Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad?

Who happened to be Ben Oaklander.

She’d known who he was the minute she and Dusty had climbed aboard. Dusty hadn’t noticed. He was blown away by the ferry, the sea, the prospect of what was before them, and the guy on the foredeck in casual clothes was a long way from the formal, suited headshot she’d shown him on the net.

But Ben’s profile was unmistakable. Jeans, T-shirt, faded trainers. A body to die for.

A true Oaklander.

Gorgeous.

Also aloof and arrogant.

He’d thanked the crewman who’d helped lift his impressive computer gear aboard, he’d assisted one of the elderly ladies who seemed to be limping, but he’d shrugged off her thanks, cut off her attempts to chat, settled in the bow and read.

His body language said, Leave me alone, I’m not interested.

Well, she wasn’t. He was Nate’s brother and apart from a tiny amount of idle curiosity, she’d pass him in the street and move on.

Except that he was stunning. Silhouetted against the morning sun his profile was one of pure strength. He was a darker, stronger, harsher version of his brother. Don’t mess with me, his profile said, and she remembered his appalling father and she thought she wouldn’t.

She should tell Dusty—and she would; this conference was all about letting Dusty see this guy—but not yet. Not in the close confines of the boat. She’d told Dusty his uncle would be there as one of the conference attendees but how to introduce them took some thinking about.

She didn’t feel exactly ready. She wasn’t actually sure that she would be ready.

Dusty had enough to think about right now, she told herself. He was practically bursting with excitement as they approached the island.

They’d timed their arrival early, to settle, to find things for Dusty to do while she attended the conference; to simply enjoy themselves.

It seemed Ben Oaklander had the same idea.

But by the look of the textbook in his hands … Enjoyment? Heavy didn’t begin to describe it.

Jess thought of the medical journals on her bedside table, gathering dust. She hadn’t brought a single one.

This was why this guy was a leader in his field, while she was simply a doctor who delivered babies the best way she knew how.

She glanced again at the forbidding profile. Then she glanced at Dusty, who was watching dolphins. The similarity was almost frightening.

Keep it simple. Would the best plan be to introduce herself right now, explain what Dusty needed and go from there?

She didn’t quite have the courage. The sight of this guy … She hadn’t expected to feel like this.

An Oaklander …

Dusty had been photographing the dolphins. Now he turned and started photographing the ferry. Everything in the ferry.

‘Not the guy in the bow,’ she told him. ‘He looks like he wants to be left alone.’

‘I’m not being a pest,’ Dusty said virtuously. ‘I’m only taking pictures. Of everything.’

Everything. She couldn’t argue with that.

Maybe he was being paranoid but he didn’t think so. He was being watched and the sensation was unnerving.

A woman was glancing at him covertly—a woman who almost took his breath away. Maybe it was the morning, the sunlight glinting off the sea, but the sight of her glossy, chestnut-coloured curls, rippling a little in the soft sea breeze, her laughter at something the child said, the simplicity of her clothes, the maturity on her face that belied the fact that she looked little more than thirty—the total effect was breathtaking.

And beside her … a small boy who looked like Nate.

He was imagining things. Yes, the little boy was blond and blue eyed, just as Nate had been. He had the same wavy hair, the same cheeky grin. But he wasn’t Nate. He was ten or eleven years old and he belonged very firmly to the woman beside him.

The child had the woman’s build, slim, fine featured, almost elfin. She was wearing jeans, a plain white T-shirt and plain white sandals. The only note of colour was a simple, sea-green scarf knotted casually around her throat. It was the same colour as her eyes.

Alone she’d have had him riveted.

But still his attention went back to the child.

Memories of Nate … Unwanted memories.

Once upon a time he and Nate had been friends, two years apart, ganging up against their bully of a father and their icy, aloof mother. But then Nate had figured what would please his father, following in his footsteps, and Ben had left.

Yeah, well, that had been a long time ago. There were lots of blond-headed kids in the world. He turned back to his text.

He could sense the little boy’s camera raising, aiming.

He looked up as the camera clicked. The child let the camera drop to his knee. Gazes locked.

The child gave a tentative smile.

Nate!

The woman …

She intercepted his look, flushed, took the child’s camera. ‘Sorry,’ she said smoothly, liltingly, and she smiled, a smile which wasn’t the least like the child’s. ‘We bought Dusty a new camera for the holiday and he’s practising. He doesn’t have the legal ramifications of point and shoot covered. We’ll delete that shot if you like.’

