”
Justin turned back. “No sir, I’m merely telling you that she left out an inconvenient truth.”
Justin walked out of the workshop and into the sun. Into the light. Into a breeze that cooled his brow but did nothing for the anger in his soul.
Chapter 9
Aubrey zipped down the hall, hopeful that she might escape another appearance at the Tyler-Kessler wedding-menu tasting. In the main dining room, they now tasted cake and Cassidy kept the peace between the mothers, or to be honest, Cassidy helped keep the groom’s mother happy. Mrs. Kessler, with her tight lips and sharp tongue, was a woman accustomed to being obeyed. Aubrey did her very best to respond to Mrs. Kessler’s multitude of complaints with a gentle smile. She wasn’t paying one cent for the wedding, and yet she had the gall to demand New York strip instead of filet, brussels sprouts instead of potatoes, and baby carrots instead of corn. The bride’s mother was lovely and charming and found a way to appease her soon-to-be-son-in-law’s mother. Every compromise was made for that irritable woman. It was exhausting. Now the bride and the groom were trying to pick out their cake with input from both mothers.
Poor kids. Much easier if they got to make choices regarding the wedding by themselves and then the parents came in once everything was selected. But in this instance, as in most of life, the person who paid the piper called the tune. The bride’s mother was being especially magnanimous to even allow Mrs. Kessler to join the menu and cake selection, as the bride’s family was paying for the entire wedding.
“Excuse me, Miss Hayes?”
Aubrey turned. Mrs. Kessler stood before her. The woman was a study in angles. A sharp-cut bob, a well-tailored gray suit with narrow heels, a sharp nose and jaw. Her makeup was stark against her pale skin. Had she been a teacher or principal? The bride-to-be had told Aubrey once what her future mother-in-law’s career was before she retired.
“Mrs. Kessler.” Aubrey put her professional smile in place. “How can I be helpful?”
Mrs. Kessler’s pursed lips did not move to smile in greeting, nor did her sharp brown eyes show any hint of joy with regards to the upcoming nuptials of her son and his beloved bride. “Miss Hayes, my husband and I have grave reservations about Chellsie’s venue choice. I wonder if I might speak to you about some changes we’d like to see.”
Aubrey swallowed and maintained her smile. Oh. My. This was a tricky position. Mrs. Kessler and her husband were not paying one red cent for this wedding or this venue or the menu or the cake or any other part of the wedding or reception, and yet here stood the groom’s mother, prepared to make demands.
“Certainly, Mrs. Kessler. Let me get Gloria, Chellsie’s mother. I’m certain she’d like to be a part of this conversation—”
“No need.” Mrs. Kessler waved her hand, dismissing the idea that Gloria should be made aware of her complaints. “Our concerns are with the extravagance of this wedding. We, my husband and I—” Mrs. Kessler raised an eyebrow. “My son would be concerned as well if not under the sway of his betrothed.” Her gaze rolled toward the ceiling as though summoning the patience to maintain her sainthood. When her gaze returned to meet Aubrey’s, her lips were in a tight little pucker. “We are indeed a very frugal family. And it is by choice, Miss Hayes, not by necessity. As such, I’m quite uncomfortable with the prices and extravagances of Rockwater Farms.”
“I see.” Aubrey maintained her smile. She would not be drawn in to Mrs. Kessler’s battle, a battle that Aubrey felt certain had more to do with her son’s soon-to-be wedding and not the extravagance of Rockwater Farms.
“My son seems to be quite taken with the idea of throwing money away after this girl. A thousand dollars here, a thousand dollars there, fifty thousand dollars for a wedding reception.” Mrs. Kessler’s nostrils flared at the abject horror of what she thought was the price. Which it wasn’t. Not even a third of what the Tylers were paying for their daughter to marry Mrs. Kessler’s son.
“Do you know how much student-loan debt a surgical resident carries?” Mrs. Kessler asked.
“Indeed, I do not,” Aubrey said. Although she did know from Chellsie that not only would Brian not be carrying that debt once the wedding took place, but he would be a homeowner as well. The Tylers were very proud of their daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law and wanted them started off well.
“A pretty penny,” Mrs. Kessler said. “And now this?” She waved her hands around the hallway of Rockwater Farms. “This horrendous extravagance they’re calling a wedding? How can these children possibly afford all this?”
Aubrey maintained her smile. Oh dear, did the woman honestly believe that Brian and Chellsie were paying for the entire wedding? Aubrey was not about to step into the middle of those family politics. This was between the bride, the groom, and their respective parents.
“Mrs. Kessler, what would you like me to do?”
“You can tell them no.”
“No?”
“Yes, tell them no, that they cannot have the wedding here at this horrendously expensive location.” She stepped forward and lowered her voic
e. “You should be ashamed of what you charge people. For food? And a location? I can’t believe anyone is willing to pay it.”
Aubrey took a deep breath and repositioned her smile. There was no win here; however, she could, very discreetly, mention to Chellsie’s mother part, if not all, of this conversation with Mrs. Kessler.
“Mrs. Kessler, I’m sorry that you feel that way; however, the location has been booked for nearly a year, and if Brian and Chellsie should wish to move the wedding, then I’d need to speak to them.”
“Really? How absolutely impertinent of you. I’m Brian’s mother, and I am telling you that they cannot have this wedding.” She took a deep breath and her eyes flitted about the hall. And then almost as an afterthought— “Here. They cannot have the wedding here.”
“I do understand, Mrs. Kessler, I certainly do. And please, if Brian and Chellsie would like to discuss a change of venue, have them ring me as I’m happy to help them any way I can. It’s my primary goal, as I’m sure it is yours, that Brian and Chellsie enjoy and cherish their special day.”
Mrs. Kessler sucked in her cheeks, and again her nostrils flared. Aubrey’s words appeared to be most unacceptable to the woman.
“Would you like to rejoin them for cake?”
“At ten dollars a slice?”
Aubrey fought the urge to giggle. Poor Mrs. Kessler, the change she was about to face seemed nearly too much for her to bear. Chellsie’s parents were being very generous with regards to their daughter, but they were very successful. A wedding at Rockwater Farms was expensive, but Chellsie and her mother had been planning the event for well over a year. With one last huff of air, Mrs. Kessler turned on her heel and marched toward the main dining room.
“What was that about?” Nina walked from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
