Page 99 of No Kind of Hero

This satisfaction was too deep for smiling. This was the kind that went to the bone. “I can handle that,” he said. And pulled out onto the road again.

He didn’t even make it all the way to town. He passed Laurel Road on the left, and a rig was flipping on its lights, pulling out of there, and following him.

Allits lights. The red and blue flashing kind.

He didn’t groan. He didn’t say a thing. He signaled and pulled over.

“What?” Beth asked.

“Cop.”

“Oh, no. Why?”

“Can’t be anything really wrong.” He watched in the rearview mirror as a man climbed out of the unmarked pickup. No mistaking the uniform, though. Smokey hat and all. Evan sighed, rolled down the window, and kept his hands on the wheel. “I had two glasses of champagne, tops. I’ve been saving up for the hotel.”

Beth hadn’t had any that he’d seen after that first sip. She’d eaten barely anything, in fact, other than the one bite of wedding cake he’d fed her. She was running on emotion, as usual. Well, he’d have the whole week to help her relax and find her happy place. He was up to the job.

Once he got this ticket.

A big hand on the window frame, a pair of broad shoulders in a gray uniform shirt filling the space, and finally, a face under the Smokey hat. Serious as a heart attack. “Evening, folks,” the deputy said. “Can I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance, please, sir?”

Evan didn’t say anything. He reached for his wallet in his back pocket—cautiously, because cops didn’t always trust big guys with wary eyes—pulled out the license, and handed it over. Beth had already opened the glove compartment, was handing over the other documents.

The cop scrutinized them, then handed them back. “Thanks. You folks are traveling with an unrestrained child. Are you aware that child seats are required under Idaho law?”

Evan had a horrible moment and spun to look in the back of the car. No car seat. No Gracie. Of course not. They’d left Gracie in Michelle’s arms. Her car seat was in the back of Michelle’s Lexus. She was safe.

He wanted to ask the guy what he’d been smoking, but he didn’t. Cops didn’t like him anyway. Right now, the feeling was mutual. “Take another look,” he said. “There’s no child in this car. Our daughter’s with my wife’s mother.”My wife.He hadn’t said it to anyone before. It sounded good. It might have distracted him for a moment. “We just got married,” he added. Forget pride. “I’m not sure what the problem is, but this is our wedding night, so . . .”

The cop did “inscrutable” as well as Evan. “That so. Congratulations. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to cite you anyway.” He reached for his pocket even as Evan was thinking,Wait, what?And then justWait.

“Your badge says Lemhi County,” he said. “You’re out of your jurisdiction. What is this all about?”

The deputy wasn’t pulling a ticket book out of his pocket. He was pulling out a plastic stick. And he was handing it to Evan. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I guess your child’s restrained pretty well at that.” He stuck out a hand, and Evan shook it without knowing what he was doing. The cop said, “Jim Lawson. Congratulations to both of you.”

He took off, but Evan wasn’t watching. He was looking at the thing in his hand. A white plastic wand. “Wait,” he said. “What?”

There was a window in that wand. And it had a plus sign in it.

When he turned his head to look at Beth, it felt like slow motion. She shrugged helplessly, her eyes bright, and said in that breathless voice that did things to his heart, “It was . . . your mom set it up. The deputy. With your . . . aunt. In Paradise.”

Evan was looking at the stick again, then at her. “You’re pregnant.”

She didn’t say anything. She just nodded, a tiny movement, swallowed, and asked, “What do you think? Too . . . too soon?”

He laughed. He couldn’t feel his feet, or his face. He set the wand carefully down on the console, because he was keeping that, then reached across and took his wife in his arms. “I think,” he told her, his thumb on her cheek, his hand smoothing back that multicolored hair, “that I got luckier than any man deserves. I think I love you.”

“Do you care?” she asked. “Which it is? A boy or a girl?”

“I care that it’s a person,” he said. “I care that it’s a baby. I care that it’s ours. And I’m going to take such good care of you.”

She smiled at him, and there was a world of trust in that smile. A world that was all his. She didn’t have to say anything, but she said it anyway. “I know.”