Wife Wanted in Dry Creek (2 page)

When he said it out loud, it didn’t sound so bad. The problem was Conrad wasn’t sure this woman looked like anyone else. He’d never seen anyone like her in town before, not even when folks from the Miles City rodeo spilled over into the Dry Creek café. He took another look at her. For one thing, those strappy black high heels she wore would jump-start a dead man’s heart. Women around here didn’t wear shoes like that.

“Still, maybe it’s a sign,” Uncle Charley said hopefully.

“She just needs to get a new muffler on her car.”

If he had to pick some woman to make his point, Conrad wondered why he hadn’t chosen an ordinary woman who really existed in his world. Maybe someone like Tracy Stelling, who cut his hair once a month at the Quick Clips in Miles City. She’d grown up on one of the ranches near here and, although she’d left for a dozen or so years, she’d returned, looking subdued and grateful to be home. He’d have a chance with someone like that. He’d even been thinking of
asking her out to dinner so he wouldn’t be lying if he said he was considering Tracy for a wife.

“Every relationship needs to start someplace,” his uncle said.

“That’s the whole point. There is no relationship. She’s just passing through. And she’s not even the real woman. I mean the woman I thought she was.”

He looked over at the calendar again. The woman was wearing a deep red dress with a white apron and holding open the door of a rundown farmhouse. The woman stood defiantly as if she was trying to fight off some crushing despair. He hadn’t noticed until she was standing at his window, looking out and blinking back her tears, that her profile was the same as the calendar woman.

“Conrad? You still there?” his uncle asked.

He swallowed, but he couldn’t talk. The calendar woman had reminded him of the feeling he’d had when he’d been five and his mother had died from pneumonia. Just the way she stood there holding that door, he’d known she’d shared the same feeling as him at some time in her life. They’d both screamed at the wind, even when no sound was coming out of their mouths.

“I’m just thinking—what if she did steal that car?” his uncle continued. “A thief could be dangerous. Knives. Guns. That kind of thing. Not that the sheriff said anything about the suspect being armed, but you never know. You need to be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Conrad said, hoping it was true.

“I could call the sheriff and have him check the woman out,” his uncle persisted. “We should at least get a license plate number.”

If it would make his uncle stop asking questions about the woman, he’d give him the numbers to Fort Knox if he had them. He looked down at the work order he’d just filled out. “The plate number is SAQ718.”

He’d had to go back into the service bay to write down the number because the woman didn’t know it. Of course, lots of people didn’t know their license plate numbers. That didn’t mean they were driving stolen cars.

“Say it again so I can write it down.”

“SAQ718. But I just don’t think—”

“Well, you’re a good judge of character,” his uncle muttered, contradicting everything he’d said up to this point. “You’re probably right about her. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, though. Find out a little more about her.”

“She’s got two little kids in the backseat sleeping.”

“Oh.” His uncle’s voice turned flat. “She’s married then?”

To his surprise Conrad felt an echo of the older man’s disappointment. He hadn’t quite realized that. “I suppose that’s what it means all right.”

Now this, he told himself, was the reason it was foolish to put that prayer request out there. It was bound to be discouraging to everyone involved. He trusted God with his very soul, but when it came to finding a wife, all Conrad could remember were the few days in junior high when PE class became dance
class. A boy, or a man, had to ask the question and hope for a dance even if he knew the woman would rather spit in his eye than say yes.

And the church—he couldn’t bring the whole church congregation into this. There’d be advice given and awkward questions and, worst of all, expectations. No, a man needed to find his own wife. His friends couldn’t do it for him.

“I’ve got to go,” Conrad said in a hurry. “She’s coming back over here.”

“Now?” his uncle asked. “Hold on—I’ll be there.”

“No—She’s my customer—I’ll—” Ask her to dance, he almost said, but stopped himself.

“I’ll bring her some coffee,” his uncle said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“No—” Conrad protested again, but the phone was already dead.

He wasn’t equipped for this kind of thing. He’d always figured that, if he married, it would be a dignified, orderly thing. If only he’d spoken directly to his uncle instead of making a joke, then he could have told him that he intended to ask Tracy out. He’d always thought that, if he got married, it would be to someone comfortable and safe like her.

