‘I don’t need—’
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘We’ve both learned that the hard way. But it seems Dusty wants me as his uncle. I figure I can play family for a few days if that’s what he wants. Let me carry him to bed. Please.’
There was nothing to say to that. She stood back, and let him be family.
Dusty didn’t stir as Ben carried him back, set him on his bed and left. Jess sponged the worst of the sand away and tucked him in. She’d set Pokey’s basket at his bedside and Pokey didn’t stir either. She kissed Dusty goodnight, gave Pokey a pat and went to the living area.
Ben was standing outside, leaning on the veranda rail, watching over the moonlit sea.
Could she just sidle into her bedroom and leave him to it?
He’d been kind.
She owed it to Dusty to create some sort of relationship with this man. Family…
He didn’t feel like family.
He was, though. She had no brothers or sisters. Apart from her, Ben was Dusty’s closest relative.
Dusty wasn’t the only one who’d thought, if anything happened to her…
It was a thought every parent faced; didn’t want to face but did all the same.
After her mother died it had been a black hole. There had been nothing there, no back-up.
If this man…
Um, no. Let’s not go there.
It was selfish not to. If you took insurance you didn’t need it.
Take insurance. Open the door and talk to him.
‘Coffee?’ she asked, and he turned. His expression in the moonlight was troubled.
‘No. Thank you. You need to be in bed as well.’
‘So you’re planning on sentry duty all night?’
‘In case of bunyips.’
‘Bunyips?’
‘Scary Australian wotchamacallits.’ He drew an imaginary line across the top of the veranda steps with his toe and pointed to the far side. Lowered his voice and growled. ‘Here be bunyips.’
‘Okay, you’re on sentry duty.’
He grinned but it didn’t last. His expression went back to troubled. ‘How did I never hear about you?’
‘I guess your brother and your father weren’t communicative.’
‘My father knew?’
‘Yes.’
His expression grew even more grim. ‘There was no provision…’
‘For Dusty? No.’
‘My aunt left Nate a fortune,’ he said. ‘Nate died wealthy even without my father’s money. That money should have been used to support his son.’
And what a difference that would have made. If her mother hadn’t been almost hysterically insistent that she keep studying she would have opted out. As it was, those early years had been a nightmare. Study and a night job. Debt…
He read it in her face. He was good, this man. Intuitive as well as kind. How had that happened? In such a family…
‘I’ll make it good now,’ he said. ‘My father’s fortune came to me—he didn’t want it to but he hardly had a choice. Nate’s money’s in that mix. It’s sitting unused. I’ll sign it into a trust for Dusty. You’ll be able to use the interest for his care. I suspect it’ll make things easier for you both.’
‘I don’t want your money.’ It was an intuitive snap. Cold. Uncalled for.
‘I’m not offering you money,’ he said, suddenly formal. ‘I’m signing Nate’s legacy over to his son.’
Silence.
A really long silence.
There was so much happening in her head. She felt…bewildered.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped. I know you’re not your brother.’
‘I’m not.’ Grave agreement, nothing more.
‘You don’t deserve my anger.’
‘My family deserves your anger. Fortunately I’m the last of the line. My family was singularly unworkable. It deserves to die out.’
‘It can’t,’ she said. ‘There’s Dusty.’
‘So there is.’
‘And…and you? I mean…you’re not married? Children?’
‘Heaven forbid.’
‘So you’re the same as Nate.’
‘I am not the same as Nate.’ It wasn’t just a snap; it was an explosion, and Jess took a startled step back.
‘I…I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said, suddenly rueful. He raked his hair. ‘I assume you loved my brother. I imagine something’s still there. Every time you look at Dusty…’
‘I see Dusty,’ she said evenly. ‘I don’t see Nate. I never have.’
‘Wise. You’re better off on your own.’
‘As you are?’ she said, curiosity getting the better of her. ‘You’re not married. You said your father left you his fortune against his inclination. Nate never talked of you. How young were you when you cut yourself off?’
‘Young,’ he said. ‘As I said, my family didn’t work. Much better to be without one.’
And there was that in his face…
Maybe it was because she knew Dusty so well, and this man had her son’s features. This man had her son’s eyes. She could read Dusty.
She could read Ben.
She saw emptiness lying beneath an exterior that had been schooled to face the outside world.
She thought then of something she’d read. When Nate had died. When she’d been trying to locate his father.
It was a brief entry in a business who’s-who, a fraction of personal biography above his business interests.
Joseph Oaklander. Married Fiona Smythe-Harris, divorced, disputed property split, elder son Benjamin, now resides with mother, who’s based in Australia; younger son Nathanial remains with Joseph.
She’d figured it out. The divorce date would have been when the boys were eleven and eight?
It was one of the reasons she hadn’t tried to get in touch with Ben. He’d been divorced from Nate as well.
And for the first time she thought about it. Brothers, torn apart with their parents’ marriage.
‘How hard was it?’ she asked gently, knowing it was none of her business. ‘That your mother took you away from Nate when you were so young? That your family just…ended?’
