Should she have said something? Admitted that she thought she’d recognised him? It was too late now. Jess could only hold her breath and hope.
‘Hi, people,’ Sally said cheerfully. ‘You’ll have to put up with me driving this morning. Marge is our usual driver. I only got my licence when my husband died and that was when I was sixty so I’m not exactly skilled. But Marge isn’t well this morning so it’s me, me or me. Don’t talk to me. I need to concentrate. Hold onto your hats.’
There wasn’t a lot else to hold onto. There were two bench seats facing each other in the back of the buggy.
Jess and Dusty sat on one. Ben on the other. Facing each other.
‘Did they give you a spade?’ Dusty demanded of Ben.
‘No.’ Ben was looking…bemused. He was wearing light chinos, a short-sleeved linen shirt, open at the throat, canvas boat shoes. His hair was already rumpled by the soft sea breeze.
He looked far too much like his brother, Jess thought grimly. And like her son.
‘They gave me one,’ Dusty was saying. ‘It’s humungous. I built the best ever sandcastle and moat. We built it just past the high-tide mark and when the tide comes in the water will reach the moat and fill it. Do you want to look when we get back?’
‘The doctor will have work to do when we get back,’ Jess said, with gentle reproof, and Ben flashed her an appreciative glance.
‘I do. I’m presenting first thing tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know how you find the courage to take on public speaking,’ she ventured, trying to think of what a real colleague would say. ‘It’d scare me witless.’
‘Having a son would scare me witless,’ he said.
‘You don’t have children?’ That’s also what a normal colleague would ask, she thought. That’s also what Dusty would like to know. If he had cousins.
‘No family,’ Ben said, and it was almost a snap.
‘What, no one at all?’
‘The wildlife lodge’s just over this hill,’ Sally yelled cheerfully from the front. ‘I think…uh-oh… Hold on!’
A hump. The buggy lurched sideways. Jess grabbed Dusty, Ben grabbed her, Sally hit the brakes and suddenly they were sliding onto the floor.
Sally pulled to a stop. Looked back at her passengers, appalled. ‘Oh, my… Marge said not to hit that crest too hard. I forgot. Are you okay?’
‘I…’ Ben was still holding Jess. She could hardly breathe. ‘I think so.’
Dusty was underneath her. Ben was holding him, too.
Dusty giggled.
There wasn’t much alternative. She should giggle.
It was just that…she was underneath an Oaklander.
Ben.
She was starting to separate him from Nate in her head, but she still remembered how Nate had made her feel.
Separate or not, he was an Oaklander. But she couldn’t pull away.
‘I think we’re better staying down,’ Ben said. ‘We can’t fall any further.’ There was a rubber mat on the floor of the tray. Ben’s advice made sense.
He tugged her sideways so she was free to breathe and she tugged Dusty close so they were spooned into each other.
Dusty giggled some more.
And suddenly Jess was chuckling as well—because there was nothing else to do. She was so disconcerted.
Ben’s arms were around her waist. An Oaklander, holding her. Ben… Different.
‘Okay, Sally, let her roll,’ Ben said, and Sally grinned and grated the gears and tried again. With her passengers on the floor. And three minutes later they were there. The buggy pulled to a stop and Jess was almost sorry. And what sort of stupid reaction was that?
Dianne was busting out of the house to meet them, down the veranda steps, exclaiming in dismay as she saw their seating arrangements—or lack. ‘Sally! Marge said to go slow.’
‘I did,’ Sally said cheerfully. ‘Or mostly I did. I need to practise.’
‘That was…fun,’ Jess managed, hauling herself upright. Ben climbed down from the buggy, swung Dusty down, then held out his hands to help her.
She looked at his hands, considered, and then thought maybe not. Climbed down herself. Staggered.
His hand caught hers and steadied her.
Strength…
An Oaklander.
‘Well,’ Dianne said, glowering at Sally. ‘Maybe walking would have been more comfortable. I’m sorry. But now you’re here… Our babies are doing fine. The wombat’s doing beautifully. I reckon it was that cuddle you gave him yesterday, Dusty. Cuddles cure everything.’ Her face clouded a little. ‘Most things. Anyway, come and see.’
