Water Witch

Water Witch

By Jan Hudson

First published by Loveswept at Bantam Books, November 1988

Revised and updated ebook edition by Jan Hudson copyright, 2012

Cover design by Lori D.Wade copyright, 2012

Published by Janece O. Hudson

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used, transmitted, or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the author except for brief excerpts used in critical articles or reviews.

This book is purely a work of fiction and the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity between characters, names, or incidents and real people or incidents is coincidental. Certain historical facts or locales have been used fictitiously.

*    *    *

Flickering lights from the television cast eerie shadows on the walls of the room. Max Strahan lay in bed, her head propped against a pile of pillows, her hands clutching a bowl of popcorn, her eyes glued to the TV set. As she watched the grotesque shape on the screen rise from the swamp and drag itself through the woods, chills rippled up her spine. Her heart began to pound in tempo with the creepy background music as the muck-covered monster made its way toward the darkened house.

A banging noise outside startled her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She tensed, every sense alert. The Doberman lying beside her whined and burrowed his head under her arm. When she realized what had made the sound, she laughed and gave the dog a swat. “Oh, Dowser, you big chicken. It was just a tree limb blowing against the house. Hush. We’re just getting to the good part.”

Max grabbed a handful of popcorn and munched wide-eyed as the violins continued their suspenseful strains. She trembled as the heavy-breathing creature dragged itself toward its destination, leaving a dripping trail behind.

Dowser whined and burrowed deeper.

Max knew she shouldn’t be watching this old horror picture. She knew she’d probably have nightmares—especially in an isolated, unfamiliar house in a strange town. She didn’t know a soul in the Texas hill country, unless she counted the kid who’d filled up the pickup at the gas station this afternoon.

Had she locked the doors? Of course she had. The little one-story stone and cedar house beside the meandering river was snug. After she’d locked her truck in the attached garage, she remembered carefully locking the kitchen door behind her. She’d also bolted the front door and turned on the porch light to push away the shadows made by the huge, spreading live oaks sheltering the place. A lamp still burned in the living room. It was ridiculous to allow herself to imagine that a swamp monster might be lurking in the Guadalupe River.

Wasn’t it?

Of course it was. It was absolutely silly to lie here in this antique four-poster and allow herself to be scared witless. Max knew she should turn off the set right now. But she couldn’t. She was addicted to scary films—a monster movie junkie.

And anyway, she thought, drawing the covers around her and scrunching deeper into the pillows, she’d left the remote on the dresser, and she didn’t want to get up.

Who knew what might be under the bed?

Mesmerized, one arm around the nervous Doberman and the other around the popcorn bowl, Max watched the slimy monster slip into the house and trudge up the stairs to the little girl’s room. The only sound was its labored, guttural rasping.

As the creature slowly pushed open the door, Max gave a little squeal and covered her face with her hands. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck as she peeked through her fingers at the blond child innocently sleeping in her bed, not knowing that the ghoulish threat stood only a few feet away, its bulging eyes glowing green as it beheld its next victim.

“Oh, I can’t watch,” Max whispered, turning away from the action on the screen. As her anxious gaze fell on the window of the bedroom, her eyes widened even farther and she sucked in a gasp. The sash was slowly rising open.

First a man’s shoe, then his lower leg slipped over the sill.

A piercing shriek ripped from her throat. Popcorn and pillows flew into the air as Max jumped from the bed and dashed across the room. She slammed the window down on the man’s shin and yelled, “Get him, Dowser!”

The big hulk of a man outside was shouting and swearing and struggling to raise the window. Max held it down with every ounce of strength she possessed.

“Dowser!” she yelled again. “Help me!”

Dowser whined from under the bed.

“You cowardly disposal, I’m sending you to the pound tomorrow!”

His whining escalated to a mournful howl—still from under the bed.

Even though she was strong, Max was giving out. The quivering in her arms meant she couldn’t hold on much longer. Had the intruder the advantage of both feet on the ground, she wouldn’t have been a match for his brute force. Only an adrenaline rush gave her the strength she wielded. The man roared with fury as he strained against her. Besides a string of virulent oaths, she only managed to catch the words “damned idiot” and “breaking my leg.”

“Pervert!” she screamed back at him.

Looking around frantically for some kind of weapon. Max spied her geologist’s tool bag resting against the dresser. Still holding on to the window, she maneuvered until she could hook her toe around the strap and drag it toward her. Despite her best efforts, she felt the window give a fraction of an inch, then another.

She jumped and shoved down, hanging her whole weight on the top of the window sash and kicking at the fingers on the bottom that were winning the struggle against hers.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, falling back with a thud and more curses.

“Thank God,” Max whispered as she realized the resistance had ceased. He’d fallen down. With his leg still trapped in the window, he wouldn’t be able to get up easily. Now was her chance.

She upended the tool bag and grabbed a rock hammer and a spad. She pounded the naillike spad into one side of the wooden frame at the top of the sash, snatched up another and drove it into the other side so that the window couldn’t be opened further. For good measure, she picked up a third and nailed his pants leg to the sill.

