Trouble in Nirvana (14 page)

“I’ll need a permanent man for that. I don’t want to be a single mother. It’s a Catch 22.” Primrose stared at him. “I’m not about to sign up for commitment again in a hurry.”

Right. She’d made her situation clear. He changed the subject abruptly. “Tell me about your father.”

“Dad was a drunk. A violent one.” She waited for his reaction but his mind went blank. Too surprised to speak. “I haven’t told anyone before. Not so plainly. I don’t know why I’m telling you. I didn’t even tell Martin.”

She spoke as if it was a curious situation, one she didn’t understand, or hadn’t thought about before. Why was that? Shame?

“What happened to him?”

“When I was twelve he dropped dead of a heart attack and we were all secretly pleased. Relieved, at least.”

“Did he hit you?”

“Not me. Danny and Mum. I don’t know why Dad picked on him but he did.” She paused then added, “Maybe he figured bashing a little girl was out of bounds.”

He absorbed the information. It went in and disappeared into his mind for processing later. He couldn’t react. Not with shock, horror, or anything else. He’d had no idea of the horrendous life she and Danny had endured as children. A life both of them wanted to forget but couldn’t escape. It explained a lot.

“What about your Mum?”

“She followed him around, getting him out of trouble, getting beaten up for it and trying to keep the family in one piece. She wasn’t exactly stable, either—bi-polar, I think, looking back. She died when I was nineteen. Aneurism.” She spoke harshly. “Those people mean nothing to me now. They’re just dim memories of a miserable time. They failed both of us, especially Danny. We owe them nothing.”

“Hard childhood.” To put it mildly.

Primrose shrugged. “It was the only one we had. We survived. Other kids have it worse. At least he didn’t molest us. Danny left home as soon as he could. So did I.”

Tom tilted his head, grimaced. No wonder Primrose was tough and independent. No wonder Danny had a haunted, insecure look. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“Like I said, we survived. It’s gone now. They’ve gone.” She smiled but not her wide dimpled grin. This one was forced. “What deep dark secrets do you have, Tom?”

He took her cue, sat back with an offended expression. “I’m pure as the driven snow.”

“I’ll bet. What engrossed you and Danny so much he didn’t notice the storm brewing?” Her eyes narrowed.

Tom pursed his lips and met her gaze. A ripple of anger stirred deep inside. “Are you still on about the land price? Do you still think I’m trying to cheat you?”

“You tell
me
.”

“No, I’m not trying to cheat anyone and I’m even more offended now that you still think I would.”

“Now?” A bewildered shadow passed across her face.

“Since we slept together. Or had you forgotten? I think sharing someone’s bed implies a measure of trust in that person, don’t you?” Colour rose to her cheeks. Her eyes slipped away, but he held his gaze on her face until the intensity forced her to look back. “Well? Do you trust me or not?”

She nodded briefly, reluctantly.

The reticence infuriated him, rising in his body, forcing him to his feet to gather the tea mugs, saying, “I should damn well think so. I’ve given you paint, saved you from an attack sheep, made love to you, given you the use of my bathroom and you’re wearing my clothes! What more do you want from me?”

Her response startled him. “Nothing!” She jumped up, the chair legs scraping violently on the tiled floor. “I don’t want anything from you. I told you this morning. I don’t want to put my faith in any man ever again. Spending a few hours in someone’s bed doesn’t give you any rights over them.”

He glared at her then turned and dumped the mugs in the sink, breathing hard. He gripped the edge of the bench tightly, eyes closed, back toward her so she couldn’t see the confusion and havoc she’d created in his head in such a short space of time. Driving him crazy. And so easily. He released pent up air slowly.

“You’ll need a ride home.”

She didn’t answer for a moment and he turned to see her watching him with a measure of alarm on her face, arms tensed, body ready for flight. He laughed shortly. “Don’t worry. I won’t hit you. I’ve never hit anyone in my life.”

Her expression switched to wide-eyed concern. “Oh no! I’d never think...of course, I don’t think you’d ever...” Tripping over herself to reassure him. She stopped suddenly, spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Being so stupid.” She lifted one hand in a vague gesture. “Messing you around last night. I probably am on the rebound from Martin. You’re a nice man. I should never have come in. I should have kept going at the gate.”

