But, what if it was option B? Any sane person would put that business card through the shredder and run the other way. But I had history with these people, as did Pop. This wasn’t just some rando walking into the shop and feeding me some bullshit about a ‘found’ safe. These were people Pop had trusted to look after me every summer holidays for nearly two decades of my life. He’d obviously worked for them over the years or they wouldn’t have showed up looking for him today. The fact this opportunity showed up just when I needed it felt a lot like my grandfather giving me a helping hand from beyond the grave. Perhaps this was his way of pointing me in the right direction and showing me how to keep the business afloat. Maybe this was what he always wanted for me…why he trained me.
When Pop got sick, there were times when he’d said there were things he never told me, things he needed to explain. I kept telling him that he could tell me everything he needed to when he got better. Except he didn’t get better, and we never got to have that talk. Maybe this was a way for me to discover everything I never knew.
With my heart pumping a steady rhythm against my ribcage, I pulled the door closed exactly half an hour later and locked up the shop. I added a note in the window that said ‘Back Tomorrow’ with my mobile number on the bottom in case there were any emergencies. I didn’t expect many calls since there was a bigger locksmith in town that seemed to get all the business in our underpopulated locale.
As I leaned against the shop’s façade, I began to realise how bonkers this really was. Some guy from twenty-odd years into my past turned up and now I’d agreed to go God only knew where with him. It felt loosely like the plot to every YA book and film in existence. I was the heroine, going about my life and feeling as though I didn’t quite fit in until some handsome and mysterious bad boy came along and told me I was the chosen one. Either that, or I was Lara Croft in the latest Tomb Raider movie. Actually, that could be kind of cool. She was badarse in that.
Just as I was starting to feel a bit lame comparing my life to movies while standing on the footpath by myself, a dark grey Jaguar F-PACE pulled up to the curb. A sexy man in a sexy car. I may have started drooling again. That SUV was my answer to the ‘if you could drive any car you wanted’ question. I fucking loved Jags.
“Nice wheels,” I said when he got out and walked towards me. He smiled because he knew that. Everybody who owned a Jag knew that.
“Got everything you need?” he asked with a frown, gesturing to the fact I wasn’t holding a single thing.
“I do. If I take Lizzie.” I pointed to my beat-up 1990s panel van in the space next to the shop. “All of my tools are in her, so it’s easier than loading stuff in your car. I’m pretty much ready for any scenario with Lizzie by my side.”
“Lizzie, huh?” He looked over my van with a slight smirk kicking up the corner of his biteable, tuggable lips. “Sure. We can take Lizzie.”
“Great,” I said. “Give me the address and I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll direct you.” He took a step back and tapped on the passenger window. It slid down so smoothly it gave me a delighted shiver. I really wanted to sit in that car, lie in that car—no, on that car. It was so sleek and sexy.
“Jasmine,” I said, snapping out of my car-lust as a dark-haired woman came into view. Despite the years, she looked almost exactly as I remembered her—slim and elegant.
“It’s nice to see you again, Sloane. I was sorry to hear about Trevor. He was a good man.”
I nodded in gratitude. “The best,” I replied.
“I’m glad you’re picking up where he left off. He always wanted you to. Ever since you were a little girl. He talked about your future a lot.”
Did he? I found that strange since he was always on my back about walking the straight and narrow. “Lookin’ over your shoulder is no way to live, kid,” he’d say. Still, I had to wonder if this was what he meant when he said he had things to tell me. Perhaps he just wanted me to live a ‘normal life’ until the time came for me to take over…who knew? It was hard to have these kinds of conversations about Pop when I was still mourning him. I regretted not letting him speak his peace when he’d wanted to.
Abbot took my silent contemplation as a cue to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Sloane wants to bring her van for the tools. I’ll ride with her and meet you at the house?” Wait. He’s riding with me?
Jasmine nodded. “Fair enough,” she said, getting out of the Jag. I expected her to walk around to the driver’s side, but instead she came towards me, giving me a firm hug. “Welcome back to the fold, Sloane. It’s been too long.” She smelled like a field of flowers on a sunny day. How did women do that? I was fairly sure I smelled like skin and metal shavings with a little grease thrown in for good measure. It didn’t matter what I did, I could never smell like anything other than what I was. Me.
Welcome back to the fold.
As I hugged her back, emotion prickled my eyes because I wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction when so many years had passed. “Thank you,” I whispered as we parted. Then she held me at arm’s length and studied me for a moment, her light eyes curious while her lips held a smile.
“You grew into a beautiful woman,” she said, releasing me while also causing me to blush and look away. Beautiful and woman were definitely not words that were regularly combined when describing me. While I appreciated the kindness, I had a hard time believing they were true. “Well, we should get on the road. There’s much to do.” Turning gracefully, she walked back to the Jag and got into the driver’s side, each movement so elegant and fluid that I felt as though I was watching royalty, not to mention a little jealous that such grace hadn’t been bestowed on me. I had learned to be comfortable in my skin, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have moments where I wished for something more.
