Trouble in Nirvana
Read Trouble in Nirvana Online
Authors: Elisabeth Rose
Tags: #Romance, #spicy, #Australia, #Contemporary
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Trouble
in
Nirvana
by
Elisabeth Rose
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Trouble in Nirvana
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Elisabeth Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2013
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-774-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-775-5
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Elisabeth Rose
Winner of the 2011 Golden Quill
Finalist in 2011 and 2012 Golden Quill
Finalist in the RWAustralia 2011 Ruby Award
~*~
“Thank-you for the pleasure you have given me with your new book. I have read all your books and go back to read them again and again.”
~Helen, a reader
~*~
“This is a delightfully crazy lovely story. The chemistry between Tom and Primrose is spectacular. It's commune is priceless. I was laughing out loud at all of Primrose's adventures, especially the snake. Of course my husband wasn't too happy because I couldn't put the book down and at 2:00 in the morning is when I came across the snake scene.”
~
Deborah, a reader
Other titles available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Strings Attached
The Interview
Dedication
To Colin, Carla, Nick, and Paige
Chapter One
A plume of dust curled behind the car in an elegant tail as Primrose drove, scanning the paddocks on the left for a communal looking property. Danny hadn’t given proper directions in his scrawled response to her letter, just “
ask for Danny’s place at the Kullanurra pub
” and the woman there had said, “
it’s about eight or nine kilometres from the Majura Road turn-off. On the left.”
She glanced at the odometer. Seven point eight. Nearly there. A neat white signboard on a gate announced
Fairview
. More prosaic name than she’d expected but it looked perfect. The narrow driveway led to a well-shaded house with wide verandas, rainwater tanks, sheds, a barn and further on what looked like fruit trees and a large green patch of vegetable garden. Solar panels glinted on the roof and a wind turbine revolved briskly in the hot breeze.
Surprisingly impressive. The place had an inviting air of refuge and peace. Just what her battered heart and severely bruised ego needed. Big brother Danny had always been the spiritual one in their shambles of a family. The one who wanted life to be simple, based on need rather than want, in search of happiness while she was intent on perfection, her career. Perhaps he would be the guru she needed. Maybe, despite all prior signs to the contrary, he’d had it right all along.
Primrose parked under one of three large gumtrees by the house yard fence and got out of the car. Cicadas roared from the branches. She wiped grit from her mouth as a swirl of dust surrounded her. Sandy grains caught in the toe of her sandal and lodged uncomfortably under her foot. Already the shiny red leather was coated, and the soles were too thin to prevent the uneven stony ground from digging into her feet. She lifted the hatchback, dragged out her suitcase, slung her flute carry case over her shoulder and struggled across to the house.
A grey cattle dog came out from under the verandah to bark lazily, tail wagging. Primrose scanned the sheds and house for signs of life. Not much activity. How many people lived here at the moment? Two at least—Danny and Nirupam. Her image of the commune had been an enthusiastic group of five or six all working in peaceful harmony, hoeing the fields or picking fruit, making goat’s milk cheese or potting honey from the hives.
Maybe Nirupam was in the house. She lugged the case through a sweet smelling arch of honeysuckle which covered the gate, using both hands to heave the suitcase up the wide wooden steps. Big, overflowing terracotta pots of parsley and herbs lined the verandah edge, lending a Tuscan villa air.
The dog sniffed her ankles. She risked a quick pat on its head. The tail wagged faster.
Primrose peered in through the screen door. The interior of the house beckoned cool, dark and inviting in stark contrast to the harsh glare outside. She rapped on the doorframe. Nothing. Again. Silence. The dog panted by her side for a moment then wandered away and collapsed in a heap.
“Hello?” She tried the door handle tentatively. The door swung open.
“Danny? Nirupam?” Primrose dragged her case through, blinking in the reduced light, and exhaled with relief as the cooler air caressed her overheated skin.
To the left through open frosted glass double doors was a living room. To the right lay a room with a desk and surprisingly, a computer. She could have emailed Danny instead of using snail mail. Why didn’t he say? The answer brought a wry smile—because he would be anti technology. But there sat a computer. His?
“Anyone home?” She stepped tentatively along the corridor, peeped into an open door. A bedroom. Where was everyone? She needed a wash and the loo. Surely they wouldn’t mind if she used the bathroom. They might not return to the house for hours. The front door was open—a welcoming sign which gave credence to the belief she was expected.
A little passage opened to the right with a door ajar. The bathroom—large and old fashioned with a shower over the tub and a black and white tiled chessboard floor.
She must look like something from a horror movie. A quick shower would be the go. Before the others came in and got the fright of their lives. Primrose stripped off shorts, sweaty T-shirt and underwear and stuffed them into a plastic bag brought expressly for the purpose, stepped carefully over the high side of the tub, and turned on the taps.
Wonderful! Very tempting to linger but no. A scrub with the cake of plain, yellow soap, rinse off and out. Primrose congratulated herself as she wielded her towel. Conserving water. She was already doing her bit as a responsible member of the commune.
