Chapter Fifty-Three
DAY ONE HUNDRED AND THREE
Sam West sighed as he pulled his cruiser tight behind the black Volkswagen Beetle and got out. Death, taxes, and speeders up on 52—some things were eternal.
Especially this speeder.
He strolled to the Beetle’s side, motioning for the driver to roll down her window.
The window opened to reveal Maisa Burnsey peering at him over the top of her cat-eyes sunglasses. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
He fought to keep his lips straight. “I’m afraid so, ma’am. You were speeding.”
She widened her eyes in exaggerated shock. “Was I?”
“Yup. You were driving over the speed limit. Well over,” he replied drily, pulling down his own sunglasses to give her a look.
She reached out her hand and stroked a red-tipped fingernail slowly down his pants zipper. “Gosh, is there any way I can make this go away?”
He had to clear his throat and even then his voice came out hoarse. “Damn it, May, how many times have I told you—”
He stopped speaking when she put out her palm. “Ask me what my hurry was.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“Well, as you know I’m marrying the love of my life tomorrow.”
“I do know,” he said softly. “I’m doing the same.”
She bit her lip for a moment and it was all he could do to stop himself from bending down and kissing her right there.
But then she sobered. “I have a rehearsal dinner to get to tonight.”
“Me, too,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “And I need to shower first because Karl’s idea of a bachelor party is fishing until three a.m. on Moosehead Lake.”
That got him a mock sympathetic look. “No strippers?”
“You know damn well I would’ve vetoed strippers.”
She grinned, because he was pretty certain she did know. “What’s wrong with fishing?”
“Nothing. Just not twelve damned hours of it.” He shook his head. “Karl’s convinced that if he catches enough walleye, he’ll eventually get one that swallowed a pink diamond.”
She outright laughed at that.
He raised his eyebrows. “You gonna tell me your half-baked excuse for speeding?”
“It’s not half-baked!”
“May,” he warned, “if either of us is late to this rehearsal dinner tonight, Becky will have our hides. She’s been planning this thing for months. But it’s hours away. Why—”
“I have it on good authority that a certain newly promoted deputy police chief will be off duty in, oh—” she glanced at her wristwatch “—twenty minutes.”
He leaned his hip against the car door. “Say that’s true. What’s it got to do with you speeding?”
“We-ell,” she said, drawing the word out, “if I were at that certain deputy police chief’s cabin when he got home, he might find himself getting lucky in the couple of hours before that rehearsal dinner.”
Sam gave up trying to resist. He put his hands on either side of her open car window, leaned down, and caught her mouth in a kiss.
May gasped, opening her lips, and for a moment he forgot that they were on the side of 52 in broad daylight and in view of any passing motorist. He kissed May Burnsey like she was the most important thing in his life.
Which she kind of was.
Then he remembered. Sam broke the kiss just enough to whisper against May’s lips. “You better get running, then, sweetheart.”
He stepped back and watched as she pulled out onto 52, doing maybe just under the speed limit. And he wasn’t at all worried as her taillights vanished into the distance. Because May Burnsey might run, but nowadays?
Sam West always caught his woman.