The engine started, the sound giving me a delighted chill as we waved her off. “I really like that car,” I said more to myself than Abbot. But he responded with a chuckle anyway.
“We should go, too,” he said. Then he held out his hand. “Keys.”
“Oh no,” I said, laughing at the absurd request. “No one drives Lizzie but me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. She needs tender loving care that not just anyone can give her.”
“OK.” He dragged the sound out as we walked over to her. “Why Lizzie, anyway?”
“She’s named after that Ford in the Cars movies, because she’s old and probably has a few screws loose too,” I responded, opening her up.
With a laugh and a shake of his head, he headed for the passenger door.
“What? You’ve never named a vehicle before?”
“Never,” he said, folding his big frame to fit inside.
I had to kick my door to get it to release, but once we were inside, I jiggled the key then started her up and she hummed just the way she was supposed to. “All cars should have a name.”
“You think? What would you call my car?”
“Kitten,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. “She certainly purrs like one.”
“Kitten. I kind of like that.”
“Yeah? You gonna call her that now?”
“Not on your life,” he said with a chuckle before he stretched out as much as he could in the small space. My eyes lingered a little longingly over his toned arms and the way his thighs pressed against the fabric of his jeans. The idea of spending extra time around eye-candy Abbot made me warm. So warm, I needed to turn the air on.
“Um, where are we headed?” I asked, needing to clear my throat as I took off the way the Jag had gone.
“Torquay,” he said simply. “Just head for the motorway. I’ll direct you to the house when we get closer.”
“The same house I stayed at when we were kids?”
“That’s the one.”
“I think I remember the way.”
He shrugged. “Give me a nudge if you get stuck.”
“Why? What are you planning to do that will require
nudging?” I asked as he wriggled in his seat.
“Nap,” he responded, closing his eyes, his breath deepening almost immediately.
I had to laugh. The ability to pass out that quickly was quite the gift to have. He was obviously very comfortable with me if he could fall asleep that easily. Just one of the boys, Sloane. I sighed as I took advantage of the chance to study his features a little more closely.
You grew up good, Abbot. Real good.
After a long-term relationship that ended in nothing but disappointment, I had all but given up on men. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a fine specimen when it came into close contact. And it also didn’t mean I had completely given up on sex…
Bad idea, Sloane. I gave myself a mental slap. In my experience, Cartwright brothers weren’t interested in redheaded tomboys. A fact that brought the heat of embarrassment to my cheeks every time I remembered.
Chapter Three
Buds
Abbot slept for one of the three hours it took to get to Torquay, which left me to my own thoughts about the sanity of the situation I’d willingly put myself into.
The last time I saw the Cartwrights, Pop and Jasmine had fought. I remembered raised voices and knowing the argument was about me. When he’d finished yelling, Pop burst into the room and declared we were leaving. After that, I never went back to Torquay, and Pop never allowed me to work on any big jobs with him. I knew the two things were connected, but I’d never pushed the issue, my own awkwardness over that last summer making me relieved that I never had to return.
Still, there was obviously a heck of a lot more to Pop’s work than I’d understood. And if I were going to take over his business properly, I’d need to know what it was. I hoped that taking this job would give me the opportunity to ask questions that would show me the path I’d been searching for since Pop’s passing.
“You still surf?” Abbot asked as we neared Geelong. Since he woke, we’d started reminiscing about times gone by and catching up on the in-between. He was easy to talk to. His voice had this calming quality that put me at ease even though my mind was whirling. It was nice to remember with someone who had history with Pop too.
“No surf in the country.” I glanced at him with a slight smirk. “My lessons ended when my visits did.”
“Bummer.” He ran his hands through his hair and looked out the window. “What do you do for fun, then?”
I laughed. “There’s more to life than surfing you know.”
Turning to face me, he flashed a beautiful smile. “Are you sure about that?”
The smile was infectious, although his words had me shaking my head. “There’s heaps. I run, I bike ride, and I swim. Hang out with friends. That’s fun.”
“Besides the friends part, that sounds a lot like hard work. What do you do, triathlons or something?”
“I happen to like triathlons. I like pushing myself to my limits.”
With a sideways glance, he frowned. “OK.”
“OK?” I scoffed. “Are you dissing my choice of recreational sport?”
With a chuckle, he shook his head. “Hey, your fun is your fun. You just wouldn’t catch me going through all of that for the sake of a personal best.”
My hands tightened on the wheel. “Let me guess, your idea of fun is catching giant waves and getting baked around a bonfire?”
He shrugged. “That is fun“
“That’s clichéd.”
“Clichés are clichés for a reason. Because that’s what people like.”
“Well, I’ve never really focused on what other people like. I’m fine just being me.”
“And who are you, Sloane Slater—the girl with a name that sounds like a superhero’s secret identity—what’s your story?”
“Besides having a cool-sounding name?” It was my turn to shrug as I glanced at him briefly. He looked completely relaxed while I was conscious of every breath and sound. And it wasn’t just because of this job and my grandfather. It was him too. I’d never been attracted to a guy years younger than me before. But here I was, nervous and clammy around a boy who became a man in what felt like the blink of an eye.
