Aubrey quirked an eyebrow. “That’s a thought. You think it’ll change the taste of the eggs?”
“Not sure. Never did try it before. You want me to give it a test run? Separate out some of the hens and see if we like it?”
“I’d love that.”
Bob had come a long way. He had his own farm three miles from Rockwater, and he hadn’t thought much of what she and Nina were trying to do over here on their land. What with the no pesticides and no chemicals and a dairy herd and farm-to-table restaurant, Rockwater Farms had been considered as odd as a two-headed chicken when they first started. But Aubrey had needed the help, Bob was good with livestock, and he’d needed the additional income. What had first been a tenuous match was now a solid working relationship between two people who both loved the land.
“Think I might bring Estelle in sometime next month for dinner.” He pressed his Stone Feed cap back and scratched his nearly bald head.
“You’re welcome anytime. You just let me know.”
Bob didn’t come to The Red Barn for a meal often, said the whole place made him nervous, what with the fancy food and the rich people and all the waiters serving him.
“It’s our forty-year anniversary.” The stone-faced farmer smiled, an almost sheepish look on his face. “Want to do something special for her, and she likes this place, likes the food. Says it makes her feel fancy, and she always did like a good excuse to get dressed up.”
“Oh, Bob, congratulations!” Aubrey clapped her hands together. Estelle was a dream of a woman. She’d been friends with Aubrey’s mother, and when Mom passed Estelle had been over at the house nearly every day checking on her and Nina and Dad and Max. “Just tell me what day. Oh my goodness, yes. I’ll check with Nina. I know she’ll want to fix something special that night.”
“Now don’t go to any trouble for us. Okay, only reason I’m telling you is because, well, I’m telling ya. Seems you should know why I’d be asking for a spot in that fancy restaurant of yours. I know them people you serve pay you a pretty penny for a spot.”
“What night?”
“Well the anniversary is the twenty-fourth. Would that work?”
“Of course it will. Oh Bob, congratulations. What are you getting her?”
His eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped open. “Getting her? Well hell, I’m taking her to dinner … I thought that was what I was getting her.”
Aubrey smiled. Bob was a good man—he loved his family, his country, and his wife—but Bob was Midwestern farm stock to his bones. He was taking his wife out for their anniversary, letting her get all fancied up, and he’d do so too. Never crossed his mind that he needed to also get her a gift for their fortieth anniversary.
“I’m sure she’ll love it. Dinner at The Red Barn is the perfect anniversary gift.”
“We’re set then?”
“We’re set. Early seating or late?”
“Like you have to ask, Aubrey? I got to be up the next day by four a.m. to milk this herd. Not staying up late, not even for your famous sister’s famous food.”
“Got it. I’ll put it in the books.” Aubrey started to back away from Bob.
The herd circled around him. Scout was low and in his herding stance as he prowled toward a calf who was straggling to the side, away from her mother. They didn’t wean the calves early at Rockwater; instead they let the calves stay with their mothers. The females became milkers like their mothers, and the males? Well, they lost their balls and became beef.
Today that seemed particularly appropriate, as there was one man whose balls she might like to take, and if not slice them from his body at least give them a good hard squeeze. Hints of anger pulsed through Aubrey. She’d shaken her feelings of shame earlier and was now appropriately pissed over how Justin had behaved last night. But then again, she’d easily fallen into that trap, and she was a grown woman with a mind of her own. Those feelings of lust and desire and that attraction to Justin had never died and had hit her like a two-by-four across the head. Of course there were occasional times when she wondered “what if.” And yes, she should have told Justin about his son, but when Aubrey considered what that would have meant for her life and Max’s life?
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.