Clean and fresh in a blue cotton sundress she turned her attention to her face. Moisturiser with built in sunscreen. Crucial in these conditions. The sun was vicious, not to mention the horrible dust. Deodorant, also crucial. Teeth cleaned using a bare minimum of water, a mouthful at most. Tasted different, soft and slightly metallic. A quick application of lipgloss. Spritz of perfume. Done. Now she was fit to meet her new companions. External body clean, internal ready to be scrubbed.
Primrose zipped up her case and opened the bathroom door. She’d move her things to the living room until someone came in and showed her to her room. She stepped into the hallway.
“Good afternoon,” said a masculine voice from the other side of the screen door.
She turned toward the voice, her suitcase thumped into her legs and her flute and handbag swung awkwardly from her shoulder. She squinted at the man’s dark outline against the glare of the yard outside. Not Danny. Too tall. Another of the communalists? He opened the screen and stepped inside, immediately filling the little foyer with his presence.
The collision with the suitcase must have disabled her legs because they suddenly weren’t holding her up too well and something had affected her breathing. Who knew they hid hunks like this out in the country? He wasn’t what she’d expected here. He wasn’t what she’d expect anywhere. Dream of, maybe.
Average height, dark-haired, narrow angular face creased around the eyes by wind and glare. Plain, dirt smudged beige shirt hanging loose from broad shoulders over khaki shorts, well-shaped tanned legs ending in dusty work boots. Something indefinably sexy about the whole package.
“Who are you?” Dark eyes examined her from the feet up, stopped at her face, waited for an answer. No hint of a welcome.
She inhaled and air reached her lungs again. A friendly smile should help. “Primrose Pretty. I’m Danny’s sister. Is he here?”
“No.”
As he continued to stare, a thought formed and grew in her mind like an over enthusiastic fungus. A most embarrassing thought. One of the most unimaginably humiliating thoughts she’d ever thought. Had she invited herself into a total stranger’s house for a shower?
He said, “This is a proper farm. Nirvana is next door.”
Nirvana? Was that some kind of sarcastic joke? But he wasn’t laughing. That stare signified annoyance. Primrose returned it with cool aplomb, masking, with any luck, her total, heart pounding embarrassment. Thank goodness she hadn’t washed her hair. He need never know the full extent of her invasion.
“I’m sorry. No-one answered my knock so I came in and called out. I made a mistake. I’ll go.” As fast as she darn well could.
She hitched up the shoulder bags, charged around him, pushed the screen door open with her elbow, dragged her suitcase through. The man strode forward, took it from her and swung the deadweight down the steps as though the bag were empty. He marched across to her car, little puffs of dust punctuating each decisive footfall. The dog jogged across, wagging its tail and smiling, red tongue lolling.
Primrose followed, edging around the dog which had stopped right in her path.
“She won’t bite you.” He popped the hatch and lifted her bag inside then closed the door with a firm click.
“Thanks.” Primrose opened the driver’s door. Her clean feet were dusty already. “I’m sorry, Mr....”
“Tom Fairbrother.” Still not the hint of a smile and no extended hand to shake. Fairbrother—explained Fairview. He needed a haircut. A flop of brown hair dropped across his forehead softening the angles of his face. Her heart did a little tango all by itself. He pushed the hair back with an irritated gesture. “Are you joining the commune?”
“For a while.”
He stared down at her, brow wrinkled then smoothed as the information passed into his brain and was processed. “You from the city?” His eyes flashed over her bare shoulders and neck.
“Yes. Why?” Awkward under his scrutiny, Primrose slid in to the car and clicked her seatbelt. Sexy? Definitely. Friendly? No.
“What are you going there for?”
“Visiting my brother.” No response. He just stood there waiting, looking at her assets as though she were a piece of livestock until she felt compelled to add, “And I need a break from...things.”
For the first time he smiled but it was really more of a scoffing little snort. “Hope you’ve got other shoes.”
Her jaw clenched, relaxed. She licked her lips and took her sunglasses from the ledge in the dashboard. “Is it the next driveway on this side of the road?”
“Yes. About three k's. Called Nirvana.” This time his lips tightened as though trying to stifle a laugh. “There’s a peace sign on the gate post.” He made peace sign sound synonymous with swastika.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I bothered you. Goodbye.” She started the engine. He closed the door and stepped back as she swung the Golf in a circle. Her sweaty hands slid on the wheel so she nearly ran over the dog. It put on a little spurt of speed to get out of range.
When she looked in the rearview mirror he was staring after her, hands on hips, partially obscured by whirling white dust. No way would she show her face here again. He’d laugh that mocking, scornful laugh. Attractive he may be and if he smiled and wasn’t so patronising she might well melt at his feet. But! Didn’t think a city girl could manage on a farm? Dismissed her as useless based on her shoes? Country yokel!
She was almost glad she’d used his shower. Weren’t country people supposed to be friendly and open? Welcoming visitors? Tom Fairbrother looked at her as though she were a plague carrier. The pox of the city. Might infect him with some civilised behaviour.
By the time Primrose reached the road and turned left for Nirvana she was so angry she accelerated too fast and nearly spun out on the next corner. The shock of a giant, fast approaching gumtree calmed her into a more sensible speed until minutes later the peace symbol, weather worn and faded, announced she’d arrived. The name Nirvana was almost invisible on a board propped upside down against the fence.