He’d seen how his father had suffered when his mother died so he wasn’t looking for some grand passion that would twist him around and knock him flat when something went wrong. He didn’t expect his wife to be a great beauty or a great talker or to inspire a great feeling in him. She’d just be an
average woman who was content to stand beside him in life.

He only had to look through the windows to see the calendar woman as she now stood waiting for him. There was nothing average about her.

Even more alarming, when he turned to look out the other window, he saw his uncle coming across the road with a grin on his weathered face and a cup of coffee in his hands. His arthritis certainly wasn’t bothering him now.

Well, Conrad decided, there was nothing for him to do except to walk into the garage and find out what he was made of. She was waiting for him. It wasn’t a good time for him to recollect that he never had learned to dance, but the thought came anyway. His palms were already starting to sweat.

K
atrina shivered as she crossed her arms and stood in place. The windows in here were small and covered with frost from last night. The smoke from the muffler still hung in the air. A large tractor took up half of the garage, but there was plenty of room for her to pace around her sister’s old car.

“I’m freezing,” she said as he was coming out of his office. She was surprised her nephews were warm enough with just their coats on to keep sleeping, but she’d checked on them and they were.

“The heat will kick on in a minute,” Conrad said, stopping a few feet away from her. “I don’t usually have customers back here so I don’t keep it heated all the time. But I turned it up before I came through the door.”

“Well, thanks.” She drew her jacket closer.

It must be almost nine o’clock now and she’d left Leanne’s place around six this morning. They both had been half-asleep then so she forgot to give Leanne
the number for her cell phone. Not that she would have expected to hear from her sister anyway. Walker hadn’t come home until early morning and Leanne said he would sleep late. Katrina had been careful not to comment on Walker’s absence. It didn’t matter how suspicious it looked to her, Leanne needed to be the one to decide if her husband might be unfaithful.

“There’s a bulletin board over there that has some jobs listed on it.” Conrad pointed to the far wall. “It’s mostly cleaning houses, but you might find something to do until you get a more regular job.”

Just then a beam of morning light made its way through the frost on the window and settled on Conrad’s head, gradually showing up the sprinkling of golden strands in his brown hair. Now that was the kind of diffused light she’d wanted for her photographs. She didn’t know why she wasn’t rushing to get her camera. The longer she looked at Conrad the more of a glow he had. And his green eyes were filled with the mossy colors found in a backwoods pond. Even his skin was taking on a rosier hue. The faint roughness of whiskers on his cheeks and the set of his jaw made him look rugged and strong.

It was unusual that sunlight would make that much difference. He was almost handsome.

“You didn’t get into your wife’s shampoo, did you?” Katrina asked before she thought about it. “Your hair sparkles.”

“There’s no wife. I got some grease on my head working under that tractor.” He nodded to the piece of
equipment standing in his garage. “My aunt Edith made up something with lemon juice and other things to get it out. I smelled like fruit pie for days.”

So, he was single. “Well, it works. Your hair is great.”

Then she remembered she shouldn’t be asking any man if he was single. Not until she knew whether or not her cancer was coming back. She didn’t need a repeat of the scene with her boyfriend when he decided being with someone who was sick was not sufficiently entertaining to keep him by her side.

Conrad’s face eased up a fraction. “Thanks. If you need anything, just let me know.”

He seemed to mean it which surprised her enough that she considered telling him all her troubles just to see if he was like her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t easy to tell someone, though.

She hadn’t even told Leanne about the cancer. At first, she hadn’t wanted to worry her and then, when the surgery was all over, she didn’t know how to say the words. Maybe later, when Leanne wasn’t so worried about her marriage, she’d tell her then. If she waited a few months, she’d know more anyway. By then she hoped to be closer to her sister, too.

“Is it getting warmer in here?” Conrad asked.

She nodded.

He was looking at her again with concern, only this time he didn’t seem to be worried that she was going to fall apart. “My uncle is coming over.”

“That’s nice.”

“Well,” he said without much enthusiasm. “He won’t stay long.”

They were both silent for a minute.

“He’ll probably ask if you ever had your picture taken for a calendar.”

Katrina swallowed. “Oh. So you did notice?”

The director for the ad had kept pressing her to feel the despair of that woman caught in a never-ending drought. Finally, Katrina had let her emotions go.

Conrad nodded.

“Well, it was a mistake.” When Katrina saw the final picture, she was appalled. The camera had caught her emotions too well. “I never thought about all those people looking at me. All month long. It’s strange.”