Her smile might not be like her son’s but it was a good one. Her smile said smile back.

He couldn’t make himself smile. The child’s face.

Nate.

Suddenly he was eleven years old again. His mother’s words: ‘Forget your brother. Your father doesn’t want you—he and your father are one family, we’re another.’

Only he and his mother weren’t a family. He’d been used as a possession to be claimed in a messy divorce. Nothing more.

‘I’m Dusty,’ the child said, happy to chat. ‘Who are you?’

The child wasn’t Nate. He needed to pull himself together.

‘I need to read,’ he said, almost reluctantly. Even without the unsettling resemblance to his brother, there was something about the pair of them that made him want to know more.

No! This woman looks like a single mother, his antenna was saying. What about his resolution? No women for Christmas.

But his antenna was still working overtime.

Nate …

There were a million children in the world who’d look like his brother, he told himself. Get over it.

‘Sorry we bothered you,’ the woman said, and smiled again, and her smile was almost magnetic.

That smile …

Back off. Now.

He was being dumb. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, gruffly. Why not tell the child his name? ‘And I’m …’

‘Leave the gentleman alone,’ the woman said. ‘He wants to read.’

His thoughts exactly. Only they weren’t … exactly.

Uh-oh. Jess was feeling disconcerted, to say the least. She’d had no idea the presence of this man could have such an effect on her.

He was an Oaklander. What was it with this family?

Danger.

But then, thankfully, one of the elderly ladies, the one with the limp, produced a baby wombat from inside her jacket, and started to feed it.

This event was so extraordinary Dusty’s interest switched in an instant. Yes! The last thing Jess wanted was introductions all round.

Had Nate told his brother about Dusty’s existence? She suspected not, but his father might have relayed his dealings with her. Her name might mean something.

As did the fact that Dusty looked like Nate.

But the brothers hadn’t been close. In fact, Nate had shown nothing but disdain for his big brother.

She should relax. It was unfortunate that they were on the same boat, but the trip would soon be over. She could figure out how to introduce them when she had herself more together. And meanwhile …

A baby wombat …

Fascinated herself, she moved closer.

The woman had been wearing a sleeveless fleece jacket, which had seemed a bit unnecessary on such a fabulous day. Now she realised why. The wombat had been tucked into a pouch, taking warmth from the woman’s body. It was still snuggled in the jacket which was now being used as a blanket.

The creature was tiny, the size of a man’s fist. It was pink-bald, with fur just starting to develop across its back. It lay cradled in the fleece, while its carer patiently encouraged it to attach to the teat of what looked like a miniature baby bottle.

‘It’s a wombat,’ Dusty breathed, edging closer to the woman, fascinated. ‘A baby. Where’s his mum?’

‘His mother was hit by a car,’ the younger of the women told them. ‘Horrid things, cars.’

‘You’re taking him to Cassowary Island to look after him?’

‘It’s a wildlife shelter,’ the woman said, talking to Dusty as if he were an adult. ‘There are no predators for wombats over there. He’ll be safe.’

‘What are predators?’

‘Things that want to kill wombats.’

Dusty inched closer still, and so did Jess. The other woman also had a bulge under her jacket. As she tried not to look, it … moved.

‘You both have passengers,’ she breathed.

‘Don’t tell the skipper or we’ll have to pay,’ the wombat lady said, chuckling. The name tags on their uniform said they were Marge and Sally. Marge, the wombat lady, looked to be in her late seventies. She looked drawn, Jess thought suddenly, the professional side of her kicking in. In pain? But all the woman’s attention was on the wombat she was feeding. ‘We smuggle our babies all the time,’ she told Dusty.

‘The skipper knows,’ the lady called Sally retorted. ‘We’re not doing anything illegal. But they do need to be carried under our jackets.’

‘Why?’ Dusty was riveted.

‘Body warmth,’ Marge said. ‘Pop your hand under your T-shirt and tell me that’s not a warm, soft place to keep a baby.’ She cast him a shrewd look. ‘If you like, after he’s fed, I’ll let you wear the pouch until we reach the island. If you promise to be careful.’

‘Oh, yes …’

‘How old is he?’ Jess asked.