Yesterday Jess had assumed the place would be a tiny affair, a shelter run by three retired do-gooders with the best of intentions but not much else.
She was wrong. On their home turf Sally and Dianne turned into professionals who knew what they were doing and cared deeply. This was a professional operation, running smoothly and efficiently. It was used in part by the mainland university as a research station. It was used as a centre for breeding and releasing of endangered species. It was used also as a care facility for tending and re-introducing injured creatures to the wild.
The ward they were shown into was amazing. ‘Our children’s ward,’ Sally said proudly, and showed them into a softly lit bungalow with rows of pouches hanging from hooks just above floor level. ‘Each pouch has its own electric blanket, set to the individual animal’s body needs,’ she said. ‘Some of our babies can’t sweat so it’s important we get it right. We have nine babies here right now.’
‘Survival rate?’ Ben asked.
‘Depends,’ Sally said, and all trace of the fluffy do-gooder Jess had thought her disappeared. She was calmly competent, a woman who knew exactly what she was facing. And she wasn’t trying to dress it up for Dusty. She was treating them as three professional adults.
‘Some of these babies are deeply traumatised,’ she said. ‘If the mother dies without the joey being injured and someone finds it straight away and cares for it properly, then it stands a good chance. But sometimes a baby’s thrown from the mother’s pouch and not found for a while.’ She grimaced. ‘Or sometimes there’s something genetically wrong with the babies that are sent to us. A weak baby may not be able to cling to the mother. It falls and is left. That’s a hard call. We never harden to it; we give it our best shot but we know we can’t save them all. Would you like to see our kitchens? We have the best scientific baby formula production area in the known world. Dusty, maybe you could help feed… And we’re always looking for help sluicing out cages.’
She grinned at the look on their collective faces. ‘Well, what did you expect?’ she said, and chuckled. ‘We’re not open to sightseers but we are open to people who genuinely want to help. We’re always short-staffed. And…’ Her face clouded again. ‘We’re even more short-staffed this morning with Marge not well. Your help would be a godsend.’
‘Is there anything we can do for Marge?’ Jess asked, seeing the worry. But…
‘No. It’s just a sore leg—she was kicked by a wallaby last week. Kicks go with the job. She had a massage yesterday—that was why two of us went to the mainland rather than just one to collect the animals—but it seems to have stirred it up rather than settled it. She’s sounds like she’s getting a cold as well. But at least she’s accepted she needs to rest.’
‘We are doctors. You wouldn’t like me…?’ Jess ventured, still seeing worry.
‘She’d be furious if I asked you to,’ Sally said. ‘She hates fuss. You know, she’s almost eighty. She shouldn’t be here, but she says, well, she says she wants to die doing the work she loves and Dianne and I respect that. It’ll be what we want for ourselves.’ She gave herself a little shake, visibly pushing fears aside. ‘But today we’ve persuaded her to rest and that’s huge in itself. She’s snuggled into bed with Pokey, but she’s feeling guilty and if we push her any more she’ll get up just to prove she can. Right. Work. Let’s go.’
Work.
>
They fed babies. They sluiced.
It was kind of fun.
The animals were in separate runs according to age, sex and species. Each run had a patch of natural ground, designed to be as close to the natural habitat as could be obtained, but there were sections in each run where feeding took place, or treating. These section were concrete slabs that had to be meticulously cleaned.
Jess scrubbed out the run of four short-nosed wombats. She worked alone. Dusty and Ben were in the turtle/tortoise run, cleaning the area around the pool. Scrubbing. Chatting.
Jess couldn’t hear what they were chatting about.
‘Do you want to work together or apart?’ Sally had asked.
‘Apart,’ Jess had said, fast.
But Dusty had said ‘Together’ at exactly the same time. Ben hadn’t responded.
‘That’s easy, then. Jess, you do the wombats, and Dusty and Ben do the tortoises,’ Sally had said, and before she knew it that’s exactly what was happening.