“What do you mean what’s my story? Like what did I grow up to become?”
He stretched his arms above his head and laced his fingers behind his neck, his elbow not far away if I turned my head. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
I released a chuckle then gestured to myself with one hand. “This is it. I didn’t transform into a superhero—although, I went through a stage where I considered changing my name to something more basic. My life’s been very simple: I went to school, hung with friends, and I worked with Pop. He died and I took over the business. You walked in and now I’m here. The end.”
“That’s it? No marriage, no kids?”
“Did you get married and have kids?” I shot back, a little defensive after years of that kind of question. It was like I hadn’t fulfilled my destiny as a woman because I maintained my single status and didn’t procreate. It didn’t matter that I was fucked around for years by a guy who’d promised everything then gave me nothing. I had wanted those things once upon a time. But I had learned to let go. Learned to be happy as Sloane Slater, the girl who always lived outside the norm. Alone.
He laughed and shifted his position, leaning his elbow on the window ledge, hand running through his hair again. “No way. Marriage is not for me. So much fucking drama for a pussy when there are so many others out there. No thanks.”
“Gee. Tell me how you really feel,” I teased.
“Seriously though, in the last eighteen months, three of my brothers have gotten hitched. I have never known so much bloody drama.”
“Three weddings in eighteen months? That’s a lot. No wonder you’re anti-marriage.”
“It’s not even the weddings that are the drama. It’s the relationships.” He sounded a little bitter. “We were all single, happily doing our thing, then suddenly all these women started moving in and they all lost their ever-loving minds. Nate fell first, then Sam. Now, Kris, my twin, is getting married in a couple of weeks. Nate is also expecting a rug rat. There’s only me and Toby left now, but Toby is keen on settling down so I reckon he’ll kidnap the next good lookin’ sheila he sets his sights on.”
I laughed at that. How absurd.
“Don’t laugh, I’m serious,” he said, although I felt sure he was still poking fun.
“Toby wants to settle down?” He’d always been the loner growing up. No girlfriends. No outward interest in anything romantic at all. How things must have changed.
“Desperately.” I never would have thought.
“So, you’re bummed about your brothers wanting to settle down because you wanted to maintain the bachelors until you all die kind of life?” I was beginning to think he would get along well with my ex. He had the same attitude all through his twenties, and even in his thirties while in a relationship with me, he was adamant that marriage was never for him.
“I don’t know why it pisses me off. I mean, it’s cool that they’re all happy and shit, but things were simpler before. We did our thing, we had our fun, and everything was fine. Now there’s chaos and anarchy and I hardly know my right arse cheek from my left nut anymore. I want it all to slow down and reverse a little. I miss what we were, you know?”
That was a lot to take in. But it sounded a lot like jealousy from where I was sitting.
“I guess things change as we get older. You’re all in your thirties now, right?”
He nodded. “Toby is forty. Nate’s thirty-seven. Sam is thirty-six and me and Kris turned thirty-three in March.”
“Must be hard seeing your twin getting married. You’re obviously close?” I glanced at him before flipping my indicator on to make a turn.
“We were.”
The bitterness in his words caused me to press my lips together.
“Do you feel left behind?” I asked, empathising with his position.
“Nah. Not left behind.
Just…pushed to the side.” I knew that feeling all too well.
“I’m sorry. That really sucks.” I reached over and gave his forearm a squeeze. Fuck, his muscles are hard.
He wiped a hand over his face and waved it off. “I’ll get used to it.”
We all do eventually. I pulled my hand back and placed it on the steering wheel, fingers tingling.
Falling quiet, he pointed out an exit then checked I knew where I’d be going from there.
“You know, Sloane. You’re real easy to talk to,” he said after a while, his hand rubbing against his thigh. “There’s no pretence. I reckon we could be great buds.”
“I get that a lot,” I said, forcing a smile while thinking that was the story of my life. I was never anything more than a friend, even within my relationships.
Buds. Awesome.
Chapter Four
Just Sloane
Pulling up in front of a massive white rendered home, I cut the engine and told Lizzie not to leak oil all over their fancy driveway that could almost be classed as a small road.
“It looks bigger than I remember,” I said, stepping out of my van.
Abbot shrugged. “It’s always looked the same to me.”
“You came here first,” Jasmine called out, exiting the house with her handbag slung over her arm. “Good. They’re all at the beach shack. No point in taking multiple cars. You can come with me.” She indicated the black Chrysler sedan in front of her. Wow, this family seems to have a whole host of fancy cars. Either they really were in the real estate game, or their petty theft was anything but petty anymore.
“Didn’t you want me to open something for you?” I asked, wanting to get the job done. Safes can take hours to crack, and I had a long drive back home when it was done.
“It can wait,” Jasmine said, waving her hand breezily. “Come and say hi to everyone first. I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of seeing you again.” I doubted that.
“Then I guess we’re tagging along.” Abbot’s tone suggested he didn’t see a point in arguing, so I shrugged and followed, sitting in the back seat of the Chrysler while Abbot and his mother got in front.
Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4 Page 2
