Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  Abbot stopped abruptly in front of his twin and the newly pregnant Veronica, grabbing my arm so I stopped with him. “Ronnie, this is Sloane. Sloane, Ronnie.” He gestured between us with his hand. “Kris, you remember Sloane, right?” Kristian looked lost for a moment. Then Abbot added, “She’s the redhead who terrorised us when we were kids. She broke Toby’s teeth.”

  “Tooth,” I said. “Just one. And I didn’t terrorise you.”

  Kristian’s eyes lit like a switch was flipped on. “She used to jump out of trees yelling ‘drop bear’ right? Scared the living shit out of us.”

  “I wasn’t that bad,” I said, laughing at the resurfaced memory. Toby and Nate had been in on the whole drop bear fiasco too. It was funny to send the younger kids screaming.

  The twins looked at each other then spoke in unison, “You were.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled at Ronnie. “Congratulations on the baby,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she replied, placing her hand on her stomach. “As long as it isn’t twins, I think we’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Identical twins aren’t hereditary. Only fraternal twins are. And even if they were it would be completely dependent on you because you’re the one who ovulates. Actually, it’s really interesting.” I watched her eyes go wide then glaze over as I started explaining how random an embryo splitting really was and the chances of it occurring. I was totally nerding out on her but couldn’t seem to stop, even though I knew I should.

  When I got to the end of my detailed explanation, I placed my hand on my head, registering the dazed expressions of my audience as I chuckled. “I obviously read too many articles.”

  “Well, you’ve put my mind at ease,” Ronnie said with a strained laugh before she made some excuse to leave.

  Abbot turned to me. “Wow. I reckon she thinks you’re really cool now,” he teased, causing me to roll my eyes.

  “Very funny, douchebag.” I’d probably already alienated two of the three Cartwright wives. I was doing well.

  “I like how we’ve settled right back into name-calling.”

  I shrugged. “You said it yourself: no pretence.”

  “That’s true,” he said, slinging his arm over my shoulder again and leading me away. “Now let’s go and get you prettied up. The restaurant isn’t going to let you in wearing khaki overalls. Doesn’t matter how good your arse looks in them.”

  I shoved him in the side and laughed. “I knew you were checking it out, creep. You got a thing for older women or just arses?” What is this? Was he playing with me?

  “You’re only five years older than me, Slater. And I looked because I’m a perv and can’t help myself.”

  “So it’s got nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact I have a vagina.”

  “I have a bedpost that I like adding notches to.”

  “Always on the hunt, huh?”

  “It’s hard to switch off.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said as we reached the car, liking his honesty. “Hey Abbot.” I turned to face him when he opened the door.

  “Yes, Sloane?” He lowered his voice in this sexy way that made me want to giggle.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about me about the tear gas?”

  Leaning on the top of the door, he grinned. “Because you said you were better than Trev.”

  “No one’s better than him,” I admitted. “And I, well, I pale in comparison.”

  His jaw twitched as he took a breath and glanced back to his family. “OK. But I reckon we keep that between you and me for now.”

  Chapter Six

  Pop a Mint

  Dinner was…interesting but fun. It was loud and it was gregarious, with a constant flow of food and wine and conversation. I couldn’t have worked afterwards even if I’d wanted to, and driving home was out of the question, so I stayed in the guest room at Jasmine’s instead, wearing borrowed pyjamas, the clothes I’d borrowed from Alesha hanging over a high-backed chair. It felt strange to be in a room where nothing but my underwear belonged to me.

  A creature of my own comforts, I struggled to sleep more than a few hours despite the exhaustive effects of the wine. I woke to darkness, showered in the en-suite bathroom, then dressed in the clothes I wore last night.

  Running my fingers through my flame-red hair, I looked at myself in the mirror, my wide brown eyes appeared glassy and tired. The freckles across my nose stood out against my pale skin.

  I rarely drank wine because it went to my head. Beer tended to be my drink of choice, but the Cartwrights had a lot to celebrate and the fancy restaurant didn’t really feel like a beer establishment.

  I have a headache.

  Checking the cupboards, I found a packet of Ibuprofen and downed two with a glass of water. Then I headed out to the kitchen in search of coffee, texting the guys I normally train with to let them know I wouldn’t be there.

  Sick? A message separate from the group chat popped up from Mark, my ex. Like the good buddy I was, we’d remained friends after the split. I’d even acted happy for him when he announced his engagement six months after we broke up. Even went to his stupid wedding.

  Did I already mention I was a glutton for punishment?

  Me: out of town for a job.

  Mark: when will you be back?

  Me: probably tonight.

  Mark: see you tomorrow then?

  Me: sure

  I put my phone down with a sigh, wishing I had the strength of character to let that guy go. It hurt to have contact and to pretend we were still friends, to smile when he spoke about his wife and their new baby.

  That was supposed to be me.

  I’d spent eight years of my life telling him I understood that he wasn’t ready for marriage or kids. And it was my choice to end our relationship because I did want those things. Imagine my surprise when it turned out he wanted those things after all. He just hadn’t wanted them with me.