She could see them from where she was, fifty yards away, two heads, one small and blond, one adult and dark.
Dusty, asking questions.
Ben, seemingly at ease. Answering. Chatting back. Scrubbing as if he was accustomed to hard manual work.
Dusty manfully trying to keep up with him.
Even from here Jess was sensing the beginning of hero-worship.
‘I think this might be Dr Oaklander,’ Dusty had whispered to her during the tour, and she’d nodded, as grave as he’d been. They’d introduced themselves briefly as Dusty, Tess, Ben, and she’d seen Dusty react to the name. Ben.
‘Check him out, then,’ she’d said. ‘Maybe don’t say anything until you’re sure.’
Dusty was obviously taking her at her word, or maybe he’d simply forgotten again and was just enjoying the moment. There was too much else to think about.
He didn’t have enough males in his life, Jess thought ruefully as she watched them. No grandparents. No uncles. His teacher was a woman. Even his karate instructor was female.
What were they saying?
This was driving her crazy.
Ben’s reaction to Dusty had Ben disconcerted. He didn’t react to kids like this. In truth, he hardly reacted to kids at all. Once they’d lost newborn status he had little to do with them.
He was aware of them, of course. He’d even done a stint of paediatrics during training. But now…it was as if his decision about avoiding families had made him tune out from doing more than be nice to the siblings of his newborns.
But Dusty seemed…different.
The kid had him intrigued. He wasn’t a noisy kid. He’d sensed the need for initial quiet in the enclosure they were cleaning, not wanting to scare the tortoises. For the first few minutes he’d simply scrubbed and not said anything.
Then, as the creatures got used to them, deciding they were no threat, Dusty started talking. A little.
‘There are three different species of turtle here,’ he told Ben. ‘Look at the markings. And two species of tortoise. I really like tortoises.’
‘Have you ever had one as a pet?’
He looked appalled. ‘We live in London. These guys would hate it there.’
‘I guess.’
Dusty scrubbed on, then peeped him a smile. ‘What did the snail say when he was having a ride on the tortoise’s back?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ben sat back and enjoyed Dusty’s grin. Once more, he was hit by that blast of recognition. Surely this was…
‘Wheeeeeeee,’ Dusty told him, and Ben found himself chuckling out loud.
The creatures around them didn’t even back away.
‘Do you know any tortoise jokes?’ Dusty demanded, and Ben thought about it. He and Nate used to buy books of jokes. Jokes had been their very favourite thing and Ben was blessed with an excellent memory.
‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ he said, and Dusty chuckled in anticipation.
Just like Nate.
This was excellent, Jess thought. Wonderful. Dusty was getting to know his uncle without the tensions that revealing their relationship might cause. She’d deal with those tensions when they happened, she decided. Meanwhile the wombats were watching her balefully from inside their hollow log. Waiting for their clean house.
She scrubbed.
She kind of liked scrubbing. There were massive eucalypts overhead, taking away the sting of the sun. The wombats were a benign presence, and she thought, Am I doing it to your satisfaction, guys?
This was great for her head. It was taking her away from the grief of losing her mother, from the normal stress of work, the worry she always felt about Dusty…
And that was the biggie. Dusty had been desperately miserable since his gran had died. Now…
He had an uncle.
Any minute Ben might find out.
But when it came out…if Ben reacted well…
She glanced across at their stroke-for-stroke scrubbing. If Ben decided he did want to be an uncle… If he decided to share…
There were too many ifs. And she didn’t want to share with an Oaklander.
‘I’m befuddled,’ she told the wombats, and they eyed her as if they already knew it.
Befuddled but happy?
Yeah, okay, she was happy. She was in one of the most glorious places in the world. Come what may, Dusty had met his uncle. ‘I helped my uncle look after tortoises,’ she imagined him telling his friends back home. ‘He made me laugh.’
For Ben’s rich chuckle rang out, over and over, and a couple of research workers in one of the far enclosures swivelled to see. As they would. They were female and that chuckle… Whew.
