by Marin Thomas
“If ya folks is lookin’ fer Sam, she ain’t here.”
Before Wade explained his visit, Luke blurted, “How old are you?”
“Well now, I ain’t sure.” Millicent spat tobacco juice at the ground, barely missing Wade’s shoes. “I reckon somewhere’s ’round a hundred.”
“Wow, that’s cool.” Luke squinted through his glasses. “The cost of a first-class stamp when you were born was just two cents.”
Although Wade enjoyed listening to his son spew trivia off the top of his head, most people didn’t. More often than not intelligence earned enemies not friends.
Millicent narrowed her eyes until the wrinkles on her face swallowed them whole. “What else ya knows ’bout 1909?”
“Skee-Ball was invented by J. D. Estes in Philadelphia. And the U.S. issued the first Lincoln penny.”
When Luke paused, the old woman said, “Go on, youngin’. I’m listenin’.”
“The 1909 Model T Ford was one of the fifty worst cars of all time.”
“I wouldn’t know ’bout that. My daddy didn’t have no car.”
“Did you ever own a car?” Luke asked.
“Son, that’s none of—”
“Shush now.” Millicent waved a knobby hand in the air, excluding Wade from the conversation. “Years ago Mr. Peterson gave me his 1953 Bel-Air.”
“What happened to the car?”
“It’s over yonder in the barn.”
Wade shielded his eyes against the glaring sun and stared at the dilapidated structure. “You’re storing a Bel-Air in that barn?” It was a miracle a strong wind hadn’t blown the structure down.
“Said so, didn’t I?” The granny grunted.
Before Wade had a chance to ask about the antique car the sound of a diesel truck engine met his ears. A large four-by-four extended cab pickup stopped next to his BMW. Samantha sat behind the wheel.
Damn. The last person he wanted to run into today was the rich cowgirl.
SAM GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL until her knuckles ached. All those stupid female fantasies she’d nurtured since meeting Wade yesterday had been run over and flattened when she spotted the little boy at his side. Of all the scenarios she’d envisioned of her and Wade there had never been a child in any of them.
Go figure. The one man who’d piqued her interest, since her disastrous relationship with Bo, had a child. Kids weren’t part of Samantha’s future, so that meant Wade wasn’t, either. Swallowing her disappointment, she hopped out of the truck and headed toward the group gathered beneath the hackberry tree.
“Hello, Wade.” Sam glanced at the boy and then looked away. The memory of Bo’s daughter wandering off while in her care forced Sam to retreat a step, increasing the space between her and the child.
“Samantha, I’d like you to meet my son, Luke. Luke, this is Ms. Cartwright. She owns the property.”
There was no mistaking the resemblance between father and son. The miniature male possessed Wade’s dark hair, dark eyes, square chin and even the same black-rimmed geeky glasses—not to mention they wore similar outfits.
The boy flashed a crooked smile and waved his hand. “Hi.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Luke.” She switched her attention to Millicent. “You doing okay?”
“Jest shootin’ the bull.” The old woman pushed herself out of the rocker. “Best be headin’ inside.” Millicent shuffled toward the clapboard shanty.
“Wait!” Sam and Wade spoke at the same time.
Embarrassed by her outburst, Sam sputtered, “No need to leave on our account.” Wade unnerved her and she needed Millicent to act as a buffer between her and the financial guru. “What brings you out to the Last Chance Ranch?” she asked Wade.
“The what?”
“I’m calling my horse sanctuary Last Chance Ranch.” The ranch wasn’t only a last resort for unwanted horses but also an opportunity for Sam to finally strike out on her own.
“I stopped by to get an idea of the amount of work that needs to be done on the place.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “There must be a hundred small spreads in the area in better condition than this.”
Sam admitted the property was in poor shape, but that’s why she’d bought the place below market value. She flashed a smug smile. “Now you understand why I need my trust fund money sooner rather than later.”
“Speaking of money,” Wade said, “I contacted a drilling company after you left the office yesterday. They phoned with a bid this morning.”
“How much?” she asked.
