He almost had to stop and catch his breath again. The sight of those black patent leather straps wrapped around her delicate ankles made him think of the grand Hollywood movie stars of old like Marilyn Monroe. Those shoes of Katrina’s were all steam and sizzle. He hoped that none of the ranch hands from the Elkton place were at the café. They’d see those shoes as an invitation to flirt shamelessly. She even had her toenails painted a deep red. He’d never seen feet look so pretty in the rain.

“I have some boots you can borrow,” he said.

Katrina turned around, a stricken expression on her face. “You’re right. I can’t go to pri—” she stopped herself. “I couldn’t go with the sheriff in my high heels. I meant to put tennis shoes in the trunk, but they’re in my car—not my sister’s.”

“They’re nice shoes,” Conrad felt obliged to say. He wasn’t the kind of man to be taken in by nice footwear, however. He hoped that, if there were any ranch hands at the café, they didn’t decide to help her get out of town before the sheriff got all his information. Some of them would do that for a woman wearing shoes like that.

They finished walking down the road together.

“Nice place,” Katrina said as they started walking up the steps to the café porch. There was an overhang so rain wasn’t hitting them where they stood. Katrina lowered her umbrella and shook it out. Ryan was already up to the door and Zach was holding on to Katrina’s leg.

“I’ll carry the umbrella in for you,” Conrad said, but all he did was stand there looking at her. He told himself he was making sure no one could tell she was suspected of a crime before they went inside. He didn’t know what clues he was looking for, though.

Strands of Katrina’s hair were wet and hanging down. She was no longer as perfect as she had been when she drove into his gas station and he liked her better for it. Drops of rain glistened on her cheeks. Her eyes were warm and a little shy.

If this were one of those old Hollywood movies, Conrad decided he would be saying something romantic about now. He tried to make the notion go away, but it lingered in his mind. It was just that all of the talk lately about him getting married was stirring around in his mind. He needed to put it to rest. She certainly wasn’t the kind of woman he intended to become involved with. He already knew she was trouble. She cried. She liked old bent-up signs. She shouted to make herself heard by an old man she thought was deaf. She drank cold coffee. He wanted to like his wife, not love her. He’d learned how much love could hurt when his mother died. Katrina was just too intense for him.

And she had rain dripping down her cheeks. He reached out and wiped a drop away.

“It’s not another tear,” she said. “I was just caught by surprise earlier. I’m really not that much of a crybaby.”

Another raindrop slid down her cheek and he caught that one, too. Her skin was cool and smooth like polished marble. “You had cause.”

She seemed surprised at that. He winced. He had no business saying something like that. He needed to bury his emotions. For all he knew, she could be lying about her sister—and the car. She might not be striving to be a photographer or a good aunt. She might even have known he was the kind of guy to give away a new muffler to someone who couldn’t pay for it. She might be playing him for an old fool.

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