Had Nate’s chuckle been as…gorgeous?
She couldn’t remember. Nate was a fuzzy memory, an overwhelming, romantic encounter and then nothing.
Ben was here, now.
He was still an Oaklander. Nate must have had that chuckle. For her to lose her senses as she had…
‘Well, I’m not losing my senses now,’ she told the wombats, returning to scrubbing with ferocity. ‘No way. I’m cleaning your yard and then I’m moving on.’
To the wallaby run. Not to Ben Oaklander. Not even close.
And then she paused. Sally had come flying out of the back door of the house. She looked around wildly. Saw her. Gasped.
‘I… I…’
And that look…
Jess was already rising. Switching mind sets. She’d done stints in emergency rooms. She knew that expression. ‘Sally, what is it?’
‘It’s Marge.’ Sally’s voice was scarcely above a whisper but the words carried regardless. ‘It’s serious.’
One minute Jess was a tourist, happily scrubbing for wombats. The next…
‘Ben,’ she yelled, no doubt scaring the wombats, but the look on Sally’s face said scaring was the least of their problems. ‘I need you.’
CHAPTER FOUR
A SORE leg and a head cold?
Much more.
Marge was lying on crumpled bedclothes, gasping for breath. Even from the doorway Jess could see signs of cyanosis, the blue tinge from lack of oxygen.
Ben was right behind her, and he saw the signs as she had.
Marge’s nightgown was buttoned tight to her throat. He strode forward and ripped the buttons open, easing constriction in an instant. He put his hands under her arms and lifted.
Jess dived to shove pillows behind her. They were getting pressure off her chest any way they knew how.
A pug growled from the end of the bed and Sally gasped and grabbed her and hauled her away.
The little dog whined in fright.
Sally sobbed.
Dianne was crowding into the room as well, with Dusty and the research workers behind her.
Marge was still conscious. Her breath was coming in short, harsh gasps, as if every breath was agony.
As Jess pushed the pillows more solidly behind her she coughed, and a splash of crimson stained the bedclothes in front of her.
&n
bsp; ‘Her leg,’ Jess said urgently to Ben. ‘A kick from the wallaby last week. Massage yesterday to alleviate the pain.’
And with that thought they both knew what they were dealing with. This had to be a pulmonary embolism. A blood clot in the leg, breaking up, moving to the lung. All the symptoms were there—the pain on breathing, the shortness of breath, the lack of oxygen marked by the bluish tinge. A bruise on the leg, a massage yesterday stirring it up…it made horrible sense.
They needed to call for transfer to a major hospital. They needed to clear the room. They needed to move fast. But just for this moment Ben took time for reassurance. Panic would make this much worse. He took Marge’s hands in his and he forced her terrified gaze to focus on him.
‘Marge, it’s okay, we know what’s happening and we know what to do about it,’ he said, firmly and strongly, and everyone in the room seemed to pause. Marge’s harsh breathing was still dreadful, but her eyes fixed on Ben’s, a terrified, wounded thing searching desperately for help.
‘Sally said you hurt your leg last week,’ Ben said, almost conversationally. ‘A fragment of clotted blood will have broken away and made its way to your lung. That’s what I think is happening. It’s causing problems with your breathing; it’s stopping your lungs inflating fully. That’s what’s hurting, your deflated lung. What we need is to get the pain under control so it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe, and to give you oxygen so you won’t have to breathe so often or so deeply. If I can find those things we’ll do it here to make you comfortable. Meanwhile, we’ll call for a transfer and get you to the mainland hospital, because that’s where they can give you blood thinners that’ll stop any more clots forming and causing more trouble. But it’s okay. We’ll take care of you.’
The doorway was crowded. Everyone was listening. Ben’s voice was deep and calm, dispersing panic.
Marge’s breathing was still short and sharp and dreadful but some of the terror faded. If Ben could persuade her to relax…
If anyone could, he could. His calm, deep voice was almost mesmeric and his eyes didn’t leave hers. If ever there was a man she’d want in a crisis…
Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad? Page 4