  I should have told him to go fuck himself two years ago.

  But to cut ties with him meant I’d have to cut ties with everyone. All of our friends were the same big group we’d been part of since high school. For a long time, I was the only girl—big shock there—but as time went by, the ratio shifted and was almost even now that they were all married. The only singles remaining were this guy called Steve, who didn’t wear enough deodorant and still lived with his mother, and me. I’d awkwardly refused any suggestions that we should date. It was like we were their charity cases and they wouldn’t rest until we were paired off like them, tied off in a neat little bow. Fuck that.

  Why am I friends with these people again? That’s right. Because it wasn’t easy to start over again in a small town. I had to grin and bear it or be completely alone. No one wanted that.

  When the fancy coffee machine finished going through the steps, I had a hot latte in my hands as I slid onto one of the stools set up on the outside of the dark marble benchtop. Sipping slowly, I picked up my phone again and googled how old a woman could be before she was no longer fertile, switching my search term to ‘how to remove old tear gas devices from safes’ when I learned my chances of conception had dropped to five per cent from twenty. Yikes. My time was quickly running out.

  The tear gas search served as the perfect distraction from my declining fertility. There were nightmare stories about HAZMAT teams getting called in when tubes were accidentally cracked upon removal. It was strongly recommended that an expert be called in, but then that’s what I was supposed to be, right? I had no idea why I told Toby I could finesse the lock open like Pop could. They’d all find out I lied the moment I went in there and hours went by without an open safe.

  Unless…

  Sliding off the stool, I crept up the stairs and stood in front of the door to Abbot’s room. He already knew I was in over my head. So, if I could get him to take me to the safe early, then maybe I could get the device removed and the safe opened before the rest of t
hem even knew we were gone. I’d be a hero. It was worth a shot.

  Lifting my hand to knock, I hesitated when I realised that would make too much noise and wake more than just Abbot. Instead, I quietly turned the handle and pushed inside. Bad idea. Terrible idea. Abbot was asleep on his stomach, the dim light of early-morning creating a blue hue against his golden skin. The sheet was pulled over his body. Just. I could see a nice round arse cheek peeking out the side of it.

  Abbot slept naked.

  And now I was being creepy by watching him sleep naked.

  Maybe I should leave.

  I kept staring.

  God, he has a beautiful behind.

  He looked good in clothes, but without them, he was even more drool worthy.

  My fingertips tingled from wanting to touch him and my teeth ached from wanting to—

  “What are you doing?”

  Staring at your arse. “I want you to take me to this safe.” I managed not to choke on my words as I hid my surprise over being caught ogling.

  He lifted his head and squinted at me. “What time is it?” He reached for his phone and lifted it. “Five? What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you sleep?”

  I held my breath as he flipped over and sat, using a hand to pull his sheet across his lap, hiding is morning boner from my view.

  Disappointing.

  “I’m normally up training at this time. Plus, I can’t sleep if I’m not home, so—”

  “So you want to work instead?”

  “Please.”

  With a sigh, he looked around. “Chuck me my jeans,” he said, pointing to the rumpled pile at the foot of his bed.

  I did as he asked then he twisted to the side, slipping his legs into his jeans, pausing before he pulled them all the way up. “Wanna turn around for this part?” he said when I blatantly watched his movements.

  “Oh shit. Of course,” I said, turning while he stood and pulled his jeans over his delectable arse, tugging a rather impressive hard-on inside the denim. I knew all of this because I was facing a mirror that gave me an unfettered view of his movements.

  “Give me a minute to pee and we can go,” he said, turning and meeting my eyes in the mirror. A grin spread across his face as he shook his head. “Seems you’re a bigger perv than I am.”

  “You obviously work hard on that body of yours,” I said, nodding towards his ripped abs and the V that pointed so temptingly to the inside of his jeans. “The least I can do is appreciate it.”

  He laughed as he grabbed a random shirt and sniffed it before pulling it over his head. “Appreciate all you want.” If you didn’t put a shirt on, I could have. I wasn’t exactly hard up for eye candy if I was honest. I trained five times a week with guys who took looking after their bodies seriously. But, they were all married, we had history, and I knew their wives. Ogling wasn’t on the agenda with them. Abbot, on the other hand, didn’t mind the ogling, and well, he was hot, his body filled out in ways a triathlete’s never was. They were lean, built for distance and speed. Abbot was…well, built. All over. In every way. I might only get a day around him, so I was storing up his deliciousness ready for when I went back home. Who wouldn’t? Even girls needed a spank-bank.

  When he disappeared into the bathroom, I took a moment to peruse his room while he did his thing.

  Like the rest of the house, there were grey carpets with cream walls. A large wooden framed bed dominated most of the space with a bookcase, a dressing table drawer combo and a desk taking up the rest of it. On the walls were some surf-related posters, but my favourite piece was a framed print above the bed of five boys silhouetted against the setting sun.

  “Is that all of you?” I asked as he exited the bathroom. He glanced up, and nodded as he found a pair of socks and picked up his shoes.

