Water Witch

by Jan Hudson

  “Oh God, Angel, I–”

  Struggling from his hold, Max stepped back and glared at him. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Unshed tears stung her eyes and her stomach felt like a mass of writhing snakes. “Maybe,” she ground out, her voice quivering, “you’re the one who’s stupid. Maybe Goose Gallagher and I just need somebody to believe in us.”

  She whirled and ran into the house with Dowser close on her heels.

  Sam felt as if he’d been drenched with ice water. Dear God, what had he done? Hell, he knew what he’d done. He’d allowed his damnable temper to get away from him, and he’d lashed out at the woman he loved more than life. Lord the pain in her eyes. His heart had split open when he realized how badly he’d hurt her. He’d only wanted to protect her, to shield her from disappointment, but he was no better than that son of a bitch who’d made her childhood a living hell. He wanted to cut out his tongue and burn it.

  For all her tough exterior, he knew Max was sensitive, and he’d ripped the scab off a freshly healing scar. What a fool he was. What an ignorant jackass. Damn! He kicked at a rock.

  But it had nearly killed him when he found out that she’d sold her truck. Here he was, wanting to lay the world at her feet, and she wouldn’t even come to him when she needed help. It stuck in his craw. But he knew why she’d lied to him about it. She’d done it to keep him off her back, but like the thick-headed clod he was, he’d kept hammering away at her.

  He ran shaking fingers through his hair. If he didn’t do something quick, he was going to lose her. What was he going to do?

  Beg for forgiveness, that’s what. Grovel. On his knees if necessary. He took off at a lope for the house.

  Max was cramming things into her suitcase when he entered the bedroom. She ignored him.

  “Sweetheart, please forgive me,” he said. “I’m sorry I said all those things. I didn’t mean them. I was angry. You have every right to bash my head in,” He took her in his arms, but she was stiff and unyielding. “Angel, I love you. Curse me, yell at me, but please don’t leave.”

  With a finger under her chin, he lifted her face. She stared at him with eyes as cold and black and empty as a graveyard at midnight.

  “Please let me go,” she said. Her voice would freeze Old Nick himself. “I have to get my toothbrush. “

  Sam dropped his arms, but he dogged her every step, trying every tack he could think of to get through to her. She looked at him as if he were a bug, picked up her suitcase, and marched from the house. Outside, she retrieved her guitar and stowed her things into the battered jeep. Dowser looked from Sam to his mistress and back again, then jumped into the back of the vehicle. He laid his head on his paws and watched them with sad eyes.

  “Love, if you’re bound and determined to leave, at least take your truck instead of this pile of junk.”

  “No, thank you. I had intended to buy it back out of my profits, but you bought it. It’s yours.” Her face was devoid of expression.

  Sam sighed with self disgust. He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any lower. Now he did. “Do you still have a key to the cottage? I heard in town that they caught the burglar last night. You should be safe there.”

  She revved the engine. “I don’t need it. I’ll find other accommodations.”

  “Angel, please don’t go.”

  She stared straight ahead as she pulled away. Sam watched until long after she had driven out of sight, then turned and trudged back inside to his bedroom. In the middle of his king-size bed lay a pair of silver earrings and the butterfly purse. He picked up the bag and sat down on the side of the bed. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he held the beaded butterfly in his hands. The flash of the blue and green crystals seemed to mock him as he traced the wings with his finger. Never had he felt so alone. So empty.

  * * *

  Max dropped her suitcase at the foot of the bed beside her guitar and set the grocery bag on the scarred imitation maple table. The deluxe unit at the Trail’s End Motel wasn’t much, but it had a kitchenette of sorts and it was clean and cheap. She’d been to three places before she found one that allowed pets.

  After she’d wedged the TV dinner into the minuscule freezing compartment of the old refrigerator, and stored the few other essentials she’d purchased, she ran water into a battered pan she found in the cabinet and set it down for Dowser. She washed the plastic bowl she’d bought, filled it with dog food, and placed it on the worn linoleum.