‘About two months,’ Marge told her. ‘He was born about the size of a jelly bean. He had no hair, and his skin was thinner than paper. But like all baby wombats, after he was born he’ll have managed to wriggle into his mum’s pouch. Normally he’d stay in his nice, safe pouch for about eight months but this little guy has a horror story. His mum was hit by a car and killed. It was only because a passerby knew to check her pouch that he came to us.’

‘You’re using a special formula?’ Jess was crouched on the deck, watching the tiny creature feed, as riveted as her son.

‘In an emergency we can give normal powdered milk, half-strength,’ Marge said. ‘But now he’s with us, we give him special wombat formula. Sally has a half-grown echidna under her vest. They’re both mammals. They drink milk but they need their own milk. Cow’s milk is for baby cows.’

‘And for us,’ Dusty said.

‘Not when you were tiny,’ Marge retorted. ‘I bet you had your mum’s milk.’

‘Did I?’ Dusty demanded.

‘I … Yes,’ Jess said—and for some dumb reason she blushed. Which was stupid. As natural a thing as breastfeeding. What was there to blush over in that?

But … an Oaklander was listening.

He’d abandoned his reading and strolled along the deck to see.

Ben Oaklander …

‘Every species has its own particular milk,’ he growled, but his voice was softer now, no longer repelling. ‘Designed exactly for that baby.’

‘So my mum’s milk was designed for me?’ Dusty demanded of him, and Jess saw Ben start a little, as if he hadn’t expected to be drawn into a conversation with a child.

She watched him turn professional as a way to deal with it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to talk but the sight of the little creature had drawn him in. He squatted and touched the tiny wombat, stroking him lightly with one long finger, all his attention on the baby. ‘Yes,’ he said, softly, looking at the little wombat and not at Dusty. ‘When you were born, your mother had immunity from the germs she meets every day. By drinking her milk as a baby, you’ll have been safe from those germs, too.’

‘Are you one of those obstetricians?’ Sally asked him. ‘One that’s coming to the conference?’

‘I am.’ He stood, retreated a little, starting to look as if he was regretting coming over, but the women weren’t letting him off the hook.

‘We might need you,’ Sally said, casting a questioning glance at Marge. ‘We’re so pleased you’re all coming. We were sort of hoping to meet one of you.’

‘I doubt I’m much good at delivering wombats,’ he said, and the thought had him relaxing a little. The sunlight glinted on his dark hair. His eyes were narrowed against the sun, and he looked suddenly at ease.

Why had he been defensive at first? What had he thought, Jessie wondered—that she and Dusty were somehow intending on intruding on his private space? Or … She glanced at Dusty and then at Ben. The similarities were really marked. Maybe he’d seen.

‘We have a dog,’ Marge said, a bit shamefaced. ‘A pug. She’s sort of … pregnant.’

‘She’s very pregnant,’ Sally retorted. Sally was a wiry little woman with a mop of grey curls, considerably younger than her friend. Late sixties? ‘Dogs aren’t allowed on the island, but Pokey is fat and quiet and no threat to anything. She belongs to Marge’s sister, but Hilda had to go into a nursing home last month. Having her put down would have broken her heart. And because we run the shelter …’

‘We sort of sneaked her in,’ Marge admitted. ‘There’s three of us there, Sally and Dianne and me. The rules about animals on the island are strict—and good—but in this case we thought it wouldn’t hurt to hide her. But then she started to get fat.’ She sighed. ‘Or fatter. And now …’

‘She’s definitely pregnant,’ Sally said. ‘So we’re sort of in trouble. And if she gets into trouble we have no vet.’

‘You have no vet on the island—and you’re a wildlife refuge?’ Ben said, clearly confounded.

‘We’ve done specialist wildlife training,’ Marge said, with a touch of reproof. ‘Sally and Dianne and I, we pooled our money to set this place up. We plan to stay here until we die; it’s our dream retirement. We have a vet come over once a week, and we can do most things. But we can’t afford for him to come every day. And we sort of haven’t told him about Pokey.’

‘He might say she shouldn’t stay,’ Sally added, and Jess intercepted a worried glance at her friend. There were problems, Jess thought. Undercurrents. The words We plan to stay here until we die had been said almost with defiance. But then Sally caught herself and gave a rueful smile and the moment was past. ‘Okay, he would say she shouldn’t stay,’ she conceded. ‘Marge’s daughter’s coming home from New York after Christmas and we hope she’ll take her, but meanwhile we need to care for her. We’re worried,’ she conceded. ‘Native animals don’t have trouble giving birth. Joeys, baby kangaroos, wombats, possums are born tiny. If Pokey gets into trouble we don’t know what to do.’

