Love’s Blind Embrace (Preview)

Chapter One

Pine Ridge, Colorado, 1888

Rosa Hale’s stomach tied itself into a knot every time she passed the “lightning tree” headed west. The tree, blackened and burnt, held no great significance for her other than it was the last definite landmark before she reached her destination. The town she had lived in nearly her entire life was about a ten-minute ride away, and that made her anxious. 

Gripping the reins, she was of a mind to turn Daisy’s head, and thereby the cart, around and head home. They were all safe at home. There was no one there to ridicule or stare. She really hated the staring and the pointing, the comments and the signs that were supposed to ward off the evil eye that followed her around the town like a pack of lost puppies. That really drove her crazy. 

“Steady now,” Tom said, laying his warm, sure hand on hers. “We’re all right.” 

He cast his dark eyes on her, and Rosa held his gaze. Sometimes she thought the old medicine man could see right through her to her core. He knew what was going on in her mind sometimes before she did, and it was uncanny, but also reassuring and familiar. 

Tom had lived and worked on Rosa’s family’s farm for more than ten years now, and he had become like family. Rosa was grateful to have him in her life. 

“They’re going to stare,” Rosa said, patting her dark hair down over the left side of her face. “They always do.” 

“And looks only hurt if you let them,” Tom said. “Come on, Rosa. You’re made of sterner stuff than this. You are a survivor, which is more than any of those soft bellies in town can say. You are hard muscle, you are strong; they are weak and flabby.” 

Tom had been saying that to her since she was around twelve years old and although it had been about as many years of him repeating it, she still needed to hear it from time to time. 

She nodded. She was the muscle, and the people who lived in Pine Ridge were the belly, soft and wobbly. She could withstand whatever they cast her way. 

All too soon, they were entering Pine Ridge. 

The town of Pine Ridge was a cluster of buildings, all built from a mixture of stone and pine that made them look quaint. With their pitched roofs to keep the snow off in the winter, and their wide porches for lazy summer days, Pine Ridge looked idyllic. Looks could be deceiving. 

Rosa steered Daisy down the main street, passed the post office, the bath house, the Lazy Lizard Saloon, Wilkes’ General Store and the other fine establishments that called the main street home. 

There was a water trough at the top end of the street, and she always tied Daisy up there. After ditching the cart in an open patch of land, Rosa brought Daisy to the trough. Only today there was no water in it. It was damp, indicating that there had been water, but it was all gone now, and no one had filled it up. She went to the town well and found a notice pinned to the bucket. 

Very little water. Don’t fill the trough. 

It was the drought. It was starting to hit everyone hard. Rosa looked around. Daisy was thirsty, and she wasn’t the only horse waiting for something to drink. 

“It’s the drought,” Tom said, bringing Daisy’s nose bag over. “I thought she might not get a drink, so I brought water with.” He had come prepared. Tom had a knack for it. It was a rare occurrence when Tom Nahinni was caught unawares. He quickly set Daisy up for her drink in the shade and then let her nibble the grass, which grew green around the well.  

Rosa and Tom left Daisy and headed to the general store. It was blisteringly hot, and it was only June. 

Regarding the sky, Tom said, “Something has definitely gone wrong in the heavens and the ancestors are withholding the rain.”

“So, you said,” Rosa said. He had regaled her with an explanation of his theory of why they were experiencing a drought the night before over dinner. Tom had a lot of thoughts and ideas, and since Rosa’s grandfather had passed away a year ago, he’d had no one but Rosa to tell them to. “You don’t think it might just be a drought, plain and simple? They happen, you know, from time to time.” 

Tom regarded her with a wry smile. “You might have a point,” he said. “But since neither of us knows for sure…” He let his words hang there like a noose, which Rosa could step into if she wanted to prolong the conversation. 

She decided not to. Instead, she pulled a list from her pocket and regarded it. 

Sugar, flour, oats, there was a long list of things they needed. The pantry was running low on staples. 

Tom chuckled. “I see the boys are ready for us.” 

A line of local youths had gathered on the porches of several stores and were already calling her names. Rosa ignored them. 

“Witch! Demon-lover, drought-bringer!”  

“I’ve gone up in their esteem,” Rosa said, quietly. “Now I’m one of your ancestors keeping the rain away.” 

Tom chuckled again. “You have great strength, Rosa, but I suspect the weather is not your doing.” 

“Well, thank you for that,” she said and patted his arm. 

They made their way to Wilkes’ General Store. It was the one place where they could buy just about everything they needed. The only problem was that everyone bought their groceries there. 

Once they were past the boys, they came to a knot of women, old and young, all clustered together, their shopping baskets’ handles looped over their arms. Rosa tried to keep her expression neutral, neither friendly, which the townsfolk tended to mistake for gloating, not hostile, which they thought meant she had cursed them. 

“May we pass, ladies?” Tom asked genially. 

“Oh,” one of them said and hastily stepped back. She crossed her middle finger over her index and hastily whispered, “The Lord is my shepherd, I am safe from evil.” The others did the same, giving Rosa as wide a berth as possible. 

She smoothed the hair down over the left side of her face, making sure it hid the eye and the scar. No one liked the look of it, not even Rosa. It was a constant reminder of the horror of her past. 

