Bewitching the Knight: (A Medieval Time Travel Romance) (42 page)

“Shhh.” When Beth risked a glance in her rear-view mirror, her own brunette hair too short now to get in her eyes in the wind. Actually, her hair wasn’t even brunette with just a hint of red any more. She’d had it dyed bright red when she had it cut this morning. She practically glowed.

No lights, thank heavens, but her heart continued to pound as the highway patrol car pulled in behind her. “Oh, no, no, no, please not again. I can’t afford another ticket. I still have to get through three more months without one.”

When the lights started flashing, Beth groaned and pulled her brand new ticket-catching fire-engine red Mustang to the side of Freeway-99 north of Sacramento. Just five more miles and she’d be on the exit to Aspen Grove. At least he hadn’t used his siren.

“Oh, your mother is going to love hearing about this,” Angie teased. “She warned you these changes would bring you no good, not thirty minutes ago.”

“Not one word to anyone.” Beth glared at her cousin. “Or I’ll tell your brother who bashed the fender on his Jeep.”

“Sheesh. Okay. Fine. I won’t tell.” Angie settled her voluptuous curves back into the passenger seat. “I really think you should be nicer to me on my birthday, though.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Beth turned to watch the patrolman approach in her side mirror. “I don’t believe this.”

“I do. Because you have a lead foot. But this is a record, even for you. You’ve had this new car for what? Three hours?” Angie laughed and shrugged. “Just flirt with the guy. That’s how I get out of my tickets.”

“That might be a great idea in racecar-land, but not in real life. I’m just going to be nice, keep as quiet as I can, and hope he writes me down for fewer miles over the speed limit so I can still keep my license.”

Good thing the Mustang’s top was retracted, or Beth would have had an awkward time getting the window down with her own newly manicured nails with the orange-red tips. But at least they matched her new dress and shoes. If only her ticket were red, too, then everything could match. Her finances would be in the red, too, after her insurance company got through raising her rates again. Wait, that wouldn’t be the problem; she’d spend a fortune on cabs unless her mother drove her everywhere, because she probably would lose her license.

The July sun beat down on her head. Without the wind from driving, she was heating up fast. Her heart pumping blood at twice the normal speed didn’t help any, either.

The patrolman walked up beside the car and she looked up at him. A long way up. He was a big man, six-foot-something, heavily muscled, dark moustache and shades, and in his early thirties, she’d guess. Good-looking if only he was smiling, she’d bet. And ticked off at her.

She’d wanted to attract male attention when she’d made the changes, but not male highway patrolmen, especially not ones wearing a wedding ring.

With a frown, he stood there quietly for a moment, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. His deep voice rumbled when he finally asked, “Do you know how fast you were going, miss?”

Still not believing she’d been pulled over again, Beth shook her head and admitted meekly, “No, sir. I lost track for a moment.”

“You were going eighty-two in a sixty-five zone.” He shook his head as if disappointed in her. “In fact, you were driving like a regular bat out of—”

“Heck!” Beth blurted out and could have kicked herself. Who cared if he swore at this moment, if it would keep her from getting a ticket. Not that there was anything that could keep her from getting a ticket with eighty-two in a sixty-five zone. Especially not flirting, as Angie had suggested. Ring or no ring.

The patrolman nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

“Officer, she couldn’t help it. She just got this cool car and I begged her to take me for a ride.”

Oh. Just. Great.

Surprised, the officer peered across at Angie, who continued blathering. “I’m like the biggest fan ever of NASCAR racing and I asked her to show me what her new car could do. I’m really, really sorry, sir.”

When Angie actually batted her eyelashes at the guy, Beth shook her head.

The officer’s frown deepened. “Do you want a ticket, also, young lady?”

“Oh, no,” said Angie, folding her arms innocently. “Definitely not.”

“Good. Then I’ll address myself to the driver.” Leaning over a bit, he turned back to Beth, now close enough she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Old Spice. Her father’s favorite. “May I see your license, please?”

“Yes, sir.” Beth’s stomach churned as she handed it to him.

This was usually the part where they took the license, glanced at it, walked back to their car, and came back with a ticket and a story about how they could have charged her with seventeen miles over the speed limit, but because they were such nice guys they’d only put down ten.

He did glance at it, but then he stopped and studied it. He looked back at Beth. Back to the picture on the license. To Beth’s face.

Warmth spread up to her cheeks. She knew what was coming. She’d already gotten blasted by her family. Why not the law?

He lifted his sunglasses and studied her again. His frown deepened, if that were possible. “You don’t look like this photo.”

“That’s because she just went crazy and gave herself a makeover, officer. It’s all James Jackson’s fault, though.” Angie just couldn’t stay quiet, and she spat out the name. “You should have seen the fit her mother threw when she saw the short spiky hair. And the tight dress. So of course she doesn’t look like the photo. She’s a brand new woman. Created today.”

Beth could feel her face reddening.

“Is that right?” The barest hint of amusement tinged the officer’s question.

He continued to stare at Beth, so she stammered, “Yes, sir. I decided I needed a change.” Oh, boy, had she ever. She’d changed everything, from the hair on her head to the new stilettos on her feet to the car she drove.

He dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes. “And did your mother throw a fit?”

“That would be an understatement.”

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Thanks again. I hope you enjoyed the read.

Diane Darcy