Wife Wanted in Dry Creek

“She’s really here? Your wife?” His uncle sputtered, his voice rising.

“Don’t get excited. It’s not good for your blood pressure.”

“Well, I can hardly believe it.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to believe. It’s just that someone who looks like the calendar woman is here.”

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 cafе. 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.

Chapter Two

Katrina 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.”