The High Price of Secrets

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “You read my mind,” Finn answered, handing her his glass.

  Thank goodness he wasn’t reading hers, she thought quietly. She swiftly poured him another glass of water and handed it to him, this time determined not to watch as he drank it. But where did that leave her to look? At the breadth of his bare shoulders? The small dark brown nipples that lay flat on his chest? Or maybe she should watch the trail of a bead of sweat as it trickled over those too-perfect abs and down past the waistband of his jeans.

  She’d be needing to tip a glass of water over herself if she continued like this. Instead, she picked up her glass and drank.

  “How did your first day go?” Finn asked, leaning one hip against the veranda railing.

  “It was good, thanks. The women were a little wary of me to begin with, the men hopeless wannabe Romeos, which was sweet. Overall I think I held my own. Next week will probably be easier. At least, I hope so.”

  “They didn’t scare you off?”

  “It’d take more than that to put me off. When I commit to something, I like to go all the way.”

  The words hung in the air between them, her unintended double entendre assuming the proportions of a six-foot-high neon sign. Tamsyn wished the wooden floor could just open up and swallow her whole.

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” Finn said, putting his glass on the wide veranda railing and fixing her with his gaze.

  A flutter started in her chest and she knew they weren’t talking about the community work anymore. The fine hairs on her forearms rose in a prickle of awareness and heat flooded the lower regions of her body. Her fingers curled tight around her glass. Any minute now there’d be steam rising, she thought. If she reacted like this to just a look, how would she feel when he touched her—really touched her?

  She couldn’t wait to find out.

  “I’d better get back to the lawns,” he said, breaking the spell that bound her in its sensual haze. “I’m heading out tonight and will be away until Friday afternoon. Will you be okay until then?”

  “Okay? Of course. I should be fine.” Tamsyn smiled to hide the disappointment that flooded her at his words. It shocked her to realize just how easily she’d become dependent on these moments they’d shared each day. “It’ll give me time to do some more research in my hunt for my mother.”

  Was it her imagination or did Finn’s face suddenly harden? No, it had to just be the effect of the sun slipping behind a cloud, casting him into a pocket of shade, she decided.

  “How’s that going?” he asked, picking up his glass and bringing it over to put it on the tray beside her.

  He smelled delicious. Warm and slightly sweaty, but with a freshness about him that made her wish she could press her nose against his bare flesh and inhale more deeply. If she knew him better, more intimately, she’d close that final distance between them, lay her hand on the broad plane of his chest—feel the hardness of his strength, the nub of his nipple, beneath her palm.

  “Tamsyn?” he asked, jerking her from her suddenly inconvenient daydream.

  “Um, not so well, actually,” she said, trying to gather her scattered thoughts together. It was about as easy as hunting down the free-range eggs the chickens on the property seemed to delight in hiding all over the place. “But I’m going to go to Blenheim tomorrow to see if I can find her on the electoral roll. It’ll be a start. What I don’t understand is why Dad’s lawyer is certain that your address is the right one for her. It’s where they insist they’ve been sending her mail. You’re not hiding her somewhere, are you?”

  Tamsyn laughed but didn’t miss the change in Finn’s body language. He angled himself away from her and she felt a definite cooling in the air between them.

  “I’m certainly not hiding anyone at my house,” he said firmly.

  She put a hand out, touched his forearm. His skin was moist and hot, his muscles bunching under her fingertips.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Finn.”

  He moved away. “You didn’t. I’m going to finish the lawns and then I’m heading back up to my place. I’ll put the ride-on back in the shed when I’m done.”

  “Thanks, and thanks for doing the lawns for me. I was getting around to it.”

  “No problem,” he said, stepping down off the veranda and striding toward the mower.

  The roar of its engine precluded any further attempt at communication. What had she said to make him so reserved all of a sudden? She played their conversation over in her mind. The only thing she could think of was her allusion to him hiding her mother. Had there been some truth to her question? No, there couldn’t be. If there was, why would he have denied her mother’s being there right from the start? Tamsyn couldn’t quite figure it out. But one way or another, she was going to.

  Twelve

  Finn shoved the earmuffs back onto his head and steered the mower around the back of the property. Irritation burned inside his gut. Irritation at himself, at Tamsyn, at Lorenzo—hell, at the whole world. It was crazy having her stay here right in Lorenzo and Ellen’s home. She was bound to discover the truth eventually, yet Lorenzo was still adamant that Finn do whatever he could to ensure she be kept in the dark. Lorenzo was lucky that the network of friends they had in and around town were equally as protective of Ellen’s fragile peace of mind as he was. So far no one had let anything slip.

  But every day she stayed here, every day she went into town, the odds increased that Tamsyn would stumble over something or someone that would lead her to her mother. And what if, for some reason, she gained access to the locked room? He knew the deadlock on the door was a good one—he’d installed it himself and had the only key on a hook in a cupboard in his office, but it still made him uneasy to think of how many secrets were separated from Tamsyn by only one door.

  He executed a line and turned to come back the other way, constantly aware of Tamsyn’s presence inside the cottage. She was going to be devastated when she found out the truth. And furious with him. Lorenzo had put him in an untenable position, one he planned to discuss with the older man tomorrow morning when he caught up with him in Wellington.