  Trudging over to the double bed. covered with a limp chenille spread in a faded dusty rose, she sank down on the swaybacked mattress and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. She clenched her teeth so tight that her jaws ached, but she refused to give in to the lump that had been lodged in her throat since her fight with Sam.

  Before she could start thinking about the things he’d said again, she took out her cell, turned it on, and called her roommate. Sam had about run her crazy calling, so she’d switched it off.

  “Beth, it’s Max. Any activity there?”

  “Oh, hi. Max. I was just going to call you.” She stopped to sneeze. “I stayed home with a cold today and the real estate agent brought a couple by this morning and another one this afternoon. I eavesdropped a little while they were here and both sounded interested. Maybe one of them will make an offer on the house.”

  “Maybe, but I’ve learned not to hold false hopes.”

  “Max, are you okay? You sound funny.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied. “But you sound terrible. Have you called the doctor?”

  “It’s just a cold. All I need is aspirin, orange juice, and tissues.”

  The friends chatted a few more minutes and Max gave Beth the number of the motel in case there was any news and her cell wasn’t on. “I’m registered here as Angela Maxwell. “

  “Why the cloak and dagger bit?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time. Take care of your cold.”

  After she hung up, Max lay back on the bed and stared at the brown water stains on the ceiling until it got too dark to make out the shapes.

  Pain was beginning to replace the numbness in her heart. Despite her efforts to keep her thoughts on other things, Sam’s anger and his hurtful words crept into her consciousness. They mingled with memories of her father’s vitriolic accusations and chased around in her head until she couldn’t tell one from the other. Ugly echoes attacked her from all directions, cutting, stabbing, bludgeoning until she uttered one long, soul-wrenching moan. Tears held at bay for hours burst their restraints and poured forth in deep sobs. She buried her face in a lumpy pillow and wept until she was exhausted.

  * * *

  Sometime later, Max came awake. The room was totally dark and the phone was ringing. She groped for the bedside lamp, then fumbled for the phone.

  “Hello,” she mumbled into the receiver.

  “Angel, I’ve had a hell of a time trying to find you.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Sweetheart, please talk to me. We’ve got to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. It’s over. I won’t tolerate abuse from anyone ever again. Please leave me alone.” She quietly replaced the phone in its cradle.

  In less than a minute the phone rang again. She unplugged the cord and pushed herself off the bed. Shedding her rumpled clothes, she headed for the bathroom and a long shower.

  After she’d dried off and put on her nightshirt, she padded barefoot into the tiny kitchen and opened the freezer. She looked at the TV dinner and frowned. It was too much trouble, she decided and reached for the bread and a jar of peanut butter. She was unscrewing the lid when there was a knock on the door.

  She tiptoed over to it and made sure the safety chain was in place. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me. Sam. Let me in, Angel.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Garrett. Go away and leave me alone.”

  Max walked back to the kitchenette and finished unscrewing the jar. The knocking continued, more i
nsistent now. Ignoring it, she slathered crunchy peanut butter on a slice of whole wheat bread. The knock became a banging and the force rattled the thin walls. She grabbed a banana and stripped the peel away.

  “Max,” Sam shouted, “let me in. We’ve got to talk.”

  “I told you we have nothing to say,” she yelled back, furiously slicing the banana into a layer of little circles on the peanut butter. Dowser whined and looked up at her from under the table. His eyes seemed pitiful, pleading. “I’m not letting him in,” she said to the dog, and slapped another slice of bread on top of the bananas. “He’s nothing but grief, and I don’t need it.”

  “If you don’t let me in, I’m going to break this damned door down!”

  She threw down the knife and stomped to the door. “Sam, I said go away. It’s almost eleven o’clock and people are trying to sleep. You’re going to wake up the whole town.”

  “Then let me in, Angel. I’m not leaving until you do.”

  “No.”

