Free Water Witch by Jan Hudson Page B

her to test the spot again.
    A rush of anticipation made her laugh and punch the air with a short jab. By damn, she’d found it! She’d have the money in hand before the week was out. Almost giddy, she did a little shuffle and reached into the truck for a forked willow branch.
    To validate her discovery, she searched the area anew, pacing paths across the line of markers. Each time, the dowsing rod dipped the same as it had yesterday. Starting at the outer perimeter, she followed the trail of spads toward the large boulder. As she neared, the quivering of the branch became more pronounced. She fought to keep the tip turned-upward, but again the bark skinned away in her hands as it writhed in the throe of a downward spasm.
    “What in the devil are you doing?”
    Max’s head shot up. Dressed in old cutoffs and a faded orange sweatshirt, Sam Garrett stood almost close enough to touch. She looked from him to the branch in her hands, then back to Sam again. When she released her hold on one fork, the rod stilled, but she felt her stomach turn over and a terrible sinking feeling spread through her. She couldn’t bear for him, of all people, to ridicule her, and she searched her brain for some plausible explanation, or even a glib lie, but her mind was as blank as a new blackboard. There was nothing to do but brazen it out.
    Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m locating the best place to drill for water.” She looked him straight in the eye, daring him to laugh. “What are you doing here?”
    His eyebrows were drawn together and his expression was solemn. “I somehow knew you’d be back on this hill at first light. How’s your hand?”
    “My hand is fine. I’m a fast healer.”
    He looked at the row of spads and plastic ribbons. “What are those?”
    She glanced over her shoulder at the trail he indicated. “Markers.”
    “What kind of markers?”
    He wasn’t going to leave it alone, she thought, and sighed. “They indicate the path of a water vein,” she replied, trying to be as noncommittal as possible.
    Cocking his head, he gave a little nod as if to say, “I see,” when it was obvious he didn’t see at all. “How could you tell where to mark?”
    She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her shoulders slumped in resignation. Again her gaze met his and she held up the willow branch. “With this.”
    “With a stick?” He seemed puzzled for a moment, then his expression changed slowly as he grasped what she was saying. “Do you mean you’re a water witch? I thought you were a geologist.”
    “I am a geologist,” she said. “And I’m not any kind of a witch. I’m a dowser.”
    For Sam to say he was shocked would be an understatement. He couldn’t believe that Max would be involved in such superstitious nonsense. Surely she didn’t expect to drill a well based on some kind of hocus-pocus. The whole idea was outrageous. Crazy. He was just about to voice his opinion when he noted the pugnacious tilt of her chin. He was beginning to recognize that unconscious gesture of hers. Nobody had ever accused Sam Garrett of being a fool. He wasn’t about to do or say anything to get her dander up again.
    “Hmm,” he said, struggling to keep his comments neutral and his thoughts to himself. “Interesting. How long have you been doing this kind of thing?”
    “Since I was a little girl. My grandfather was a dowser.” She searched Sam’s face for any sign of censure but found none. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she relaxed. “I know you probably think it’s crazy—most people do, so I usually don’t talk about it—but I’m really quite good at it.” She laid the branch on the boulder, wiped her damp hands on her jeans, and leaned against the big rock.
    Sam picked up the forked stick and examined it. “Why don’t you show me how this thing works.”
    So used to keeping her special talent a secret, Max hesitated for a moment, watching him closely for any expression indicating his interest wasn’t