*
Justin’s accommodations at Rockwater Farms were luxurious in comparison to the motel in downtown Hudson. The suite had an upstairs with two bedrooms and two baths and a deck while the downstairs had a sitting area, a kitchenette, a dining area, and a private patio. The rough-hewn wood floors were warmed by thick farmhouse rugs in earthy colors. You walked into a wide-open room with rafters high above and floor-to-ceiling windows. A plush leather sofa and lush chairs were on one side, across from a fireplace. One set of glass doors led to a private garden with fruit-bearing trees, the fairy lights that were strung on their branches just coming to life.
The second set of doors opened onto a private patio with a fence, a fire pit, and a hammock hanging between two giant trees. Carvings by Roy Hayes, Aubrey’s artisan father, decorated the suite. Upstairs, a salvaged barn door slid along the wall to reveal the master bedroom and a giant four-poster brass bed with a duvet and handmade quilt designed with interlocking circles. A fan hung from the ceiling and slowly spun, cooling the early-evening air. The windows were open and the scent of lavender and grass and an earthy smell fresh and unknown in Manhattan drifted through the window. Just beyond the limestone path and fairy lights was the special entrance to The Red Barn restaurant for the guests who chose to stay at Rockwater Farms.
He glanced at his watch. A few minutes and he’d make his entrance at The Red Barn. He walked into the tiny kitchenette and poured a glass of pinot noir. The wine, a good wine, actually a very good wine, had greeted him on the counter. There’d been other little gifts about the room. A cheese plate, fresh fruit, a pinot gris and champagne chilling in the wine chiller.
Finally, two thousand miles from New York, he’d arrived at a location that seemed civilized. No musty odor, no damp carpet or comforter with holes on a lumpy bed. This place, the suites at Rockwater Farms, was world-class and the rooms were indeed for a discerning guest who would travel long distances for a first-rate meal. Rockwater was an entire experience. They had tours of the organic farm, horse rides, boat trips on the Kaw River, and hikes and Jeep trips.
Aubrey had taken the sour lemons of a Midwestern existence and made a freshly squeezed glass of lemonade with mint and lavender served in a hand-cut crystal glass. Light faded and Justin could make out the shadows of the timber that led to the river in the distance. Perhaps not a bad place for a boy to grow up? Wide-open spaces with world-class food. He’d examined the guest library that Rockwater maintained. The university was fifteen miles away, a state school, but still … A long sip of wine. His gaze swept out over the long, open landscape.
No. Rockwater Farms was lovely, but his son was growing up in Hicksville, USA. Not making the necessary connections and friendships. Not becoming the future of Travati Financial simply by virtue of being surrounded by the other children of the elite. According to what Roger had found regarding Max’s birth certificate, Max had no knowledge of his family. Unless Aubrey had told Max of his lineage, which he doubted based on Max’s e-mail. Max knew only what he’d learned on the Internet of the Travati wealth and power. Nor did Max know that one day he would be required to step into the position of leader of Travati Financial. Max’s training could not begin too soon. Already, Aubrey had robbed Justin of Max’s formative years. Justin would miss no more time with his son. He took a long drink of his wine and set the glass on the counter. He flipped off the light, opened the door, and walked toward the dining room where he would soon see the woman who haunted his dreams and who’d stolen his son and the future of his family.
He’d soon see Aubrey Hayes.
*
Aubrey arrived back at Rockwater Farms well after the nine p.m. service began. She’d lingered at Camp Willow, hoping to speak to Max once more about his father, but Max hadn’t wanted to talk. He’d walked with his friends to his cabin and given her a quick good-bye. She’d talked to the parents of his cabinmates, most of the kids the same boys who had been on Max’s junior high basketball team. He settled into his bunk, and she’d overheard the boys devising a scheme to keep their contraband electronics hidden from the Camp Willow counselors. Good luck with that, because she remembered Nina saying she never got anything by the counselors at Camp Willow.
The return trip to Rockwater was long. Melancholy, held tight in the hand of remorse, clutched her heart. Max wasn’t a child. He wasn’t a little boy. He definitely wasn’t the little chubby-faced child who lingered in her mind and whom she missed with each passing day. How had she failed to notice him becoming a young man? She’d firmly held on to the warm cloak of denial even while Dad and Nina kept trying to pull her out of her mommy slumber and into the present. A present that contained a soon-to-be high schooler with a very rich and powerful father.