  The banging started again.

  “If you don’t leave immediately, I’m going to call the police.”

  Sam started rattling the window beside the door. He thought she was bluffing. Well, she’d show the overgrown baboon she meant business. She strode over to the bedside table and jerked up the Kerrville directory. She quickly found the emergency number and dialed it. Nothing happened. The line was dead. Damn. She’d unplugged the phone. Sticking the cord back in place, she tried again.

  When a man answered, she explained that someone she didn’t wish to talk to was making a disturbance at the Trail’s End Motel, unit number seven.

  “A car will be right there,” he said.

  Max walked back to her sandwich and neatly sliced it in half. “Now he’s in for it,” she told Dowser. Ignoring the racket as best she could, she turned on the TV, poured a glass of milk, and took it and the concoction she’d made to bed. Sitting cross-legged on the dipping mattress, she focused her attention on a wavy black-and-white image of David Letterman and took a big bite of her peanut butter and banana sandwich.

  When she saw the flash of red and blue lights over the top of the sagging draperies, she stole from the bed and peeked out the window. Sam was spread-eagled against the side of a police car. A twinge of remorse threatened to grow into something bigger, but she tamped it down.

  “Serves the big ox right,” she declared to Dowser, who stared at her with accusing eyes.

  * * *

  A dismal gray sky, sprinkled with dying morning stars, hung over the hills as Max urged the jeep up the steep incline to the drilling site. Dawn was almost an hour away but, since sleep had eluded her, she decided she might as well wait for Goose as toss and turn on the creaking, sagging instrument of torture at the motel.

  Pulling to a stop beside a tall, twisted juniper, she snagged the paper sack beside her and got out. Dowser raised up, looked around, then curled back into his comfortable spot in the rear and closed his eyes.

  Envious of the Doberman’s ability to sleep. Max withdrew the large styrofoam container from the sack and sipped the coffee she’d bought at a truck stop. The hot, bitter brew revived her only marginally. Her eyes felt gritty, her body buzzed with fatigue, and her stomach seemed to be full of ball bearings.

  Through the restless night, her mind had been in too much turmoil to rest. Shadows had filled her soul, but green memories couldn’t chase them away. Now green memories were the shadows that haunted her. Every time she closed her eyes, Sam’s face swirled into view. Sam’s face. Sam’s green eyes. Angry. Accusing. Mocking.

  Oh, she could have dealt with the anger well enough. Since she’d met Sam, she seemed to have developed a temper herself. And even though she didn’t like confrontations, she could hold her own. Hadn’t she been the star pupil in the assertiveness training class in college? But she couldn’t tolerate his attack on her self-esteem. It had taken three long years at the University Counseling Center to begin to repair the damage from her father’s abuse, to discover her own self-worth, to learn to believe in herself. But the events of the past two years had begun to erode her confidence, and she refused to allow Sam to undermine it even further. She was not some kind of weirdo, nor was she a silly, simpering female without sense enough to take control of her own life.

  She wandered over to the boulder and leaned against it, drinking the strong coffee and looking out over the hills at the lightening sky. As the stars faded, a few wisps of pink began to stain the horizon, and a light breeze carried the sharp scent of evergreen and dew-fresh laurel. Only an occasional rustle in the underbrush marred the absolute stillness on the hard, rock-strewn hill. This place had stood waiting for many a sunrise, had witnessed countless comings and goings. It endured. Changing and adapting, but strong and proud. She had weathered rough spots before; she would again. She would endure as well. She was a survivor.

  Even if Sam thought she was a superstitious flake engaged in a fruitless and idiotic venture, she was not stupid. She knew there was water beneath her feet. She believed in Max Strahan, even if he didn’t. Goose Gallagher had more faith in her than Sam did. Well, she and Goose were going to hit that vein, and when they did she was going to thumb her nose at Sam Garrett and get on with her life. It would take more than a soured love affair to stop her.

