How could she spend three nights with this man?
She had no choice.
‘You’re talking about food, right?’ she managed.
‘What else could I be talking about?’ he asked, all innocence, but his gaze still didn’t leave hers.
‘There’s a buggy coming along the track,’ Dusty said, unaware of tensions. ‘Yay, dinner. I don’t think I like salmon roulade but I like chocolate stuff. Ooh, what’s it got in the back?’
What was in the back was Christmas decorations.
Jess watched, hornswoggled, as the hotel staff unpacked buggies—there were two—onto the veranda.
One vast Christmas tree. Piles of lights. Glittering Christmas balls. Table centres.
‘These are from last night’s farewell dinner,’ she breathed.
‘You didn’t expect me to buy new ones?’ Ben demanded, reproachful. ‘The convention centre’s not in use until the new year, so I simply asked.’
He’d asked. He’d thought.
He took her breath away.
But… ‘Dinner, ma’am,’ the guy driving the first buggy said, bringing her up short. ‘We’ve brought it over hot. Would you like us to help set the decorations up while you eat?’
Whoa. Ben might have borrowed the decorations cheaply, but for him to arrange hotel staff to bring them here, to offer to set them up, to bring over a hot dinner…
She tried to think of how much this must have cost—and failed.
Scrooge?
Not so much.
He was smiling at her, in a distinctly un-Scrooge-like manner.
She wasn’t feeling… She wasn’t feeling very…
Actually, she didn’t know what she was feeling.
‘We’ll do our own decorating after dinner,’ Ben said. ‘It’ll be fun.’
Fun. Generosity. An Oaklander.
He wasn’t an Oaklander. He was Ben.
He was smiling.
No! She did not need him smiling at her, she told herself urgently. She did not need his smile. Be sensible.
Dinner was served.
Dinner was fabulous.
Dusty wasn’t enamoured of the salmon roulade but everyone else was, and Pokey licked Dusty’s plate clean, and then went straight into dead-dog mode. Her method of begging for more.
‘You’re not getting more,’ Kathy said, and then giggled as Pokey’s disreputable tail rotated like a helicopter blade. ‘Dusty, you’ll be hungry.’
No chance, Jess thought as she watched Dusty demolish his second helping of chocolate mousse and Kathy her third helping of lemon tart. The sunset was sending a flaming glow over the sea. Each one of the sanctuary animals was warm and fed. She was warm and fed. Ben was surveying all as if he were a beneficent genie—as maybe he was.
She thought of where she could have been for Christmas, in their bleak little hospital apartment, without her mother. This was some alternative. A sweet, insidious siren song.
It felt like family.
‘Washing up,’ she managed, pushing herself sharply to her feet, feeling like the ground might open up beneath her any minute.
‘The hotel’s sending the buggy to collect the dishes,’ Ben said. Then, at the look on her face—her jaw must have dropped round her ankles—he grinned. ‘They’re hotel plates,’ he said. ‘You think they’d trust us to wash? Health and safety issues. No one washes them except trained, certified staff.’
‘That’d be me,’ Kathy said sleepily.
‘Nope,’ Ben said. ‘You’re on decoration supervision duty. You and Pokey. Come on, team. Step to it, Dr McPherson, there’s work to do.’
And there was nothing for a hornswoggled doctor to do but obey.
They set up the tree in the living room, with the wide French windows open to the night beyond. They strung up lights, inside and out. They hung decorations from one end of the house to the other.
Halfway through Kathy’s eyes started closing and Ben ordered her to bed. Dusty followed, reluctant but physically unable to stay awake. Pokey went with him.
But… ‘No bed for us until we’ve finished,’ Ben told Jess. ‘Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve and to not have our decorations in place risks the wrath of every Christmas spirit I know.’
‘How many do you know?’
‘I’m Scrooge, remember. I’ve met a few.’
There’d been bleak Christmases in this man’s past, Jess thought. She could see it, behind the laughter. Behind the solid resolution to make this perfect.
‘I need to take the ferry over to fetch provisions,’ she said, thinking Christmas pudding and crackers and party hats and presents for Kathy and…and presents for Ben?
