Water Witch Read Online Free Page A

branch. Disgusted with herself that she’d only cut one this morning, she was already figuring how much time she would lose driving to the river, finding another private area with willow trees, and cutting another. A good dowsing stick had to be cut fresh each day, and Sam had destroyed this one.
    “I asked if you were a ground water geologist. Is something wrong?”
    “No, not a thing.” Her voice squeaked like Minnie Mouse. “And no, I don’t have any sort of hydrogeology specialty. Not in terms of formal training. I’ve worked mostly in oil. But,” she added, challenging him eye to eye, “I have a great deal of practical experience. I assure you that if there’s water here, I’ll find it.”
    Sam cocked an eyebrow and, with an amused look, gave a little nod as if to concede the point. “How did you and Buck get together? Did you work for him in the oil industry?”
    She lifted her chin and announced, “No, I worked for John Ramsey of Tex-Ram. I met Mr. Barton at the Petroleum Club in Houston. He mentioned that he hadn’t been able to locate any water here and his wife was heartsick about it. I agreed to take a look.”
    She didn’t tell Sam that she had been working as a cocktail waitress at the posh club that catered to oilmen. She’d figured that, with generous tips, it paid as well as any other work she could find in that economically depressed area. Several of her colleagues with Ph.D.’s were selling shoes or delivering the Houston Chronicle. The added advantage of working at the Petroleum Club was that she could pick up rumors there of any kind of an opening for a geologist. She had located a few consulting jobs, but in the last several months there had been nothing.
    Desperate, during the summer she’d even tried to sell some of the songs she’d written over the years through an agent in Nashville. A musician friend had recommended the Bullock Agency, but, although Smith Bullock seemed genuinely interested in the tapes she’d sent and agreed to represent her, nothing had come of it. In some ways, that was the most devastating blow of all. It was the loss of a secret dream.
    She’d done everything she could to pick up extra money here and there, including several part-time jobs and taking in a roommate to help with the enormous expense of her house. That house she loved so much had taken a healthy chunk of her salary when she’d been riding high, and was now an albatross. It had been up for sale for almost two years without so much as one reasonable offer. If the mortgage company foreclosed, her credit rating would be ruined, and she’d be damned if she would give her father the satisfaction of knowing that she couldn’t make it. Not that he’d ever really know—she hadn’t seen or talked to him in nine years—but she’d know.
    With her mouth set in a determined line, she stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans, planning a similar brush-off of Sam Garrett. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my project.”
    “Great,” he said, standing and tossing away the remains of the stick he’d shredded. “I’ll tag along and watch.”
    “Oh, I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me.”
    He hung his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, rocked back on his heels, and grinned. “Nope, not a thing.”
    Max groaned silently. Lord, deliver her from bored buttinskys. Why had she ever thought he was attractive? Right now she’d love to strangle him with rusty barbed wire. The dowsing stick he had destroyed had to be replaced before she could continue her search. Driving back to the river meant at least an hour or two delay. She was losing valuable time. Somehow she had to get rid of him. Politely, if possible.
    “It’s such a beautiful day,” she said, “you should be fishing.”
    “I’ve been fishing already. Caught four nice cats. Want to come over for dinner and help me eat them?”
    “No, I don’t want to come over for dinner. Why don’t you go paint some