“How do you like them apples, smart guy?” she said as she slapped the super sized shoe protruding into her bedroom.

Still clutching the rock hammer, Max turned and glared at Dowser, who had inched his head from under the bed and was staring up at her with soulful eyes.

“You can come out now. I’ll protect you from the big bad man.”

Never lifting his head from the floor, Dowser scooted toward Max. His whimper was pitiful and pleading.

“All right. I’ll forgive you.” She reached down to scratch his ears. “Come on, let’s call the police.” Turning toward the window she shouted, “I’m calling the police!”

“Good!” the man outside yelled back, then began another round of blistering oaths.

After she called 911, Max sat down at the oak table in the kitchen, and began to shake. She clenched her hands and took a few deep breaths to gain control. “Don’t fall apart now,” she said, gritting her teeth. She could handle this. Like an affirmation, Max began to sing the familiar words of the classic “I Am Woman.” She was strong, she told herself as she sang. And she could do anything. Seemed as if she’d sung that song a thousand times lately.

It was less than five minutes before one of Kerr County’s finest came roaring up the drive, lights flashing and siren screaming. Max ran out onto the porch to meet the officer. He got out of the car, grabbed his flashlight, and drew his gun.

“He’s around there, officer,” Max said, pointing to the side of the cottage.

“You stay in the house, ma’am. I’ll check it out. We’ve had some trouble with a burglar in this area. And from all accounts, he’s mean and he’s slick.”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Max said as she trailed along behind him toward where the man lay muttering. “I’ve got him nailed to the wall.”

The deputy passed the beam of his flashlight over the figure who was half on his back and hanging by his leg stuck in the window. Max noticed that he was wearing a dark suit and tie. He seemed awfully well dressed for a burglar. Come to think of it, she remembered the big foot in her bedroom having on what looked like a hand-sewn Italian shoe. Very peculiar.

“Evening, Sam,” the burly cop said with obvious amusement. He holstered his gun and gave a tug at his hat. “Looks like you got yourself in a predicament.”

“Don’t say another word, Dick Ware. Not another freaking word,” the intruder said. “Just help me get my leg out of this damned window. I think it’s broken.”

Puzzled. Max looked from one man to the other. “You know this trespasser, officer?”

“I’m not the trespasser, dammit!” Sam bellowed. “You are!”

“I am not. I have every right to be here. Buck Barton gave me the key. I came in the front door. I didn’t try to climb through the window at midnight.”

“Look,” Sam said, “can we get my foot out of the window before we discuss this?”

Max turned to the deputy, who was snickering. “I don’t think he’s too dangerous, ma’am. You go raise the window and I’ll get him on his feet.”

“Who is he?” she asked Dick Ware.

“I’m Sam Garrett,” the man on the ground answered. “Buck Barton’s nephew. Now go raise the damned window!”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and went inside.

Buck Barton’s nephew? Dear Lord, she’d done it now. A sickening dread filled her. Had she blown the whole deal? She had to have this project. She was down to her last fifty-seven dollars and her charge card was to the limit. Already she’d sold her car and most of her furniture, and the mortgage payment was a month overdue. She couldn’t lose everything. She just couldn’t.

Even though the late September night was pleasantly cool, Max had broken out in a sweat by the time she retrieved her rock hammer and went to the window. Sticking the pick end through the eye of one of the spads, she gave a yank.

“Stupid, Max, stupid,” she muttered, berating herself in the same tone her father had always used. You always manage to screw things up. She pried out the other spad from the window and knelt to remove the one skewering his pants. Maybe she could make Sam Garrett understand—

“Would you hurry up!” she heard him yell.

She sighed, pulled out the last spad, and raised the window. Slowly she walked to the living room and waited for the inevitable.

Breathing fire, Sam Garrett limped onto the porch and jerked open the door. His leg wasn’t broken, but it was throbbing like hell. He was going to tear a strip off of that little gal and toss her out on her—

He stopped cold. A tall, sloe-eyed angel with long legs and golden skin stood across the room wringing her hands, looking as if she were about to cry. She had high cheekbones and full lips and a little dent in her chin that didn’t quite make a dimple. And she had a body that wouldn’t quit.

With the light to her back, the thin white nightshirt she wore didn’t leave much to the imagination. Given the fix he’d been in earlier, he hadn’t paid much attention to what she looked like. And he couldn’t see much of her in the dark outside.

But he could see her now. A different throb began to replace the one in his leg.

He tried to say something, but his mouth was dry and the words got stuck in his throat. He could only stand and stare at the outline of her breasts as they rose and fell with each rapid breath. He could see the dark shadows of her nipples beneath the sheer fabric, and a silky lock of honey-blond hair draped over her shoulder and curled just above the peak of the left one.

“Mr. Garrett?”

Sam forced his gaze to her face. When she licked her lips he heard a roaring in his ears and licked his own.