A Forever Love(2)

A small smile lifted the corner of Aubrey’s mouth. “We’ll come by the chef’s table early. Can’t stay out too late.”

“Don’t look so glum. He’s going to love Camp Willow. We did.”

“No, you loved Camp Willow. I hated it. And Max is a whole lot more like me when it comes to social skills than he is you.”

“Come on.” Nina grinned. “You put on a good show. No one would ever suspect you’d rather be holed up in the barn mucking stalls than walking the floor of The Red Barn at Rockwater.”

Aubrey stood. “And it took a whole lot of years to get comfortable with all that social interaction. Max isn’t there yet. What if he hates it? What if they tease him?”

“Then they’ll call you and you’ll go get him. Besides, give him some credit. He’s got some of his dad in him.”

Aubrey’s eyes sharpened and she instinctively looked toward her office door, which was thankfully shut. “Don’t.” She shook her head. “You’ve gotten awfully free talking about Max and his father lately, and I don’t want that … I don’t want him to know—”

“He knows.”

Aubrey’s heart thudded to a stop. Her fingertips tingled and her office started to spin.

“He knows about Justin?” Aubrey’s voice rose three octaves. “You told Max about his father?”

“Nope.” Nina’s eyes fixed on Aubrey, and she crossed her arms over her chef’s jacket. “Although I think you should’ve told him by now.”

“What does he know? Why do you think he knows anything?” Aubrey had done everything possible to prevent Max from learning about his father. She didn’t want Max to become a Travati. To carry the burden of everything it meant to be part of that infamous family.

“Wasn’t me.”

“Then who?” Aubrey asked. She’d skin them alive and hang them high. Any mention of Max’s father was strictly forbidden in the Hayes family. They did not discuss Justin Travati, didn’t mention his name. Just the thought of Max knowing, of anyone knowing, of Justin and his army of lawyers ever finding out about Max, caused fear to freeze Aubrey’s blood.

“After you order me that new freezing mechanism, looks like you better go talk to Dad.”



*



There were a handful of places Dad could be located at Rockwater Farms. The barn, the fields, the Kaw River that ran through their property, maybe on a certain type of day when he wanted to take a high lonesome deep in the rare timber property they owned that had never been touched, tilled, or grazed. But nearly always with dark coming on and the cool summer-evening air, even as a child, she’d found Dad in the woodshop next to the house. Scout, her lab, shadowed her as she walked toward the workshop. Dad’s carving and crafting and building had once upon a time been a hobby, but through sheer talent and hard work, he’d turned it into artist-craftsman’s work.

Dad hunched over his middle worktable, the longest of the three, a piece of wood in one hand and a sharp, short whittling knife in the other. He worked on a small piece tonight. Whatever sculpture Dad brought forth would be intricate and delicate and worth thousands of dollars to the collectors who sought out Roy Hayes’s work.

“You’re coming after me about Max.” Dad didn’t look up. His eyes never left the white wood or the sharp knife in his hand. To indulge his desire to look over at her could mean a cut that went all the way to the bone.

“What did you tell him, Dad?”

A shaving of wood fell through air. Featherlight, like a fairy’s wing, the wood drifted slowly to the floor. Electric light silvered the edges as it settled beside her father’s booted foot.

“The truthful answers to the questions he asked.” Dad stopped his knife and set it on the workbench. Only then did he raise his gaze. Old eyes, keen with knowledge gleaned from a lifetime, settled on her features. Dad’s gaze was like a spotlight from which she’d spent most of her childhood hiding. She felt small and unworthy when he looked upon her. Occasionally there was love in his eyes, but more often there was judgment. “Which is more than his mother give him.”

Anger blossomed in her chest. Heat tore through her limbs. She wouldn’t say the words that stung her tongue and brushed against her lips. She’d been raised on the cornerstones of duty, perseverance, honesty, and respect for one’s parents. Talking back to her father, even at her age, a grown woman with a semi-successful business, a former career, and an MBA, wasn’t a luxury she indulged.

Perhaps she needed more luxury in her life.