  As Max watched the breaking dawn she focused her thoughts on positive things, dwelling on the future instead of the past, planning how she would spend the money she received from Buck Barton. Why, she might even go to Nashville. Songs about love gone wrong were always popular. She could certainly put her heart into a couple of those.

  * * *

  Max glanced down at her watch and chewed the side of her lip. It was eight-thirty. Sunup had come and gone. Where was Goose? They should have started drilling long ago. Had his rig broken down? Had he been in an accident? Her worried mind started to conjure up all kinds of dire images.

  Just when she’d decided to go looking for him, the sound of an engine on the road below reached her ears. It was Goose. She breathed a sigh and gave a nervous laugh of relief. Smiling broadly, she stood waiting for the rig’s assent.

  But it was not Goose and ol’ Sal that pulled to a stop and blocked the road. It was a blue Silverado with Sam Garrett at the wheel.

  Max’s smile faded, but she stood her ground as he walked toward her. He was wearing jeans and the same green-and-blue-striped shirt he’d worn yesterday. But it was rumpled and the tails hung out. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times. Pain stabbed her when she saw how bloodshot his eyes were, and she almost cried out to him, almost pulled him into her arms to comfort him. But she balled her fingers into tight fists and clenched her teeth together.

  When he stopped before her, she asked, “What are you doing here? Did you come to watch the drilling?”

  “No,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I came to talk to you, and I’m not leaving until I do. You can’t call the cops up here.”

  She dropped her gaze as a rush or remorse coursed through her. “Did they take you to jail?”

  “No, I explained the situation and they let me go.” He was quiet for a moment. “Angel, look at me.” She raised her eyes. “I can’t let you throw away something so precious because of one quarrel. I never meant to hurt you. I lost my temper and said some dumb things. I can’t take the words back. And I can’t promise that we won’t ever argue again. Most couples with strong personalities argue at one time or another. It’s unavoidable when two people are as hardheaded and opinionated as we are. But, sweetheart, I’m not like your father. There’s one big difference.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I love you with all my heart.”

  Her throat constricted and tears glazed her eyes. It would be so easy to fall into his arms and convince herself that their problems had magically disappeared. But it wasn’t that simple. “Sam,” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, “do you believe in me?”

  “Of course
I believe in you. I believe in you in a hundred ways. I know that you’re a wonderful, passionate human being with tremendous talent and a gift for love and laughter and caring. You’re strong and proud and determined.”

  “But do you believe in me when I tell you that I know there is water on this hill? Clear, good water less than a. hundred feet beneath where we stand?”

  His hand cupped the side of her neck and his thumb brushed along the ridge of her jaw. He looked up and away from her, and she watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Then his eyes met hers again. She could see the misery there. “To be honest, I don’t know. For your sake, Angel, I want to believe it. I don’t want you to be disappointed. My heart tells me yes. But my head tells me . . . no.”

  She closed her eyes as anguish ripped through her. He couldn’t suspend his disbelief. Not even for her. “I see.”

  “Are you going to let this one thing keep us apart? I refuse to let you do that. Max, we love each other. We can have a wonderful life together. You don’t have to rip your heart out over this damned hill. I’ll give you any amount of money you want. You won’t have to worry about debts or eat bologna sandwiches ever again.”

  “That’s the problem, Sam. You’ll give me. I must do this on my own. I need to know that I can, and I need to know that you think I can. It’s a matter of respect for my integrity.” She stepped back. “You’ll have to go now. I’m expecting Goose at any minute.”

  “He’s not coming.”

  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, he’s not coming?”

  “Goose Gallagher is in jail.”

  Chapter 10

  All the blood drained from her face. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. For a moment Max thought she might faint, and she’d never fainted in her life.

  “In jail? Is this some sort of sick joke?”

  Sam shook his head. “You must have given him my number, because he called for you this morning. He asked me to tell you there’d been ‘a little hitch in his plans.’ They got him for public intoxication.”