‘Now why?’ He’d found a stepladder and was attempting to set a recalcitrant star on top of the tree. It wobbled. He wobbled.
Startled, Jess grabbed the ladder and hung on.
‘I’m not an orthopaedic surgeon,’ she said. ‘Babies I can handle. Not broken legs. Have some sense.’
‘I appear,’ he said, adjusting the star to his satisfaction while she held him steady, ‘to have lost it.’ His tone was almost conversational. ‘Sense, I mean. I came here a week ago a sensible man. Not any longer. I just have to look down…’
‘Stop it,’ she said. Unsteadily. She was holding the step ladder to keep her steady as well as Ben.
She didn’t feel the least bit steady.
‘I’ll stop it,’ he said. ‘But we don’t need provisions. The resort is putting on a degustation Christmas dinner for guests. They’ll be delivering here as well. Every meal. Even Christmas breakfast. Eggnog and truffle omelettes.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘And doughnuts for Dusty,’ he said smugly. ‘Plus I’ve added a few essentials to the hotel shopping list—they’ll be delivered tomorrow.’
‘How much is this costing you?’
‘I’m not paying. I told you, I’m the original Scrooge. This seems a great way to spend my father’s money.’
‘What, all of it?’
‘No,’ he said gently. ‘But I’ve touched none of it. For some reason this seems a very good start.’
He stepped down the ladder then and she didn’t step back fast enough. He was too near. Too close. Too…Ben.
‘I…I need to feed our little wombat again,’ she said, but she backed too quickly, catching her heel on the cord of the flashing lights.
She didn’t fall. She couldn’t. He had her by the shoulders, and this time it was Ben doing the steadying.
She needed steadying. She felt like her legs were no longer under her.
‘Ben…’
‘I’ll never hurt you,’ he said, apropos of nothing in particular. Apropos of…something very particular indeed.
‘I know that.’ Did she? The way she was feeling… Need. Desire.
Love?
But there was also terror, and he could see it.
‘Go feed your wombat,’ he told her, but he didn’t let her go.
‘Ben…’
‘I understand,’ he said gently. ‘It’s far too fast. It’s hit us both like a lightning bolt.’
‘Not me.’
‘Liar.’
‘Ben…’
‘Okay, go feed your wombat,’ he said. ‘Far be it for me to stand in the way of a medical professional in the course of her duties. But, Dr McPherson, when you revert to Jess again, when you stop being professional…’ He hesitated, his smile fading, his gaze all on her.
‘When you’re Jess again, remember that I’m Ben,’ he said. ‘Just Ben. Not a doctor, not when I’m with you. Not even an Oaklander. I’ll change my name if you like. I’ll change anything you want.’
He tugged her forward, lightly, hardly any pressure at all. She could have resisted but she didn’t. She couldn’t.
He kissed her, soft as a feather, on her nose. The kiss of a friend.
A kiss of a man with all the patience in the world.
‘I’m Ben and you’re Jess,’ he said. ‘And tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. It
’s time to make our Santa lists. I know what mine was and I know what it is now. Think about yours, Jess. Think if yours could change. Think if yours could possibly mesh with mine.’
Christmas Eve was busy, and also Christmassy. Because of Ben.
Things kept turning up from the resort. More decorations because he decreed the trees around the sanctuary seemed bare. Santa hats. A full Santa and sleigh to go on the roof, complete with flashing lights.
‘Don’t tell me the hotel just had these lying around spare,’ Jess said, unbelieving.
‘They had their last delivery from the mainland this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I told you—I added a few things to the shopping list.’
‘This is ridiculous.’
‘No, it’s not, it’s fun,’ Dusty said. He was looking admiringly up to the roof. Ben had spent an hour attaching the sleigh to the eaves and placing Santa on top. ‘Kathy, come and have a look.’
‘Kathy has backache,’ Jess said. Kathy had spent the morning sweeping paths, insisting on helping. Now she’d retired exhausted to her veranda settee.
Jess had checked her. No signs of contractions, but…
She glanced at Ben and knew he was thinking the same as she was.
