Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad?. Marion Lennox

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