‘It wasn’t much of a family anyway,’ he said grimly. ‘I don’t do families.’ He hesitated, his face growing even more grim. ‘No matter what I’m saying to Dusty.’
She came right out onto the veranda then, carefully closing the door behind her, as if somehow, in doing so, she could protect her son.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just what I said. Dusty obviously needs a link to a guy he thinks of as his dad. You’ve both been given a rough deal. I’m happy to fill in the gaps, let him think he has a connection. But in a few days you’ll be back in the UK and I’ll be here. Half a world apart. I’m happy to answer questions, send copies of photographs, move Nate’s money into trust for him. Even spend this Christmas with him if I must. But anything further… I don’t need the connection.’
‘Because he reminds you of Nate when you were a family?’
It was a shot in the dark, an impertinence, none of her business. But she saw him flinch and she knew she’d hit home.
Had she wanted to hit home? Did she want to pierce this guy’s armour?
No.
He was right. In a few days they’d move back to their separate worlds. Dusty could keep his illusion of family as he needed it. But it would be an illusion. Spend Christmas with you if I must… Ben Oaklander didn’t do family.
That was fine by her. What he was offering was more than Dusty had ever expected.
A few days with Ben. Dusty was old enough to remember it, to carry it with him. As he grew into his teens, made his own life, the connection would be less important. There was no need to press further than she already had.
There was no need to ask questions…
But she had already asked questions. One question. Because he reminds you of Nate when you were a family? She was
n’t even sure why she’d said it, but it hung, unanswered, and for some reason it felt like the dark was closing in. ‘Because he reminds you of Nate?’
‘Maybe,’ he said at last, his face rigid. ‘But it was an illusion. Nate turned out to be someone I didn’t like very much. I reacted to our separation with grief. Nate responded with anger. It must have been gut wrenching, to lose us both, to be left with my father, and it changed him. The Nate I knew…the Nate I thought I knew would never have abandoned you.’ He hesitated. Shook his head. ‘Enough. It’s history.’
‘Except…’ she said quietly, and she couldn’t help herself, there was something about this night, this man…
Unresolved grief. She could feel it. She could almost touch it. Without knowing why, without even realising what she intended until it was done, she reached out and touched his hand. It was a feather touch, nothing more.
‘Except it’s not the end,’ she said softly. ‘I wish Nate was alive so you could talk about it. About how that loss must have felt to him as well as to you. Maybe how he was… Maybe that was the grief thing as well.’
‘Or maybe he just learned earlier to build armour, and it got too hard,’ he said roughly, but he didn’t move his hand from the veranda rail. From under hers. ‘I need to go,’ he said, even more roughly. ‘I have work to do. I’m presenting first thing in the morning.’
‘With Pokey?’
‘Pokey’s scheduled for ten.’
‘How do you know she’ll behave?’
‘I’ve figured it. Anything for a scratch on the tummy, our Pokey. No pride at all.’ He was searching to get his voice under control, she thought. Somehow she’d touched him.
But maybe that was a conceit. It wasn’t her. It would have been the events of the whole day. The unexpected death this morning. The revelation that he had a nephew. The effort of making Dusty happy.
Only it hadn’t seemed an effort. It had seemed as natural as breathing, taking a small boy’s world and turning it around. Giving Dusty such a gift. The gift wasn’t in caring for Pokey, or laughter, or the beach, or sharing of photographs. It was in giving himself. It was in knowing what Dusty needed; what would make him happy.
Maybe Dusty was more like the child-Nate, the little-brother Nate, than Ben would admit. There was an instinctive knowledge. They were family, even if Ben didn’t admit it.
‘I won’t hold you any longer,’ she said. ‘You’ve done so much already. Just…thank you for today. Thank you for sharing.’
‘I’m not sharing, at least, not after we’ve left here. I’ll even spend Christmas with you if that’s what you want but that’s all.’
‘If it’s all that’s on offer, it’ll do,’ she said. ‘Dad for a week.’
‘I’m not Dusty’s dad.’ It was said with such force that she took a step back.
‘No. I… Of course not.’
‘I’m just a relation. For a week.’
‘And then back to being on your own.’
‘This is about you and Dusty, not me.’
She hesitated. Tried to tell herself to stay silent. Failed. ‘Ben, I met your father,’ she said. ‘I can guess what sort of damage he’ll have done to Nate. To you. For you to be so alone… I can’t…’
‘Leave it.’
She’d already gone too far. She was in no-man’s land and she wasn’t sure why she’d gone there, or how she could extricate herself.
She had to extricate herself. This man was nothing to do with her. He had a connection to her son, nothing more.
It was just… It was just…
The night. The warmth. The emotion of the day. The way he looked at her with her son’s eyes. The kindness he’d shown, to Pokey and to Dusty.
The need.
And there it was. She wasn’t sure how she knew, she only knew that she did. The emptiness.
I’ll even spend Christmas with you if that’s what you want…
It was a barren statement and it made her feel cold all through.
She couldn’t bear it.