Kathy’s cheerfulness had slipped away, as well as her energy. She didn’t come to admire the rooftop. When Jess made her tea, she thanked her and then burst into tears.
‘I just want Mike,’ she sobbed. And then gulped. ‘I know. It’s stupid. We were stupid, though, taking this last week just so we’d get the extra pay.’
And not telling him the truth of when you were due, Jess thought, but she didn’t say it. She hugged her, found her an extra pillow, set Dusty making paper chains out of fancy hotel Christmas napkins beside her and went back to animal feeding.
Most of the animals were hungry.
Not Pokey. She was circling the living room, looking worried.
Jess got more worried.
‘There’s not a lot we can do,’ Ben said. ‘Except research. I spent two hours online after you went to bed last night learning dog delivery.’
‘You learned it in two hours?’
‘There are still some sketchy areas,’ he admitted. ‘However, the way I figure it, worst-case scenario is a Caesarean. Our vet cupboard has anaesthetic. I’ll play surgeon, you get to be anaesthetist.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘No other problems?’
‘I… Slash is off his food, too,’ she ventured. ‘Sally says he hasn’t eaten since we found him. I defrosted a mouse as per Sally’s instructions, put it in his enclosure with long tongs, wiggled it about, but he’s not the least bit interested. Not that I’d exactly be interested in a defrosted mouse but according to Sally he should be. I hope…’
‘Maybe that’s all we can do with Slash,’ Ben said. ‘Hope.’
‘I’m out of my depth.’
‘You and me both.’
She needed gifts.
As night fell Dusty insisted on hanging stockings, only they didn’t have stockings so he used pillow cases. He hung them on the veranda rail, demanding, ‘What sort of weird country is this when you don’t have chimneys?’ He made labels and pinned them on each.
Mum
Dusty
Uncle Ben
Kathy
Pokey
Jess surveyed them with dismay. Tricky.
There was no problem with Dusty’s stocking. She’d come prepared.
She’d also made a fast visit to the resort gift shop yesterday. Kathy’s Santa would be providing cosmetics, two bibs with cassowaries on the front, and a luscious resort bathrobe.
There’d been nothing that would suit Ben. A book on wildlife of Northern Australia? It was hardly a suitable gift for someone who lived here permanently.
A bath robe? No. It was an okay gift for Kathy but it seemed too personal. And the thought of Ben in a big white bathrobe…
No.
Ben’s stocking was, therefore, empty.
‘I’m stuck for Ben,’ she told Dusty, and Dusty considered.
‘He can have the books Aunty Rhonda gave me for the aeroplane,’ he said. ‘I spilled orange juice on one but the other two still look new.’
‘I can’t remember…’
‘They’re guys’ books,’ Dusty said. ‘Old-fashioned, with guns and stuff. I’ll wrap them up if you want. I’ve got napkins left.’
‘Fine,’ she said weakly. ‘Um…’ She looked again at the stockings. ‘Pokey?’
‘That’s easy, she loves my red jacket,’ Dusty said. ‘It’s fuzzy. You made me bring it but I haven’t had it on since I got here. And she threw up on it yesterday, anyway.’
‘Really?’
‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ Dusty said. “Cos you seemed bothered last night. Are you bothered now?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It’s sad we only have two more nights with Uncle Ben.’
‘It…it is.’
‘But it’s Christmas tomorrow,’ Dusty said, cheering up. ‘You want to know what I asked for?’
‘It’s a bit late.’
‘No, it’s not, because he’s here already,’ Dusty told her. ‘I already have what I want. Only I want him for longer.’
Christmas Day. Christmas dawn.
Something had woken her.
She and Dusty were in bed in the sleep-out. Pokey was under Dusty’s bed. Whimpering. Loudly.
Uh-oh.
She slipped out of bed and went to see.
Pokey was as far under Dusty’s bed as she could get. Backed into the corner. Staring out with eyes that were terrified.
Another whimper.
Dusty woke and sat up. Stared at his mother. Beamed.
‘Pokey’s woken us up,’ he said, deeply satisfied. ‘It’s Christmas!’