“I can understand that,” he said.

He stood and looked over her shoulder at the tractor.

“I didn’t mean I don’t like people to look at me in person.” She wondered how neurotic he thought she was.

“Oh.” He looked back at her. This time he smiled. “Good.”

He shuffled his feet. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I could use some juice,” Katrina said. Every time she saw that calendar she got thirsty. “For the boys when they wake up. They’ve been sleeping a long time. Is there a place I can get some?”

“There’s a vending machine in the back.” He motioned to the far corner of the garage. “It has some boxes of apple juice. If you need some quarters, let me know.”

She looked and saw the bright blue machine with the red stripes along the rear wall of his shop.

“I’ve got plenty of change in my purse,” Katrina said. She’d left her purse in the car and when she turned in that direction she saw a small head in the window.

“Looks like they’re waking up,” Conrad said as he followed her gaze and waved at Ryan. “Do they sleep in the car like this often?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t taken them anywhere before.”

His face went white. “But they’re yours, right?”

She shook her head. “They’re used to the car, though. They probably sleep in it all the time so they’re fine.”

He was silent. Maybe even stunned. He certainly didn’t have that friendly expression on his face anymore.

Just then she heard the side door open to the garage. She looked up and a gray-haired man stepped inside holding a coffee cup. Short and a little stout, he had a red shirt on his back and his hair was puffed up around him like he’d been in a windstorm. Even his cheeks were rosy.

“Maybe you should go back and get another cup,” Conrad said to the old man as he stood in the doorway with the cup held out. “Tell Elmer he might be right about everything. That’s ev-ery-thing.”

Conrad’s voice was funny. Each word was spoken clearly before the other word came out of his mouth. Maybe his uncle had trouble hearing.

“Oh,” the old man said as he looked into the garage like he was trying to find something.

Through the open door, Katrina could see that the sky was darker than when she’d seen it last. It was
probably going to rain or snow before long. There were no more beams of sunlight sneaking through.

“Let me just give the coffee to your friend here. No point in taking it back,” the older man said as he stepped into the garage and looked straight at Katrina. “Hello. I’m Charley Nelson.”

She moved closer to save him some steps. It was brave of him to meet new people when he obviously had challenges.

“Let—me—help—you,” she said carefully and a bit louder than Conrad. Then she reached out to take the cup. “Thank you for bringing me some coffee. I’m Katrina Britton.”

The older man seemed startled, but he gave her the cup. Then he stood there grinning.

Conrad spoke up then. “It seems the boys aren’t hers. I’m guessing the car might not be, either.”

She turned and saw he looked upset.

“Well, not everyone has children,” she protested. She didn’t know what business that was of Conrad’s. And who cared about the car? “That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy being around someone else’s children. I was just taking them for a ride.”

The old man must have agreed, because he didn’t even talk about children when he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you liked cream or sugar so I just brought it black.”

He probably hadn’t heard Conrad, she concluded. The poor man. It must be hard to carry on a conversation.

“Black—is—fine,” she said loudly and took the cup. Then she pointed to her ear. “I—understand.”

That seemed to delight him.

“My uncle Charley hears fine,” Conrad said from behind her. “He’s just being stubborn.”

“How can you say that? He brought me coffee in a beautiful mug.” She looked down at the red cup she held. It had a white heart and a winged figure. “Why it’s a cupid mug!”

“Love is always in the air around here.” The older man stepped closer to her, still grinning.

“Love isn’t all that’s in the air,” Conrad muttered. He didn’t sound too happy. “Bonnie and Clyde were in love. That didn’t mean you’d want them to come to your town. Or take your children for rides in your car.”

Katrina took a sip of the coffee. It was good and strong.

“We’re known for our love matches in this town,” Charley continued, not looking at his nephew. “We even have a stop sign that’s shaped like a heart up the road a bit. It got bent like that years ago when a couple of teenagers—one of them my son, actually—had an accident while they were eloping. It’s our main tourist attraction.”

“We don’t have any tourists,” Conrad protested.

Katrina certainly could believe that. “You need to put on Shakespearean plays or something. Or build a water park. They’re popular.”

“We’re a good, decent town. That should be enough,” Conrad said.

Then it struck her. She turned to the old man. “You have a stop sign shaped like a heart?”

