Water Witch by Jan Hudson Page A

talk to the deputy for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
    He sat her down on the couch. Something tore inside him as he watched her curl into a ball. He was filled with helpless fury at the thing that had caused such terror. The Max he knew wasn’t prone to hysteria. He wanted to roar, wanted to pull up trees and beat the ground with them at the idea that someone would put her in such a state.
    He strode outside to where Dick Ware stood, shining his flashlight around the house.
    “Everything seems okay,” the officer said. “But look what I found in the bushes.” He held up a woman’s stocking. “She probably scared him off, but it was our burglar all right. We’ll check the area, but he’s probably long gone by now.”
    Sam could have kicked himself from here to Austin. If he hadn’t been playing games, he would have been with her tonight in her bed. Or his. Damn his stupidity! Well, that could be remedied soon enough, he thought as he walked back inside. He was going to gather up Max and the dog and her stuff and take her home with him where she belonged.
    He was surprised when she went along with him without much of a fuss. Since Sam had run across the river, barely taking time to call the sheriffs office before pulling on loafers and a pair of jeans as he ran, he was without a car. He found her keys, packed her bags, and loaded everything into the truck. Max, wrapped in a blanket, snuggled beside him as he drove to his house. He could still feel her trembling.
    Max nestled closer to Sam, drawing comfort from the strong arm around her. Maybe her monster had turned out to be just a man with pantyhose over his head, but she had never been so terrified in her life. For that one awesome moment, she had come face to face with the embodiment of every bogeyman she had conjured up in her younger years. She felt like an idiot now. Grown women didn’t believe in monsters. It had been a burglar, not a body snatcher. Still, old fears died hard. And she didn’t think she could have spent the night alone in that house for a million dollars. She shuddered and nuzzled her cheek against Sam’s bare shoulder.
    “You don’t have on a shirt,” she said.
    He chuckled. “You scared me so badly, I didn’t take time to dress. You’re lucky I didn’t come charging over in my birthday suit.”
    “Thanks for coming, Sam. After the broccoli went limp, I was afraid I might never see you again.”
    “The broccoli? What are you talking about?”
    “I fixed dinner for you tonight, but you didn’t come, and it got overcooked waiting.”
    Sam felt like a first class heel. He squeezed her to him and said, “Angel, I . . . I . . .”
    “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything about dinner. I just assumed . . .” Her finger traced an idle pattern over his chest, and she felt him grow tense. “Did I thank you for the roses? They’re beautiful.” She bolted upright as they pulled up in front of his house. “Sam, we forgot to bring the roses.”
    “Don’t worry about the flowers tonight. We’ll pick them up tomorrow.”
    Despite her protests, he carried her into the house. She was far from petite, but he carried her as if she weighed nothing. He wasn’t even breathing hard as he strode through the front door, which was standing wide open, and down the hallway. He didn’t seem to consider taking her to a guest room. He made straight for his king-size bed and laid her on the side where the covers were thrown back and the pillow indented from his head. A brass lamp on one of the bedside tables cast a warm glow over the room. She felt safe here.
    He tossed aside the blanket she’d been wrapped in and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “You stay here,” he said, “and I’ll get Dowser settled and bring in your things.”
    Face solemn, he stood and stared at her for a moment before he left the room.
    Max turned on her side and snuggled against the pillow. It smelled of Sam. A heady mixture of spices, citrus, and musk. Sexy.