Finn rubbed his eyes and got up from his chair. He opened a nearby cupboard, which turned out to be an integrated bar-fridge door. “You want water or a can of soda?”
“Water, thanks.” Tamsyn accepted the bottle he passed her and screwed off the cap. “What happened then? Did you get help around the farm?”
He ripped the tab off the soda he’d pulled from the fridge and took a long swallow before answering. “We were both put into care. Me into a foster home in town, Mum into a secure facility outside of Christchurch. I didn’t know it then but she’d begun self-harming. I couldn’t see her for a long time. Lorenzo and Ellen approached social services about providing a permanent home for me and eventually I moved in with them. With Lorenzo’s help, the farm was slowly converted to what you see today—one of the most prolific and high-yield vineyards in the district. While we’ve never produced our own wines, we get a certain satisfaction when the wineries we supply produce another gold medal winner.”
She could see now why the bond between Lorenzo Fabrini and Finn was so strong. The older man had been a father figure to him, a mentor, a savior. But it still didn’t explain his not telling her where Ellen was. If Ellen didn’t want to see her, why not simply tell her that and spare her the wild-goose chase? And for that matter, were they being honest with Ellen either? Did she even know that Tamsyn was looking for her, or had her menfolk simply circled the wagons and kept her in a state of oblivion? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.
“So, you want to establish the respite center in your mother’s memory?”
“She’s part of the reason,” he agreed. “The other part is I have a whole lot of money sitting around doing nothing and I feel the region has a need that I can fulfill. I want to give back. If it’s successful, I’d like to develop centers all around the country.”
Tamsyn sat back in her chair and deliberately took another sip of her water. She had no words to say. Finn’s philanthropic nature appeared in total contrast to the way he’d treated her. Which man was the real Finn Gallagher? She was inclined to believe that it was Finn the philanthropist. The one the entire township knew and obviously had a very high regard for. The one who’d been helpful and solicitous even while hiding her mother’s whereabouts from her at the same time. So why had he done it? What secret was he still holding back that would explain the rest of the puzzle?
“After we’ve collected your car, would you be interested in visiting the site?” Finn surprised her out of her reverie.
“Visiting the site? You have access now?”
“It’s a rough track, still, but we can do it on the quad bike.” At her look of concern he hastened to add. “I’ll take it easy. We’ll be quite safe.”
She took only a moment to make up her mind. “Okay, that sounds like a great idea. I’d like to see it. I guess jeans and runners would be more in order than this,” she said, gesturing to her skirt.
“Definitely.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “How about you get changed now, and we can head into town and get your car. On the way back I’ll check on Lucy and the chickens and then meet you back here.”
A twist of anger flared in her chest as he mentioned Lucy and the chickens. If Lorenzo wasn’t being so unreasonable she’d be there now, tending to her responsibilities. She nodded to Finn in answer and rose from her seat.
“Give me five minutes,” she said.
“Sure, I’ll be out front in the car.”
* * *
Finn rubbed his hand over his face again as Tamsyn left the room. That had been close. The call from Lorenzo hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. When it came to protecting Ellen from what he saw as the terribleness of the Masters family, he was almost rabid. It didn’t seem to matter what Finn said, Lorenzo’s mind was made up.
Added to his overprotective nature was his fear, because no matter what the doctors did, no matter how hard Lorenzo fought to hold Ellen here, she continued to deteriorate. He was desperate to safeguard what he saw as his last weeks with her.
Finn understood why Lorenzo was so scared. Talking about his mother, remembering how it felt, day in and day out, trying to hold everything together around the farm, trying to support his mom through her grief while virtually having to ignore his own, had left deep scars.
There’d been days when he’d resented her deeply, had wished she’d been more like other mothers—loving and capable, present in the moment instead of locked inside some awful living tomb. Then, of course, he’d be assailed with guilt and shame. She missed his father—they both did—and without his father’s booming, happy presence, it was up to Finn to fill the gaps.