“Maybe you should have but you didn’t,” he said briskly. “And that’s that. Nothing more.” That “nice” was like a slap in the face. A cup of tea was nice, a hot shower was nice. A lover should be more than nice.

She smiled, properly this time. Relieved. A cheeky dimple appeared in her cheek. “Right.”

He strode to the window facing the yard and peered out, anxious to get rid of her, remove her from his home where she fitted so well. Anxious to remove the temptation of her. She wanted children. Bottom line. Remember that. “The rain’s eased a bit. I’ll drive you home.”

She didn’t fit into his home any more than she fitted into his life. His Rose was a daydream, a fantasy, no more than wishful thinking. In reality Primrose wasn’t meant to be here anymore than she was meant to be on the commune.

“Thanks. I’ll get my clothes. Can I have a plastic bag, please?”

“Sure. I’ve got a coat you can wear and there might be some gumboots that’ll fit.”

Primrose collected her wet clothes and followed him to the laundry where he rummaged in a store cupboard, emerging with dusty rubber boots and a red anorak.

“Alison left these,” he said.

She pulled the boots on. A bit big but the anorak was perfect.

“Keep them.”

“Thanks.”

Tom put on his own coat and opened the door. The rain had settled to a steady fall but patches of brighter sky showed across the hills to the east. He stood on the steps and squinted up at the heavens. “Seems to be clearing. Pity. We could do with a week of it.”

“Not hail, though.”

“Didn’t get any hail here. Did you?” He set off for the garage.

“Yes, heaps.” Primrose lumbered after him in the awkward boots.

“It must have been a really isolated, specific storm. That’s why the house leaked. Hail clogs up the gutters and the water seeps in under the eaves.”

“Plus it’s a dump.”

He tossed her a grin across the top of the ute before opening the door. The lopsided, sexy grin that went straight to her belly like a punch despite the ever- widening chasm between them. “There is that.”

The powerful ute bounced and slid over the muddy, puddled driveway, wipers sloshing cascades of water from side to side. Primrose clung to her seatbelt grimly. Tom seemed keen to be rid of her but home, such as it was, wasn’t an appealing prospect. Danny would still be furious with her for many reasons, Kurt would still be Kurt, the house would still be uncomfortable. But she’d promised to show Mojo her flute.

“Fern and Jason are leaving on Wednesday,” she said over the roar of the engine and the sudden firmer staccato rattle of rain on the roof. Her glance strayed to his hands on the steering wheel. Strong and capable, just like he was. A shiver of memory—of caring, gentle hands, touching, exciting. Don’t. Tom was not for her. She looked out the window at the sodden paddocks, suddenly too conscious of him beside her. Too aware that he’d never touch her that way again and it was her fault.

“Anyone moving in?”

Primrose whipped her face toward him in shock. “I don’t know. Did Danny say something?” Not more freeloaders, please! Surely not after the discussion they’d had about Nirupam and the baby.

“No. But they usually have a steady stream coming and going. That’s why they never get anywhere. There’s no focus. Everyone who lives there has their own ideas about what to do, and Danny lets them all have an equal say. Then they pack up and move on and leave him with the shambles of their half-baked ideas.”

“Did you know he supports most of them financially, too?”

“You’re kidding! That’s bloody ridiculous.” He stared out the smeary windscreen which had begun to fog up, concentrating on the route. They reached the road and turned left. The rain plummeted down suddenly harder than ever as though it had waited for them to arrive on this particular spot before letting loose. Tom switched the aircon on and the windscreen slowly cleared.

“That’s why he’s selling land. He needs the money to pay the bills! Didn’t you realise? Didn’t you ever ask him?”

Tom didn’t answer. He leaned forward slightly as they neared the river and the little white bridge. “Wonder if the road’s cut.” Not listening to her.

“Tom!” demanded Primrose. “Didn’t you ever ask Danny why he needed money?”

“Primrose! It’s none of your business,” he snapped. “Just leave it, will you? We’ve other things to think about at the moment. Namely...this. Damn!” He stomped on the brake and indicated the road in front. Except there wasn’t a road any more, there was a lake spreading brown and muddy before them, filling the dip and covering the bridge so only the yellow tops of the flood indicator poles were visible.