“A hundred dollars per foot drilled and the well comps in this area put the water table between a thousand and twelve-hundred feet.”
“That’s $110,000,” the boy blurted.
Good grief. The details had barely registered in Sam’s head before the little genius had spouted a dollar amount.
“The cost doesn’t include testing the water or capping the well.” Wade nodded toward the ranch road. “The potholes need to be filled and new gravel laid down before heavy trucks drive in here.”
“When can the drilling company break ground?” What was a hundred grand when she had millions?
“They’re booked solid until September.”
Panic pumped through Sam’s bloodstream and she forced herself to breathe in deeply through her nose. In…out. In…out. Becoming upset would lead to confusion and forgetfulness and she refused to make a fool of herself in front of Wade. Even though they had no future, she didn’t want him to believe she was a ditz. “The well can’t wait until September.” The faster she got the ranch up and running, the less chance her father would interfere with her plans. Sam had a nasty habit of backing down when confronted by her father. “I’ll phone the company Monday morning and offer more money.”
Wade’s face lost color. “Don’t waste your money on bribes,” he insisted. “Acquiring the necessary permits to drill will take time.”
“Bunch o’ nonsense if ya ask me,” Millicent said, inviting herself into the conversation. “Don’t need no machine to show ya where the water is.” She rolled her lips over her gum. “The water ain’t no thousand feet down, neither.”
Sam cleared her throat. “Millicent is a dowser.”
“You mentioned that yesterday,” Wade said.
Oh. She’d forgotten.
“What’s a dowser?” Luke pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted through the lenses.
“I’ll show ya. First, I gots to find a divinin’ rod.” Millicent wandered off toward the barn.
“A what?” Luke asked his father.
“A magic stick—” Sam answered for Wade “—that shakes and wiggles when it senses water below the ground.”
“Folklore, son.” Wade shook his head.
“Maybe, but Millicent doesn’t charge a hundred thousand dollars for her services.”
“What’s the going rate for a water witch?” he asked.
“A can of coffee and a pouch of tobacco would probably suffice.”
“After you.” Wade swept his arm out in front of him.
Sam followed Millicent, the big geek and the little geek trailing behind.
WADE WISHED HE’D NEVER suggested a drive in the country this morning. He’d rather be in his comfortable, air-conditioned condo reading Friday’s Wall Street Journal instead of tromping through prickly weeds in ninety-degree heat while an old granny poked the ground with a tree branch. He doubted any psychic could detect a drop of moisture in this mini dust bowl. Another gust of wind blew dirt in his face, forcing him to remove his glasses and wipe them against his shirt.
The water witch stopped beneath a tree and stared up the trunk. “What’s wrong?” he asked, impatient to end the hoax.
Luke peered at Wade through dusty glasses. “Millicent’s looking for a stick.”
Wade removed his son’s glasses, cleaned them off, then handed them back. “Won’t any stick do?” he asked Samantha. The old biddy had a habit of ignoring him.
Samantha leaned near and whispered,
“A willow or peach tree switch works best for dowsing.” The scent of honeysuckle drifted up Wade’s nose, distracting him. He decided the sweet smell came from Samantha’s shampoo.
“Is that a peach tree?” Wade curled his fingers into a fist to keep from touching Samantha’s dark hair, which glistened beneath the hot sun.
Before Samantha had answered his question, Millicent spoke. “This here’s the one.” The granny pointed to a branch five feet above the gray bun on her head, then settled her rheumy eyes on Wade. “Don’t stand there, ya dope, climb up ’n fetch me that twig.”
Was she nuts? Wade glanced at Samantha. The last time he’d climbed a tree he’d fallen on his ass in front of a teenage girl. This time he was a grown man. The teenager was a beautiful woman. And he’d probably land on his ass again.
“I’ll get it,” Samantha volunteered.
Aw, hell. He studied his leather loafers—his treadless weekend shoes—and silently cursed. “Wait.” He stepped in front of Samantha and searched the tree trunk for a foothold.
“If I give you a shove, you’ll be able to grab that lower limb.” Samantha inched closer.
