Water Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

Kerrville. She couldn’t shed him fast enough to suit her.
    Wide-eyed, Sam looked at her. Turning the music down to a less ear-splitting level, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
    “Wrong? You bet your bananas something’s wrong. I don’t like being used to ward off panting women in purple pants.” Giving the knob a defiant twist, she turned the music back up and glared at him.
    A slow grin spread over Sam’s ruddy face and his eyes took on a devilish gleam. “I believe you’re jealous.”
    “What!” she shrieked.
    “I believe you’re jealous,” he yelled over Blake’s wail.
    “Jealous! Why should I be jealous? I hardly know you.” This time she turned the volume down, then gripped the wheel as her eyes narrowed. “I’m angry. Furious! I’ve wasted a whole afternoon listening to you discuss the merits of different paintbrush bristles and watching what’s-her-name make goo-goo eyes at you while you grin and lap it up. I’m not retired. I can’t afford it. I have work to do.”
    Dowser whined and hung his head over the seat to nuzzle his mistress’s neck. She patted him and said in a soothing voice, “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, boy. It’s okay.”
    Genuinely contrite, Sam laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’ll help you tomorrow. We’ll get an early start in the morning and make up for lost time.”
    “No, thanks. I prefer to work alone.” Deliver me, she thought as she turned up the volume again and tried to ignore the man beside her.
    It wasn’t easy.
    Not even a favorite ballad by Sara Evans could hold her attention. Energy pulsed from Sam’s big frame, filled the cab of the truck, and swirled all around her. His fingers, still resting lightly on her shoulder, seemed to sear through her shirt and heat her skin. His thumb, idly tracing the arm seam, evoked little shivers with every movement. She shrugged his hand away and angled the air-conditioning vent for more cooling.
    Why was she reacting to Sam Garrett this way? He was nothing but a pest. She refused to allow herself to think of him in any other way. It irritated her that something in her wanted to wiggle and purr when he came close. What nonsense. She turned the radio louder.
    “You must like country music,” Sam shouted.
    She nodded with a curt dip of her chin.
    “Me, too,” he shouted again, slouching down in the seat and patting his thigh in time with  Rascal Flats.
    He cut his eyes over to watch Max, who was concentrating on the road as if she were driving the Indy 500. Damn, she was something else! A fine looking woman with enough fire to keep a man on his toes. He hated vapid females. Max was fascinating, and obviously bright.
    No woman had a right to be so damned sexy. Every hormone in his body went berserk when she was within a hundred yards of him. Yet his attraction to her was more than physical. He wanted to know everything about her, learn her secrets. Make her laugh.
    She might be just what he’d been looking for. Yep, she might just be it.
    In fact, the more he considered it, he was almost sure.
    And the timing was perfect.
    Noticing the grim determination of her mouth and the flash of her oil-black eyes, amusement made him bite the inside of his cheek. Even though right now she’d rather die than admit it, Sam suspected she felt some attraction to him. The hints of a current were there. It might take some fast stepping, but he had plans for Miss Angela Maxwell Strahan.
    And what he wanted, he always got. Sooner or later. One way or another. He was patient. And he was persistent.
    He reached over and turned the radio down. “Turn left at the top of the hill.”
    Braking the truck, Max made the turn. She drove slowly down the road that wound beside the Guadalupe, then crossed a bridge that spanned a narrow cascade of rushing water. Giant cypress trees, stoic and ageless, stood with gray boulders amid the current. Spreading Spanish oaks formed an enchanted arch across the lane. Max could