‘But then we found out about the obstetrician conference,’ Marge said. ‘So we thought we’d find a nice-looking doctor and confess. And you … you look kind.’

Silence. Did he look kind? Jess wondered. An Oaklander? Kind? Hardly.

‘My mum’s an obstetrician, too,’ Dusty said into the silence, and then there was even more silence.

Jess and Ben … Two obstetricians and one pregnant pug.

Two elderly ladies looked defiant but hopeful. Jess started feeling exposed.

‘You’re here for the conference, too?’ Ben asked Jess at last, and the wariness was back in his voice.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I’m not stealing your patient.’ She managed a smile. ‘Pokey is all yours.’

He didn’t laugh.

He was wary, Jess thought, and maybe not just of being pulled into an illegal dog-birth situation. She saw him glance at Dusty.

Definitely wary.

‘It’s okay,’ Jess said. ‘We’re not about to intrude on your privacy.’

Why had she said that?

It was just that … his body language was all about protecting himself. He was acting as if she and Dusty and maybe also these ladies and their weird animals were a threat.

Familiar anger started surging. Kind? Ha. He was an Oaklander.

She was reminded suddenly of the night she’d told Nate she was pregnant. He’d closed down. Backed off. Disclaimed responsibility.

The Oaklander specialty.

‘If your mother’s going to the conference, what will you do?’ Sally asked Dusty, seemingly unaware of the undercurrents running between Jess and Ben. Between Ben and everyone. The assumption was that the question of Pokey had been solved. The belief was that Ben would help.

Would he?

‘I’ll play on my computer,’ Dusty said, switching instantly to martyr mode. His specialty. ‘I have to do that when Mum has to work and I can’t go out. Mum says there’ll be a hotel person to sit with me. Whoever that is. It’s okay. I’m used to it.’

Uh-oh. All eyes—including Dusty-the-Martyr’s—gazed at her with reproach. She could feel herself flushing. Neglectful mother, abandoning child to uncaring hotel person and mindless computer games.

Guilt …

She’d checked there was a child minding service before she’d come. She and Dusty had talked about it. They’d go to the beach early and she’d skip less important conference sessions. Dusty wouldn’t suffer.

‘Try being a single mother yourself,’ she muttered under her breath, and practically glowered.

But Dusty was soaking it up. Pathetic-R-Us. ‘It’s okay,’ he said again, manfully. ‘I don’t really mind.’

‘Would you like to help us in the wildlife centre?’ Sally asked Dusty. Taking pity on The Orphan.

‘We can use some help,’ Marge agreed, smiling at The Orphan as well. ‘That is, if you like animals. Your mum could walk you over to the refuge in the mornings before the conference and pick you up afterwards. It’s not too far. If you think you’d enjoy it …’

‘We look after lots of things,’ Sally told him. ‘Possums, echidnas, kangaroos, goannas, birds, turtles; there’s always work to do. You look like the sort of boy who’d enjoy helping.’

So they’d seen his hunger.

Dusty’s fascination with animals had started early. Even as a toddler, he’d been fascinated with the photographs of his mother’s childhood. His grandma’s cat who’d died just before she did was the extent of Dusty’s hands-on animal contact, but he’d read it all, and now, even while he was playing the neglected orphan, he hadn’t taken his eyes from the baby wombat. He’d known instantly what it was. He knew his animals.

‘If it’s okay with your mother,’ Marge said, and it was still there, that faint accusation. Abandoning your child …

‘It must be hard to be a doctor and a mum as well,’ Ben said suddenly, and she glanced up at him in surprise. She’d been carefully not looking at him, expecting the same accusation. But instead what she got was almost … empathy?

‘Patients don’t understand that doctors have families,’ he said gently. ‘Emergencies don’t always happen in school hours. And if Dusty’s mother wants to keep up with the latest developments in obstetrics so she can give her mothers the best of care, then she needs to undertake professional development. Like coming to this conference. I’d imagine coming with his mum would be much more fun for Dusty than leaving him behind.’

‘Yes,’ Dusty said, finally abandoning the pathetic. ‘Mum went to a course last school holidays and I had to stay with Mum’s Aunty Rhonda for three whole days. And she made me eat roast beef and soggy vegetables for three days in a row. Coming here’s better than that.’