Although he liked the idea of Samantha’s hands on his rump, with his luck her hold would slip and catch him in the nuts and he’d land at her feet curled up in a ball of misery. “I’m too heavy.”
“What about me, Dad? I can reach the branch.”
To Wade’s knowledge, his son had never climbed a tree in his life. “I don’t—”
“Hoist the boy onto yer shoulders.” Millicent glared at Wade, daring him to defy her.
“Luke’s never—”
“Give him a chance, Wade.” Samantha grasped his arm, her gaze imploring. He appreciated that she stuck up for his son, but it was the pleading expression on Luke’s face that tore at Wade. Climbing a tree was an adventure, the kind Luke read about in books but had never experienced. “Be careful.”
Luke’s grin went straight to Wade’s heart. “I won’t get hurt, I promise.”
Throat tight, Wade stood aside while Samantha gave his son a crash course on the dos and don’ts of tree climbing. Then she bent at the waist and cupped her hands. Luke placed his foot in the hold and Samantha hoisted him high enough to seize a lower branch.
“Now step on my shoulder, Luke,” she instructed.
“Here.” Wade offered his shoulder. When Luke pulled himself onto a thick branch that held his weight, Wade released his legs. As he lowered his arms, Wade’s hand brushed Samantha’s breast and she sucked in a quiet breath. “I’m—”
“Dad, I did it!” Luke’s shout saved Wade from an embarrassing apology.
“Hold tight!” Out of the corner of Wade’s eye he noticed Samantha’s rosy cheeks. Darn it. The blunder had happened quickly, leaving only a sensation of softness lingering on his fingertips.
“Git that branch to yer right.” A craggy voice ordered.
Luke touched the limb Millicent indicated. “That’s the one, boy. Snap it off cleanlike.”
“I can’t,” Luke complained after several attempts to break the branch.
“Twirl it one way, then the other fer a bit.”
“What about a different branch?” Wade raised his arms ready to catch Luke should his son lose his balance.
“Nope. Gotta have that one.”
Face scrunched in determination, Luke fought the branch until his glasses slipped off his nose and fell to the ground.
Samantha scooped them up.
Time to end the adventure. Luke was blind without his glasses. “That’s enough, son. Lean over and I’ll catch you.”
“No, Dad. I can do this. I promise.”
“Quit pesterin’ the boy.” Millicent glared.
“Give him a little bit longer, Wade. He’s almost got it,” Samantha said.
Wade wasn’t used to being ganged up on. Luke was so far out of his element not even his brilliant mind would save him if he made one wrong move. A moment later…
“I did it!” Luke shouted, swaying sideways on the limb as he waved the switch above his head.
“Sit still, afore ya fall on yer face.”
Luke handed the branch to Millicent, who inspected her dowsing tool with great care, then pronounced, “This’ll do,” and walked off.
“Roll onto your stomach and lower your legs while hanging on to the limb,” Samantha said.
His son followed her instructions, then Wade grabbed him around the waist. “Let go.” He lowered Luke to the ground. Samantha handed over the eyeglasses and as soon as Luke put them on he tore after Millicent.
“Guess my son’s a better tree climber than his father.” Wade smiled sheepishly. He expected at least a murmur of agreement from Samantha, not a blank stare.
“You don’t remember, do you?” he asked.
“Remember what?”
“You challenged me to a tree-climbing contest at the Lazy River Ranch when you were in high school and I was in college. I fell out of the tree and broke my arm. You called me a wimp.”
Her beautiful eyes widened, then without a word she spun and walked off.
She really doesn’t remember me.
Chapter Four
Darn it. Wade refused to drop the tree-climbing incident.
Okay. Years ago he’d fallen out of a tree and had broken his arm while visiting the Cartwright ranch. Big deal.
Sam stomped toward the barn, the nerdy financial investor dogging her boot heels. Her memory lapse had bruised Wade’s ego, confirming her suspicion that the man hadn’t heard about her near-death experience with a horse. If she had her way, he’d remain in the dark about that period in her life. She feared if he learned she suffered lingering effects from the head trauma, he’d alert her father and attempt to put a stop to her plans for the Peterson homestead. And she for darn sure didn’t care for Wade’s pity—she’d been on the receiving end of enough sympathetic stares to last a lifetime.