He went to turn away but before he could she reached out and she took his hands in hers. Strongly. As if she knew what she was doing. In some way she did, but it was like she was split in two, one section of her moving with instinct, the other part of her screaming, What on earth are you doing, are you nuts?
But right now the instinctive side of her was winning, and she had no choice but to let that part of her hold sway.
‘Ben, I don’t believe you’re really an Oaklander,’ she said softly and surely. ‘You say you’ll spend time with Dusty, and for that I thank you. He’ll believe it’s like spending time with his dad. But it’s not. You’re nothing like your father or his. But maybe Nate as a kid…the Nate you loved… Maybe that’s what I was attracted to all those years ago. Maybe that’s the connection I want for my son. The connection that can love.’
‘I don’t—’
‘You have loved in the past,’ she said, more firmly still. ‘And you will again if you let yourself. I want that for Dusty.’
‘I don’t intend…’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But you might. Dusty’s a great kid, and he is your family, like it or not.’ She smiled up at him, feeling his trouble, feeling the need in him. He had such a reputation. Professional brilliance. Power. Fortune.
And all she saw was the part she knew. The part of him that was Dusty. And maybe it was true, it was the tiny part of Nate that she’d loved, the part that had been supplanted by character faults too big to ignore, but the part that, in this man, she recognised again.
A good man, struggling against conditioning so great it threatened to overwhelm him.
She looked at his face, she saw the trouble behind his eyes, she saw the pain. And here it was again, instinct, whether she willed it or not.
And before she knew what she intended doing it was done.
She tugged his hands, using the motion to push herself up on her toes—and she kissed him.
It was a feather-light kiss, a mere brush of her lips on his, and why it burned…
It did burn.
Her feet touched ground again and she looked up at him and saw…recognition?
Need?
What was she doing? Was she insane?
Get this on a logical level. Fast. Get this on a level you can handle.
‘That…that was a thank-you kiss,’ she managed. ‘From…from someone who could have been your sister-in-law if things had been different. Goodnight, Ben. Thank you for this afternoon. Thank you for rescuing Pokey and thank you for caring for Dusty. I’ll see you in the morning.’
And finally the sane and sensible Jess got it right. Finally the sane and sensible Jess managed to turn around and walk inside.
Closing the door behind her.
What had just happened?
He’d been kissed by his brother’s ex-girlfriend.
Jess.
The feel of her hands was still in his. He could still taste her. He could still smell the salt of the sea on her body, and more, a citrus-clean perfume, hardly there but still drifting in the night. The scent that was all Jess.
He did not want involvement.
When he’d started dating Louise, he’d said no strings. It had placed been solidly out there. Louise had changed her mind. She’d been angry when he’d proved immovable, but she’d conceded that he’d played fair.
With Jess…
There were strings already. Dusty. His brother’s child.
The fact that his family had ignored Jess, had made her live in poverty where an infinitesimal amount of the family fortune would have made, he suspected, a vast difference made him feel indebted and involved.
But there was more than indebtedness behind what he was feeling.
Jess.
And her child. The way Dusty looked at him. Dusty’s giggle. Dusty’s shy smile.
It wasn’t working. He was trying to drag his attention back to her son. He couldn’t.
Jess.
Jess was nothi
ng to do with him. She was merely Dusty’s mother, someone his family had treated with injustice. He’d right the injustice and move on.
His mind wouldn’t move on.
Jess.
His fingers were balled into fists.
What was he thinking? Why was he reacting like a terrified kid?
He wasn’t. He was simply a man who’d made a decision not to get involved. The pain when his mother had torn him from Nate had been indescribable. He couldn’t survive that kind of hurt again. The trick was not to get close in the first place. It was a rule of life and he was sticking to it.
Jess was giving Dusty all the love he needed. He’d provide the kid with memorabilia, with the concept of an uncle, with financial security. Jess could do the rest. It was what she wanted.
But Jess herself…
There was the enigma. There was something about her that tugged him as he’d never been tugged. That twisted something inside until it hurt.
‘Get over it, Oaklander,’ he told himself, suddenly savage. ‘You have work to do. You need to rewrite your presentation to include the dog.’
He forced his thoughts away from Jess; thought instead of Pokey. He thought of the ultrasound, ‘dead dog’ with four legs in the air, delirious with pleasure from the gentle strokes of the scanning wand.
What would happen to her after the conference? Did anyone want her?
It wasn’t his problem.
Nothing was his problem. He was here to give a keynote speech, spend time with his colleagues and get back to Sydney. He didn’t get involved. Ever.
So there was nothing in what had happened today to make him stand with his hands deep in his pants pockets and stare sightlessly out to sea.
Marge’s death.
Pokey.
Dusty.
Jess.
Nothing to do with him. Not.
Go and change your keynote speech and go to bed.
She’d kissed him.
Yes, she was insane. Stupid. Totally, absolutely nuts.
‘He’s an Oaklander and I kissed him.’ She shoved her head under her pillow and practically moaned. Then froze as she heard footsteps on the veranda.
Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad? Page 8