There was a general chuckle. The tension eased and Jessie’s anger faded. Or not so much anger. Defensiveness.

She hated leaving Dusty alone. She loved her work.

Push, pull. The minute she’d turned into a mother the guilt had kicked in. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get it right.

‘Well, Dusty, what about helping in the wildlife shelter instead of computer games?’ Marge asked, and her tone had changed. Ben’s interjection had helped.

‘I don’t know …’ Dusty looked dubiously at Jess.

‘Come over tomorrow and check us out,’ Marge said warmly. ‘You could all come.’ She beamed at Ben, including him in her invitation. ‘You’re here early for the conference. You can’t come to Cassowary Island and not see what we really do. Come at ten and we’ll give you a guided tour.’ She hesitated and Jess saw her wince. Once again, that impression of pain, and this time she conceded it. ‘My leg’s a bit sore at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe you could even give Sally and Dianne a hand with the cleaning. Would that be okay?’

‘I’ll be busy,’ Ben said.

‘Too busy to take an hour or so out to see how our shelter runs?’ Marge sounded incredulous. ‘And you’ll want to meet Pokey.’

‘I don’t need to meet Pokey.’

‘Well, we need you to meet Pokey,’ Marge said, with asperity. ‘And if we’re looking after your little boy during the conference then it’s the least you can do.’

‘He’s not my little boy,’ Ben snapped.

‘He’s not?’ The wildlife worker visibly reran the immediate conversation through her head. She looked from Ben to Dusty and back again. ‘You mean you don’t know each other?’

‘No.’

‘But he looks like you.’

There was a moment’s silence. Dusty stared at Ben. Turned to his mother. Opened his mouth.

‘We don’t know each other,’ Jess said, cutting Dusty off before he could say a word. She wasn’t ready. Panic.

Panic was stupid, but there it was. Not now. Please.

‘But you’re both obstetricians,’ Sally said, sounding thrilled. ‘How wonderful. That’s exactly what Pokey needs. So ten tomorrow? Marge will pick you up in her beach buggy. Be ready. And whatever you charge is fine by us.’

‘I don’t …’ Ben started.

‘Accept payment?’ Sally said blithely. ‘We thought you might say that. A donation to your favourite charity is okay with us. And we understand all care, and no responsibility. So if there are no other objections we’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I need to read,’ Ben said, retreating.

‘Of course you do,’ Sally said. ‘Work now so you’ll have time for us tomorrow. Now …’ She looked at Jess. ‘Would your little boy like to hold a wombat?’

CHAPTER THREE

THE convention centre and associated resort was as good as the internet had promised, maybe better. Quite simply, Jess couldn’t believe her luck.

The rooms weren’t built as a standard hotel, but as a series of bungalows, each with a mini-veranda overlooking the beach. With the windows swung wide, it was as if the beach was in the room. You could run from the bungalow into the sea in a minute.

The staff were lovely, casually dressed, seemingly casually behaved, but nothing was too much trouble.

A very pregnant receptionist—Kathy—accompanied them to their bungalow and made sure they had everything they needed, chatting to them about how wonderful the island was. There was no doubting her sincerity—this wasn’t a pre-prepared spiel. She organised beach equipment and told them how to organise surfing lessons for Dusty. A cassowary strutted past within two minutes of their arrival.

Dusty was too hornswoggled to think any more about his flash of insight as to Ben’s identity, and Jess had let it slide. Thankfully. Ben Oaklander could be forgotten. For now. They headed for the sea and she blocked him out. Almost.

Not wanting to face one of the resort restaurants—and not only because Ben might be there; jet lag was taking its toll—they had room-service dinner brought to them by the lovely Kathy. They fell into bed, exhausted. When they woke, the sun was streaming into their little house, sandpipers were darting back and forth on the sand right under their window, the sea was turquoise and sparkling and Jess thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

Ben Oaklander or not, this was the right thing to do. To bring Dusty here, away from the grief of his first Christmas without his beloved gran, without London’s sleet and bitter cold …

Happiness was right now.

Dusty was waking, his hand automatically groping beside his bed for his spade. Kathy had organised Dusty a man-sized bucket and a businesslike bushman’s spade and Dusty had glowed. Last night they’d built a sandcastle to top all sandcastles. He’d washed his shovel with care, it rested on the floor beside him and sometimes during the night she’d heard him stir, remember it and reach down to touch it. As if to reassure himself this place was real.