Mr. Financial Adviser exasperated and intrigued Sam. Wade was a nice change from her brother’s rodeo friends and the roughnecks who worked on her father’s oil rigs. An aura of sophistication surrounded Wade. His neatly styled hair, clean, crisp dress shirts and sexy cologne stirred her as no other man ever had.
Good grief, Sam. Wade has a son, which means he’s married and off-limits. Besides, converting this property into a horse ranch was her first priority. There would be time later for setting her sights on a man to share her life and dreams with.
She skirted the corner of the barn, Wade following as he swatted at a black fly buzzing his head. She swallowed a chuckle. Next time don’t wear cologne. Better yet he should stay in his corporate office and let her deal with the property renovations.
“Ya see the best chance o’ findin’ water is with a fresh-cut switch. Ya got to have a fork in the branch like a Y shape or it’s bad luck.”
“How does the stick find the water?” Luke asked.
“It jest knows.”
“A stick can’t just know,” Luke argued. “There’s gotta be a scientific reason for the twig’s power.”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout science. Jest magic.”
The boy gaped. “You have magical powers?”
“Some folks calls me a water witch.”
Luke shrugged. “You do kinda look like a witch. You’re old and you have lots of wrinkles.”
Sam smothered a smile behind her hand. Little Einstein was honest if nothing else.
“Years o’ pickin’ sugar beets and beans in the sun give me a face full o’ lines.”
“But you’re not mean like the witches I read about in books.”
“Enough talk about witches, Luke.” Wade’s comment earned him a glower from Millicent.
“Tell me how the stick finds water.” Luke slid his glasses up his nose.
“The stick don’t. I finds the water.” Millicent closed her eyes and said, “First, I quiet my mind.”
“Don’t your eyes have to be open to see?”
“Shush now, boy. I
sees everythin’ in my head.” No one moved, then Millicent whispered, “I’m searchin’ fer an ol’ time well made o’ stone with a windlass fer haulin’ water a bucketful at a time.”
Shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare, Luke scanned the horizon, looking for a well that was visible only in Millicent’s mind.
“Once I sees the well I gots to approach with care.” The old woman stood frozen, eyes closed, arms stretched before her. After a moment she walked off, veering left of the barn. Luke hurried to catch up. Wade followed his son and Sam traipsed after Wade, content to breathe in his sexy scent.
Millicent stopped and extended the dowsing stick. Waited. Then reversed direction. Eyes closed, she moved farther away from the barn. Twenty yards later she stopped again—the forked end of the stick quivered, then dropped toward the ground at her feet.
“Did she find water?” Wade inched closer and Sam noticed gold flecks in his brown eyes. The man had a habit of invading her personal space—an odd thing for a married man to do.
“I believe so.” Sam glanced at Wade’s left hand and noticed his bare ring finger. Which meant nothing. Lots of married men refused to wear rings.
Bending over, Millicent tugged fistfuls of grass from the earth. Luke dropped to his knees and helped. Once the bare dirt had been exposed, Millicent patted the ground. “Here.” She pressed Luke’s palm to the spot. “Feel that?” Then she moved the boy’s hand to another area. “Feel that?”
“This one’s cooler.” Luke returned his hand to the first spot.
“Water under the ground makes the dirt cold,” Millicent explained.
Sam ignored Wade’s eye roll and asked, “How far down do you think the water is?”
“Sixty feet.”
Millicent’s claim lured a snort from Wade. Typical geek—always demanding evidence to back up facts.
“Dad. You gotta feel this,” Luke said. “Millicent’s right. The ground’s colder here—” he patted the earth “—than over there.”
Wade surprised Sam when he did as his son requested. Brow furrowed, Wade squatted and pressed his palm to the ground, drawing Sam’s attention to his hand. Her mind wandered along a path of its own as her eyes followed the movement of his lean fingers, imagining them stroking her skin, palming her breast, touching her…there.