And as if on cue there was a long, drawn-out moan, not from under the bed—not from Pokey—but from inside the house.
Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.
‘Merry Christmas, Dusty,’ Jess said, tugging her little boy to her and kissing the top of his head. Quickly, because she had things to do. ‘Happy, happy Christmas. And it looks like no matter what was on our Santa list, Santa’s organised us babies.’
Kathy was in very early labour. That early moan had been one of fear more than anything; fright as the first contraction hit. With the house awake, when they reassured her, settled her on the settee on the veranda, talked her through what was happening, she calmed down. She had one of Ben’s ubiquitous cups of tea, and decided she’d like breakfast.
It was only six-thirty. Their gourmet hotel breakfast wouldn’t be here until eight.
Jess had headed into the house at a run at first moan. Dusty had headed in as well, in his pyjamas. Ben had reached Kathy before them. He was in tartan boxers and a faded T-shirt.
They should get dressed, only while Jess did a fast examination Kathy decreed she was starving. Ben set Dusty to be useful and there was suddenly a pile of hot toast ready to demolish.
It’d be churlish to let it get cold while they got dressed.
She should have brought a robe, Jess thought. She was wearing pink satin pyjamas with slivers of white lace. Short pyjamas. Very short.
Ben had seen her in her bikini. What difference?
‘We should think about transferring you to the mainland,’ she told Kathy, and Kathy froze.
‘No. Why? There’s toast here,’ Kathy said, looking panicked, and Jess met Ben’s gaze and thought, okay, they could do this. Normal presentation. Everything looked fine.
And Kathy was right. There was toast.
Ben brought Pokey out in the washing basket lined with towels and settled her in the shadows behind Kathy’s settee. She whimpered, refused toast, looked unhappy.
‘It’s looking to be a long day,’ Jess said, sitting on the veranda steps in the early morning sun, munching toast.
‘But an interesting one.’ Was Ben looking at her pyjamas?
She flushed. He grinned.
She rose, fast.
‘While no babies are actually arriving, I should get the animals fed.’
‘You fed the babies at four,’ Dusty said, urgently. ‘And there’s stockings.’ It was clear where his priorities lay.
‘So stockings are even more important than babies?’ Ben teased.
‘Yes, they are,’ Kathy decreed from her birth centre, eyeing her bulging stocking with a fascination that rivalled Dusty’s. For this moment it seemed even contractions couldn’t compete with the magic of Christmas. ‘We’d hate Santa to think he was unappreciated.’
There was no doubting Santa was appreciated.
Dusty’s stocking revealed a pair of tiny field glasses, really strong, the kind a kid with an interest in wildlife could use to develop a life-long passion.
A lot of ten-year-olds might have thought the gift was boring but Jess had guessed right. Dusty was gleeful, hugging her with delight.
He was even more gleeful when he opened a box from ‘Uncle Ben’.
A skateboard.
How on earth…? How big had Ben’s shopping list been yesterday?
‘So where can he skateboard here?’ Jess demanded, thinking frantically of airline luggage allowances and having to get it home.
‘Up and down the veranda,’ Kathy said. And then… ‘Owwww.’
That meant a small delay. Jess held Kathy through two strong contractions. Ben disappeared and came back with a canister and a mask.
‘Gas,’ Jess said, awed. ‘How…?’
‘I told you. Shopping list and delivery yesterday. I know this is a remote birth but I see no reason why we shouldn’t have everything we need.’
‘You didn’t know Kathy would deliver.’
‘I didn’t,’ he agreed, and then looked a bit silly. ‘My reasoning was that if we did full preparation then we wouldn’t need it. Logic, huh?’
‘It sounds all right to me,’ she said, and grinned. Feeling suddenly, absurdly happy.
Dusty was wobbling along, holding onto the veranda rail. Kathy tried out the gas, decided she didn’t need it, returned to opening her gifts.
‘From Uncle Ben?’ Kathy queried as she read Ben’s card.
‘I thought I might as well be Uncle Ben to everyone,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve missed out for ten years. I have a bit of making up to do.’
Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad? Page 15
