Love and Danger make for a compelling read

“Now, listen.” B.J. yawns. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful. I’ve never had a ticket.”

“Don’t speed.”

“Okay.” Geez.

“I’ve got weed in the walls. We don’t want to get pulled over.”

Did he say what I thought he said? “What?” I whip my head around. “What did you say?”

“I’ve got some dope in the walls. Don’t get pulled over.”

That’s what I thought he said. My scalp begins to tingle. 

He lined the van walls with wood paneling when he built the bed. And now, he’s stashed marijuana behind the paneling? “Why?”

He mumbles sleepily, “Because it sells for twice as much on the East Coast. We can make some money.”

A high-pitched, loud ringing noise pierces my ears. Selling a baggie or two in Austin is one thing, but why would he carry illegal drugs across state lines without saying something to me?

It takes a moment to gather my senses. “How much?”

Nothing.

I twist in the seat to see him. “B.J.! How much are we carrying?”

Nada. 

I turn on the cabin lights. He lies flat on his back, his left arm over his head, his head rolled to the right, and his mouth already open a bit. He is dead asleep with our baby, Jim Beau, under his left arm. He pushed himself to the limit—so like him.

Okay. We do what we have to do.