Water Witch (17 page)

“You never really believed in my dowsing, did you? You think I’m some kind of weirdo to be indulged.”

Most of the anger left his face. “Angel . . .” He reached out to touch her cheek.

“Don’t you ‘Angel’ me.” She knocked his hand away. “You don’t think Goose and I are going to hit that vein, do you?”

“Goose?”

“Goose Gallagher. He’s the driller I hired. He thinks I’ve located a vein. And when we find water, I hope you choke on every nasty word you’ve said, Sam Garrett. You can take your green eyes and all your greenbacks and stuff “em.” She started to stalk off, but Sam caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

“Goose Gallagher? Surely you didn’t do anything so stupid as hire that old sot,” he shouted in her face. “Dammit, Max, you haven’t got the sense God gave a billy goat if you’d do anything that stupid!”

He let out another frustrated string of graphic gutter words, each punctuated with stupid. His fingers shook with anger as they dug into the flesh of her arms.

She felt herself tremble and pale as his words rang in her ears. Suddenly, her father’s face was superimposed on Sam’s, and she relived old horrors. His sour breath turned her stomach as he railed at her, venom dripping from the words as he yelled in her face. Damn stupid snot-nosed brat. You haven’t got the sense God gave a billy goat. Stupid . . . stupid . . . stupid.

“Don’t call me stupid,” she said.

“Hell, It is stupid if you’re going to pin your hopes on Goose Gallagher! Everybody in the county knows that old coot’s nothing but a broken-down drunk who couldn’t find his butt with both hands.”

“Don’t call me stupid,” she spat at him. “I’m not stupid. And don’t you yell at me and curse me. You sound exactly like my father. I’m not going to take that kind of garbage ever again. Not from you, not from anybody!”

“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 insistent 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.