Marion Lennox - Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad?

They might even have fun. Heaven knew, they deserved it.

It was only …

She glanced back to the computer, to the conference blurb. To Ben Oaklander’s image.

The Oaklander smile.

It was no longer dangerous—surely?

It couldn’t be.

SATURDAY morning a month later, they were halfway between the north coast of Australia and Cassowary Island.

Ben Oaklander was sitting not ten yards away from her.

She was feeling … weird. Confrontation wasn’t supposed to happen this fast.

The conference wasn’t due to start until Monday. A hover craft had been organized to bring delegates to the island on Sunday night, so the daily ferry was almost empty. It held a skipper, a deckhand, two elderly women who looked to be wildlife carers—the ‘Cassowary Island Habitat’ emblem on their jackets gave them away—and one solitary male who sat in the bow and read.

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?