  Finn had to meet with some business associates during his time in the capital city, but he planned to spend as much time as he could at the hospital with Ellen, too. He needed to see for himself if she’d be capable of withstanding a visit from the daughter she’d left so long ago.

  He tried not to think about what had happened with his own mother. About how her mental state had been so fragile that when her medical team had finally deemed her well enough to have a visit from her only son, it had tipped her completely over the edge instead. All the twelve-year-old Finn had known at the time was that he was somehow responsible for what had happened. That seeing him, a younger version of his father, had made her elect to give up resuming her old life. That it would make her choose to opt out of life altogether.

  He couldn’t let that happen to Ellen. Couldn’t let that happen to another mother figure in his life. But he couldn’t stand the thought that choosing to protect Ellen set Tamsyn up to be hurt instead.

  Finn finished the lawns and rode the mower toward the implements shed. He grabbed his T-shirt from the shelf where he’d thrown it and tugged it on. He hadn’t been oblivious to Tamsyn’s unmasked appreciation of his body. If he hadn’t been so determined to tread softly with her he might have done something about it today, but her casually thrown out remark about him hiding her mother had hit just a little too close to the mark.

  He was hiding Ellen from her. Maybe not physically, but he was definitely keeping the truth from her. A truth he was struggling now to justify keeping to himself. He forced himself to clear his mind. To focus instead on his visit to Wellington and the decisions he would make after he’d seen Ellen for himself. And the fight he would no doubt have with Lorenzo when he made them.

  * * *


  Friday rolled around all too slowly. Tamsyn had been achingly aware of the empty house up on the hill the whole time Finn had been away. It had left her unsettled, especially as they’d parted on what she thought were less than good terms. She hoped to rectify that today and had already left a message on his voice mail inviting him for dinner at the cottage tonight. Depending on how his trip had gone, she hoped he’d prefer an evening where he didn’t have to fend for himself. Even so, her voice had been a little on the wobbly-nervous side when she’d left her message.

  Yesterday’s trip into Blenheim had been another wasted effort and today’s to Nelson was no better. She was beginning to wonder if her mother had even lived in the region at all. It was hard not to just give up on it all and walk away.

  She reminded herself that today marked only the seventh day since she’d arrived in New Zealand. It was still way too early to call it quits. Maybe she needed some professional help in her quest, though. Next week she might look into hiring a private investigator.

  Somehow, though, she was reluctant to turn the search over to someone else. This was her journey, her need to find her mother. She wanted so much to have control over it. Her father had taken away her right to know her mother. Trent had taken away her right to expect happiness and a future through their relationship. She’d worked too hard for too long to please men who, in the end, had chosen what was best for themselves with no genuine regard for her feelings or needs.

  So where did that leave her with Finn? She sank into a worn easy chair in the sitting room of the cottage and stared out the bay window. Lucy, as usual, sat in pride of place, her eyes drifting closed in the sun now her toilette was complete.

  Finn hadn’t made her any promises. He’d just been here. Available—except for the past two days. He hadn’t pushed her when they’d kissed on Tuesday night, a kiss she still relived in all its sensation-soaked glory each night when she went to bed, leaving her sleep fractured and her body unrested and aching with unresolved tension. She’d tried physical exertion around the cottage to wear herself out each afternoon and into the early evening, but it had only served to add more aches upon the pains. Even a soak in the large tub each evening hadn’t been enough to ease them away.

  Tamsyn let her eyes drift closed, let her senses relax, her body sag into the chair. Outside she could hear the birds and the drone of the bumblebees that favored the flowering plants she’d revealed among the weeds. It wasn’t long before she’d drifted off to sleep.

  She woke with a start about an hour later. Her phone was ringing. Where the heck had she left it? She staggered to where she’d left her handbag.

  “Hello?” she answered groggily.

  “Did I wake you?”

  Finn’s voice filled her ear, warming her from the inside out.

  “Caught me napping, guilty as charged,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light, especially considering the awkwardness that had developed between them the last time they spoke.

  “I’m jealous.”

  It sounded as if a faint smile played around his lips. Tamsyn hugged one arm around herself and leaned against the wall, imagining his face as he spoke.

  “Don’t be, I’ve given myself a crick in the neck.”

  “Maybe I can help you out with that later on,” he said smoothly. “I’m told I have good hands.”

  A flush suffused her body. She just bet he did. Broad palms, long capable fingers. Her legs weakened just at the thought.

  “I got your message,” he continued, “and yes, I’d love to come for dinner tonight. What can I bring?”

  “How about a nice bottle of wine from that impressive collection of yours,” she suggested. “Something white. I’m doing chicken. Nothing fancy.”

  It was one of the few things she could cook successfully. Growing up at The Masters they’d had staff for just about everything, something she’d learned to appreciate when she’d gone to university and had had to fend for herself in the kitchen of the small flat she’d shared.

  “Anything I don’t have to cook and prepare myself sounds great. What time do you want me?”

  Want him? Oh, about 24/7, to be totally honest. She gathered the raveled strands of her mind together and gave them a swift tug into submission.