“Well, half a heart,” he admitted. “It’s where the fender of my old pickup hit it.”

She set her cup of coffee on the roof of her sister’s car.

“That’d be perfect.” She used her hands to try and picture that sign. Maybe she wasn’t out of the running to supply photos for that Romance Across America calendar after all. She’d already used most of her savings hiring those models for the photos she’d sent. She’d had beautiful blonde women and men with teeth so white they gleamed. But maybe she could find a couple of models that would work for some kind of future payment. She had her camera in the trunk. She had film. If she could get strong enough natural daylight, she’d have a chance.

“Do you have any blondes here?” she continued. “You know, young women in their twenties who’d like to take a chance at modeling. Pretty, of course, and curvy—”

Well, maybe not too many curves, she thought. Her boyfriend had been swayed by the curves of one of the models as much as he had been by Katrina’s surgery. She’d only had a partial mastectomy, but he said it made him uncomfortable. The young blonde, on the other hand, apparently made him very comfortable.

“Curvy? Why?” Conrad sounded bewildered.

She eyed him skeptically.

“I want to take some pictures. I guess the main thing is that the models have fresh faces and lots of heart,” she finally said. “They need to look sincere when they
pretend to be in love. I often tell my models to think of food when they’re trying to look smitten.”

Uncle Charley’s face brightened. “That’s a tip we can all live by. I love my wife’s cooking. Especially her sour cream raisin pie. Every time Edith bakes it, I fall in love with her all over again.”

Just then there was the sound of a siren in the distance. Katrina saw Conrad’s jaw tighten.

“Elmer called in the number before I left,” the older man said with a quick look at her. “I didn’t wait to hear what the sheriff said, but I guess they matched since he’s here.”

“Sheriff?” Katrina asked. “What’s wrong?”

Conrad knew there was no need to go over and open the door. Sheriff Carl Wall would find his way into the garage. His uncle had just been making sure the woman stayed here, Conrad concluded. That made sense, thankfully.

Meanwhile, the woman had moved closer to the car so Conrad stepped around to block her. He didn’t know who those two boys were, but he didn’t want her to use them as hostages.

Suddenly, it occurred to him. “They’re not drugged, are they?”

“Who?” The woman turned bewildered eyes to him.

“The boys.”

He wondered if she would play the innocent until the end. He’d sure been fooled by her. He’d never tell anyone, but after seeing her tears he had been planning
to put a new muffler on that old car of hers and not charge her a dime. Wouldn’t that have been something?

The door to the garage opened and Sheriff Wall stepped inside. He pushed his worn Stetson back so he could see from beneath the brim. He was a solid man and he didn’t put up with much nonsense from people. He got his hair cut by Tracy in Miles City, too, so underneath his hat he was neatly, but conservatively, trimmed.

“Conrad,” the sheriff said with a nod. Then he turned his head slightly and nodded again, “Charley.”

He looked at Katrina. “Ma’am.”

The sheriff had a gray wool jacket over his uniform and Conrad realized he was relieved the man hadn’t come in with his guns drawn. Catching a car thief would be high excitement for the sheriff, but he seemed to be taking it in stride.

“What do we have here?” the sheriff asked in a mild voice as he stepped behind the car so he could see the license plate.

“I’m sure the plates are current,” Katrina said. “They have the sticker on them for this year.”

If Katrina had stolen that car, she was good. Conrad had to give her that. She sounded like a concerned motorist. But the sheriff needed to know everything wasn’t the way it looked.

“She’s got two boys in the backseat,” Conrad said. “She doesn’t know them.”

“I didn’t say I don’t know them,” Katrina protested. “I said they’re not mine.”

“So you’re not married?” Charley asked.

“What difference does it make?” she asked in surprise. “A woman doesn’t need a husband to drive a car.”

Charley just beamed, his wrinkled face all scrunched up with a smile. Conrad knew what his uncle was thinking and he didn’t like it.

“So is she the thief?” Conrad decided it was time to bring everyone back down to earth.

“Well, it is a bit early to be making accusations,” the sheriff said. He walked around the car and looked in the windows.

“What’s going on here?” Katrina demanded.

The sheriff shrugged. “We’ll know soon. I have a call in to the officials on the Crowe reservation. They take care of their own problems. I don’t have jurisdiction there. I’m just looking into this as a professional courtesy.”