Water Witch Read Online Free Page B

pictures or tend to your goats and chickens and let me get back to work?”
    “Sheep.”
    “Huh?”
    “Sheep, not goats. And I have a man who tends the sheep. Anyway, Manuel says there’s not much to do with them right now except stand and watch them eat.” One eyebrow lifted as he added, “And I’d rather watch you.”
    “What about the chickens?”
    “I don’t have any chickens yet. Anyway, I’ve about decided against raising chickens. They’re nasty little things.” He hoisted her tool bag. “I’ll carry this for you. What do we do first?”
    Max rolled her eyes and stomped off. She fought against telling him exactly what he could do as she tried to think of some tactful way, some plausible reason to get him off the site. She had to fetch that willow stick, and she didn’t relish explaining her water witching methods to Sam.
    Hitting upon an idea, she turned and said, “I need to drive into Kerrville and buy some map pencils. I seem to have forgotten to bring mine.”
    “Great,” he said. “I’ll go with you. I know just the place to get them. I need some art supplies myself.”
    “Maybe you should take your own car, then you won’t have to make an extra trip.”
    “No problem. I don’t have a car.”
    She was puzzled. “Then how did you get here?”
    “I had the fellow from the station where my car’s being serviced drop me off at the foot of the hill. I wanted to ask you to dinner, and I didn’t think you’d mind giving me a ride home. I don’t have your cell number. Remind me to get it later.
    *    *    *
    Three and a half hours later Max was still fuming as they loaded Sam’s art supplies in the back of the Silverado. He’d practically bought out the store, while she’d purchased a packet of colored pencils she didn’t need and couldn’t afford. He’d chatted with half a dozen local artists who’d dropped in, laughing and talking to them with enviable ease. And he’d charmed the store owner, a middle-aged lady with a middle-aged spread stuffed into shiny purple stretch pants a size too small.
    No doubt about it, Max thought, Sam Garrett had charisma. Lots of it. You could feel it vibrate across the room. It could suck you in if you weren’t on your guard—which she was. This russet-haired giant was nothing but a pain in the posterior to her. But somehow Sam had managed to charm everybody in sight—even Dowser, who followed the man’s every step, licking his hand and gazing up at him in rapt devotion.
    “Benedict Arnold,” Max muttered to the Doberman as she motioned the dog up into the truck that was piled high with easel and palettes and boxes of paints. Dowser didn’t even have the good manners to look remorseful.
    Any hope of working this afternoon was shot. By the time she delivered Sam and this stuff to his house, cut another willow branch, and drove back up to Honey Bear’s hill, it would be almost dark. Damn!
    “Nice to meet you,” the shop owner said to Max before turning her magenta-painted smile on Sam. Handing him the last of his parcels, she fluttered lashes clumped with black mascara and said, “We’ll look forward to seeing you at the Art Association meeting next Wednesday night, Sam.”
    “I’ll be there, Carrie.” He hugged Max against him with one long arm and looked down at her as if they were lovers. “We’ll both be there, won’t we, sweetheart?”
    Max wiggled out from under his arm and slammed the back door of the truck. “I’ll probably be washing my hair that night.” She strode to the driver’s side of the pickup and climbed in.
    With a smart flip of the wrist, she twisted the key and revved up the engine with an impatient pump of her boot. A swinging Blake Shelton song blared from the dash radio, and she turned the volume even louder as Sam got in beside her. Almost before he could close the door she spun out with a rubber-laying squeal and roared down the highway toward the little towns of Ingram and Hunt a few miles west of