  “Sixish suit you?”

  “Perfect. See you then.”

  He ended the call, leaving her standing there like a lovesick teenager still holding the phone to her ear. The disconnect signal beeping in her ear galvanized her into action. It was four o’clock, and she still had so much to do. She swept into the kitchen and grabbed the two chicken breasts she’d put into the fridge last night to defrost. Still a bit on the icy side, she realized, and put their plate on the countertop to finish defrosting, covering them carefully so Lucy wouldn’t be tempted to check them out.

  Okay, what was she going to do with the chicken? Stuff it? She mentally went over the range of ingredients she had at her disposal and decided on a carpetbag-style concoction that had been popular with her flatmates. She even had some frozen scallops in the freezer to stuff the chicken with. She put them on a separate plate to defrost, making a mental note to replace them the next time she shopped for groceries.

  Boiled baby potatoes, seasoned with parsley butter, and asparagus spears would be a perfect accompaniment to the chicken. Moving swiftly, Tamsyn prepared a marinade for the meat, throwing the almost-defrosted breasts into a dish with lemon juice, tarragon, some finely chopped garlic, salt and ground black pepper and covering it again.

  The baby potatoes were easy. She grabbed the box she’d bought at a grocery store on the way back from Nelson and rinsed a few under the kitchen faucet before popping them in a saucepan with water and a dash of salt and setting them on the stove to cook later. The asparagus she rinsed and snapped and put in a dish ready to steam in the microwave just before serving. She wished she’d paid more attention at home when the cook had prepared hollandaise sauce with their asparagus dishes, and contemplated looking up a recipe on the internet. In the end she decided against it. What if it didn’t work? She’d rather have a practice at it first before dishing it up to Finn, who had served her such a delicious dinner, himself. She badly wanted to impress him.

  She sobered for a minute, the wild excitement of planning and preparing her meal deserting her. Insecurity trickled its icy fingers into the corners of her mind. What, in all honesty, was she trying to prove? Was she so desperate for male approval that she was prepared to put herself through hoops again already?

  Tamsyn stepped away from the kitchen counter and walked out the back door, sinking onto the wooden steps that led down to the vegetable garden. She pulled her knees up under her chin, growling at herself under her breath. She needed to get a grip, to stop defining herself by the men in her life.

  She’d invited Finn to dinner because she enjoyed his company and, frankly, enjoyed the way he made her feel. She wanted to know if that feeling could go further, that was all. And, whether it did or it didn’t, she would handle it like an adult.

  They would enjoy a nice meal together, then a nice evening together. What happened next…well, she shrugged and pushed herself back up to her feet again. Whatever happened next, just happened.

  She went back into the kitchen and turned the chicken. She had the main course planned, which left her with a question. What was she going to do for dessert? She opened the refrigerator and studied its contents again. Cheese and crackers with some fresh sliced fruit? It would have to do, she decided. She was no Cordon Bleu cook by any means. Which left predinner nibbles… She hoped he liked crudités with hummus. She could slice some carrot sticks and celery as well as a red bell pepper and arrange them all on a plate.

  Right, the food was sorted, which just left her. What the heck was she going to wear? She thought for a minute then decided on the gypsy-style skirt she’d bought yesterda
y from the boutique in town. Another item by the same designer as her purple-and-blue dress, it had cost a pretty penny, but the swirl of color, in shades of coral over a sumptuous midnight blue, and the sheer femininity of the item had filled Tamsyn with delight. She’d team it with a blue silk knit singlet and a pair of navy ballet flats that she’d picked up while in Nelson today.

  Satisfied she’d done all she could for now in the kitchen, Tamsyn quickly zoomed through the sitting room, clearing away old newspapers and tidying the stack of magazines on the shelf under the coffee table. There, tidy, but not staged. She groaned. Who was she kidding? She was staging everything in anticipation of Finn being here tonight. It didn’t matter how sternly she talked to herself, deep down it mattered to her what he thought.

  Acknowledging that was a freedom in itself and allowed her to make a decision about another question that had been playing around the back of her mind. She went straight to the linen cupboard in the passageway and grabbed out fresh linen for her bed.

  She was going to be prepared for every eventuality tonight. Come what may.

  Thirteen

  Finn approached the cottage slowly. His visit to Wellington had gone well, businesswise, but not so well when it came to Ellen. For the first time, she hadn’t recognized him. He’d expected it, thought he’d been prepared for it, yet when it happened it hurt far more than he’d ever anticipated.

  Lorenzo had been apologetic, Alexis understanding, but none of it made up for the fact that Ellen was slowly but surely slipping away from them all—and that included Tamsyn. She was running out of time to meet her mother. It put him between a rock and a hard place. Lorenzo remained adamant that Tamsyn be kept from finding Ellen.

  In some ways Finn totally agreed. He knew that the woman Tamsyn would see was not the mother she had hoped to find. Ellen was far past the point of being able to answer the questions Tamsyn carried. Perhaps it would have simply been easier for everyone if Tamsyn continued to believe her mother had passed away. Rare now were the days when there was even a glimmer of understanding in Ellen’s faded brown eyes.