“Oh!” Primrose gasped. “Can we drive through?”

“No way. It’s over a metre deep and the current’s too strong. Water comes down fast from the mountains, but it runs away pretty quickly too.” He threw the ute into reverse. The wheels churned mud and stones before gripping. Tom twisted to peer through the rear window, manoeuvring back to a wide enough place to turn.

“So Danny would have made it home all right?” He wouldn’t have tried to drive through, not Danny. He wasn’t stupid. But he’d been angry and maybe his judgement was off. No. He wouldn’t. He’d lived here for years. He’d know the dangers.

Tom muttered, “Must have or he would’ve come back.” He concentrated on the tight turn, face tense, mouth a grim line.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” She grimaced and bit at her lower lip.

“Yes,” he replied tersely. “For a few hours at least.”

“You don’t need to entertain me.” Stung by his obvious annoyance. “I can read a book or something. You do have books, I take it?”

He threw her a pained glance then ignored her for the rest of the slow return trip.

Tom disappeared outside almost immediately after he’d shown Primrose indoors again. She, left to her own devices, prowled about the living room investigating his book shelves and music collection. To her surprise he liked classical and jazz with an assortment of rock and country bands. She picked out a Bob Dylan album, a legend she wasn’t very familiar with but felt she should be, set it in action and settled into an armchair with a Clive Cussler yarn.

****

Tom woke her by slamming the back door and clumping into the house via the laundry. Primrose’s eyes flicked open. She yawned. The book had slipped to the floor, Dylan had sung himself to silence, the light had gone from the day. Still raining with a gentle but solid patter of drops on the roof.

She stretched and stood up. Her feet were cold.

“Hello.” He stood in the doorway, a dark figure in the gloomy evening light.

“I went to sleep.” She yawned again. A sudden explosion of light made her blink as he turned on a lamp then moved across and switched off the CD player. He glanced at the open CD cover but didn’t comment.

“Still raining,” he said. “You’ll have to stay overnight.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Now she was a burden, not a dalliance. Staying overnight, invited and willing in his bed was one thing. Staying because she had no choice was another. By his expression he evidently thought the same thing.

“I’ve only got sausages for dinner,” he said. “And mash.”

“Fine. I’ll cook.”

“No need, I can manage.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

“Could I borrow some socks as well, please?” Eating his sausages and potatoes, wearing his track pants and sweatshirt, staying the night. Was asking for socks stretching the relationship just that little bit too far?

“Sure.” He turned and left the room. It looked very much like an escape. Primrose went to the kitchen and searched for a saucepan and potatoes. Tom was being unnervingly polite, had been all afternoon. The easy banter of the preceding week had gone, the relaxed amusement had disappeared, replaced by a tense, watchful reticence.

Her fault. The truth crashed in on her with the force of the hailstorm. She’d caused this distance between them. Everything she’d done and said virtually since she’d arrived in Kullanurra had been wrong. Harmfully wrong. Pain causingly wrong. Danny was right, she was a bitch and Tom had had enough after only a few days in her company. And one wonderful night which she’d thrown back at him like dirty dishwater.

He was distancing himself and who could blame him? Shouldn’t that please her? It would mean they could sleep peacefully in separate beds with no obligation on either part to recreate last night’s ill-judged activity. Strangely it didn’t please her at all. On the contrary, it sent a shaft of hot, burning shame searing through her. Shame tinged with regret. She’d never had a night like that with Martin. His lovemaking was pedestrian by comparison, and he wasn’t as in tune with her body after a whole year together as Tom was in minutes. It was instinctive and it worked both ways. He knew precisely what turned her on and she took great delight in. . .

“Here.” A pair of grey wool socks was thrust at her. He studied her flushed face curiously but didn’t probe. Her eyes went straight to his mouth, with those lips that did such exciting things. She swallowed. Her breathing was way too fast. He had to notice.

“Thanks.” She grabbed the socks and bent quickly to pull them on, straightened. “Where are the potatoes?”

“In that cupboard. Do lots. I’m hungry.”

He pointed and she looked. That sounded more like the old Tom but when she turned with a smile and her hands full of potatoes he had his back to her and the fridge door open. “Like a beer?”