LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      She needed the reassurance, too.

      Beach and breakfast. But then …

      At ten she was getting into a beach buggy with Ben Oaklander and heading to the wildlife shelter.

      Even Ben Oaklander was hardly a blip on her happiness radar. Should she talk to Dusty about him now? Maybe not. They’d talked about it back in England. She’d told him she thought his uncle would be here. The plan was that when Ben figured who they were, it’d be treated as a coincidence, so the less she said about it now the better. They certainly hadn’t come all this way to find him.

      It was an aside, she told herself. A tiny part of a huge adventure. She wouldn’t worry about it.

      She glanced out at the shimmering sea and felt at peace.

      This holiday marked the end of a very long struggle. Years of financial hardship. Years of worrying about her son and her mother.

      And they lived happily ever after …

      That’s what this was, she thought. Happy ever after. No matter that their time here was short, they’d take memories of this place home in their hearts.

      And when Dusty confirmed who Ben was, then Dusty would have memories of him and could tell his friends.

      ‘My uncle lives in Australia. He’s a doctor like my mum. He delivers babies but sometimes he delivers puppies.’

      She grinned at that, thinking of Ben’s horror at the thought of being a pug-doctor.

      How would he react when he found out their relationship?

      If he was mean to Dusty …

      She wouldn’t let it happen. She was a stronger person now. She’d quailed before Nate’s father. She had no intention of reacting the same way again.

      If it came out—when it came out—she could deal with it. She could protect her son.

      But now Dusty was waking, gazing out at the beach with awe. A swim before breakfast? Why not?

      Who cared about Ben Oaklander? They had ten days of paradise before them, starting now.

      Ben woke to the sound of Jess and Dusty playing in the shallows. He gazed down to the water and saw them. They were shouting, laughing, falling into the waves, spluttering, hugging. Mother and son.

      He watched them, an outsider looking. He lay quite still, as if movement might make them aware, might mar their happiness.

      For happiness there certainly was.

      She was wearing a crimson bikini. Slim and graceful, she dived through the shallow waves, encouraging her son to join her. Every time she emerged, she swept her mass of curls back from her face, streaming water. She laughed and teased her son and the little boy laughed back at her.

      Gloriously content.

      Family.

      Maybe he could have it, he thought. If he was prepared to take a chance.

      He wasn’t.

      Louise’s reaction during their last dinner had shocked him. She’d declared herself a consummate professional, determined not to have children.

      They’d had a great relationship, as colleagues, as friends, as lovers at need, when it hadn’t interfered with either of their lives.

      She’d shocked him by her turn-around.

      He’d gone to see her before he’d left. Apologised. ‘I’m sorry. I know made things clear

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