  “Yeah. I think me and Kris were like four then.”

  “Who took the photo, Jasmine?”

  “Nah. Some family friend.” He laughed a little as he pulled his socks on. “You know, it even could have been you. It was taken in the summer.”

  “Maybe. We took a lot of photos back in the day,” I said, thinking it would be kind of cool if that were true. It meant I would’ve been here all along in spirit. Why that mattered to me, I didn’t really know. Maybe I was just getting sentimental in my mature years.

  “Back in the day.” He chuckled, tightening his laces. “You make it sound like we’re old.“

  “I am pushing forty,“ I pointed out.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Eighty is old. Forty is still young. Thirty-eight, younger still. There’s still a lot of fun to be had, my friend. Don’t quit living when there’s still so much life ahead of you.” Who knew Abbot was so deep?

  Finishing with his shoes, he grabbed a jacket and led the way outside where we hopped into Lizzie and drove to Geelong where a storage facility loomed like a dark shadow against a colourful sky.

  “Safe’s inside. Grab your gear.”

  As I stood at the back of the van grabbing my kit, I wondered what would happen if it turned out I couldn’t get this safe open for them. Would they send me on my way and find someone more capable? Ugh. I hated that thought. I really wanted that cash they offered.

  “Got everything?” Abbot slid a cigarette between his lips and lit up.

  “Besides gas masks in case I fuck up? Yeah, I’m good.”

  He sucked back on his cigarette thoughtfully, letting the smoke out of his lungs before he spoke. “You think we’re gonna need them?”

  “We should be OK.”

  “You’re not exactly filling me with confidence here, Slater.”

  “Well, I’m not Pop, OK? There was shit he refused to teach me, so I don’t know how long this is gonna take. I guess he didn’t trust me to keep my nose clean if I knew everything.”

  “How’d that work out for you anyway?”

  “Keeping my nose clean?”

  He nodded.

  “Less exciting. A hell of a lot less scary.” Getting up to no good with the Cartwright boys had been fun when we were kids. But I was comfortable leaving that behind me when the reality of being caught became all too possible.

  “Hmm, sounds boring.”

  I shrugged. “It was OK.”

  “And you think Trev would be cool with you coming back here and getting down and dirty after all this time?”

  “Down and dirty.” I laughed. “That’s so not the right term for what this is.”

  He smiled, his cigarette between his lips as he took my toolkit from my hands. “It could be.”

  “Shut up.” I rolled my eyes and scoffed, pushing against his shoulder.

  When he laughed, smoke came out of his nose. “Listen, I’m sure you’re gonna do fine in there. As long as you get this safe open, I honestly don’t give a shit how fast or slow you do it.” His words brought me great relief. All I had was an idea on how to finesse a safe open. It was something I’d never actually tried.

  “What about the rest of your family? Will they give a shit if I don’t open it right away?”

  “I’ll tell them whatever they need to hear,” he told me with a wink, causing something funny to bloom in the base of my belly. “I’ve got your back, Sloane Slater.”

  “I appreciate that, Abbot Cartwright,” I said with a small smile tugging at my mouth.

  “Hmm, my name just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  “It doesn’t, does it?” I laughed, waiting as he finished his smoke then stubbed it out on the ground, pocketing the stub.

  “Worried about DNA?” I asked.

  “Always careful, Sloane. Trev should have taught you that.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Then allow me to give you a crash course: always act like someone’s watching; keep your mouth shut about anything and everything you bear witness to; don’t ask questions about shit that doesn’t concern you; keep your money clean—no big purchases until after you’ve run your cut through the shop. You got that?”

  “Y
eah, I got that.”

  “Then let’s get to work.”

  As we walked into the storage facility, my mind picked apart how naïve I must have come across. I was aware that Pop wasn’t always on the up and up. Hell, I’d participated in some small-time shit while staying with the Cartwrights for six weeks every year. So, I wasn’t completely clueless. I understood that this stuff happened. I just didn’t know how or to what extent.

  “Abbot,” I said as he unlocked the door to a unit on the inside. He lifted his brow to let me know he was listening while he punched the code into an electronic padlock. “How?”

  He lifted his head. “How what?”

  “How do I clean it? Um…exactly?”

  “Jesus, Slater.” He shook his head, chuckling with amusement. “Do me a favour, will you? Don’t ask any of these questions around the others.”

  “Will they take me off the job?”

  He laughed a little harder, but I had no idea what was so funny. “Yeah, Sloane. They’d take you off the job,” he said, opening the door to let me in a room about the size of a single-car garage. In the centre of the room was the safe, painted in camo-green that had scratched away a little at some point, showing the red underneath. The paint job was probably damaged while it was in transit from wherever they stole it from, but… don’t ask questions about shit that doesn’t concern you… Did the origin of this safe concern me? Probably not. I squashed the question as I walked around the solid-looking object.

  “Why did that sound like sarcasm?” I asked instead.

  “Because it was sarcasm. How the hell did you get to thirty-eight and have no clue how to cook the books? You worked with Trev this whole time. Are you saying he taught you nothing?”