Wife Wanted in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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