Keeping her head down, she moved quickly past them. Tom turned around when they were through and bowed with a flourish. He seemed to enjoy this far too much for Rosa’s liking. 

“Thank you, ladies,” he said. “And may you have a truly blessed day.” 

One of the ladies gasped. “Did he just—?” 

“No,” Lila Baxter said from just behind the group. She was Rosa’s best friend. “He didn’t curse you; you dumb sow. He told you to have a blessed day. Honestly, the imbecility of this town is astounding.” She glared at the group. “Well, go on! Shoo! Surely, you have things to attend to.” 

The knot of women glared at her, but Tom’s smile broadened. 

“If it isn’t Lila,” he said. “Good morning, fair lady.” He bowed to her. 

The women turned and left in a huff, all but one. 

Jenny Smythe, the daughter of the owner of the local bathhouse, put on airs far beyond any station she could hope for. It drove Rosa mad. She was also consistently nasty. 

“One day the simpering fools of this town will see you for what you are, pure evil, and they will cast you out,” Jenny said. “And then no amount of sweet talking from your pet medicine man will make any difference.” 

Rose regarded her flatly. “And one day, you will wake up old and sad and still be as nasty to the core as you are now. But I pray that somehow you avoid that fate, because you will be very lonely.” 

“Is that a curse?” Jenny asked. 

“No,” Lila snapped. “Now go away. You’re like a fly buzzing around. Don’t you have soap to dish out or something?” She wrinkled her nose at Jenny who turned on her heel and strode off. 

Lila turned back to Rosa. “You have to work on your comebacks. You can’t be so vague and sort of nice. You have to hit them where it hurts.” 

“You know that won’t work,” Rosa said. “You can say that because you have both eyes, and no one thinks you’re a witch. If I say the wrong thing I’ll be lynched or burned at the stake.” 

“They don’t do that anymore,” Lila said. 

“I’ll bet they would polish their pitchforks for me,” Rosa said. 

“In light of the current mood, I’ll get the groceries. You go to the bakery and get the buns,” Tom said. 

“Ooooh, yes, let’s do that,” Lila said, grinning. Under the mop of her unruly, wildly curly brown hair, she looked every bit the imp she was. 

Tom smiled. “Extra frosting on mine.” 

Rosa gave him the money and list for the groceries and turned to walk back up the street to the bakery. Lila hooked her arm through Rosa’s, and they strode along at an easy pace in the hot June sun. 

They made an odd pair, at least Rosa thought so. Lila’s unruly hair formed a halo around her, and she did little to try to tame it. The most that happened was that she tied it back from her face with a ribbon unless she was working in her folks’ dairy making cheese. Then she scraped it back and braided it before tying a scarf over for good measure. 

Rosa left her fringe long on her left-hand side and braided it in such a way that the hair never moved from her face, constantly covering the white, sightless eye and the scar that ran from it to her temple and into her hairline. It was a souvenir from the bandit attack, fourteen years ago, that had left her folks and little brother dead and her blind in one eye. 

The two young women couldn’t have been more different if they tried, and yet they shared a spirit of friendship that lasted despite everything.  

Lila’s aunt Hilda worked at the bakery, and she was always glad to see them. They pushed the door open to the jingle of a bell and went to the counter. There were a couple of other customers inspecting the cakes and things behind the glass display. 

Rosa and Lila didn’t bother with that. There was only one thing they bought, and it happened to be Tom’s favorite pastry. 

“Morning, ladies,” Aunt Hilda said. She was a plump woman with rosy cheeks. She smiled at Rosa. “Good to see you in town, Rosa. How is the farm?” 

“Dry, but we’re okay,” she said nodding. “How are the twins?” 

Aunt Hilda had twin boys around three years old. Having them around was like inviting a tornado into one’s house. They had come to Rosa’s once and never again. 

“Oh, causing havoc,” Aunt Hilda said. “They’re out with their father today. He’s making a run to Juniper Falls, so hopefully they will be exhausted when they get home, and I can put them to bed with no fuss.” 

“Let’s hope,” Rosa said, smiling. 

“I take it we’ll be having the usual?” Aunt Hilda asked. “Extra frosting for Tom?”

Rosa and Lila nodded. 

“Coming up,” Aunt Hilda said. She went into the back to get the buns. 

Lila smiled at Rosa. “Where should we take this feast to eat it?” 

“We can’t eat all of it,” Rosa cautioned. “Tom will never speak to me again, and since he’s the closest thing I have to family left, I’d like to keep him in my life.” 

“We won’t upset him,” Lila said. “I only want one.” She sighed. “Still, we need a good place to sit.” 

“Under a tree, in the shade would be wonderful,” Rosa said. The simple things in life made Rosa happy, and shade and a sweet bun would do her fine. 

“No, we must be up high today,” Lila said. She nodded. “Yes, I think it’s water tower time.” 

Rosa groaned. “No, Lila, we’re too old to climb up that thing.” 

“Twenty-three is hardly too old to climb,” Lila said with stars in her eyes. There was no stopping her now. 

“Actually, it is,” Rosa said. She hated climbing since the attack. Her depth perception was a little off and climbing the ladder up to the water tower could be tricky for her. However, Lila wasn’t one to let a person off that easily. 

“Oh, come on,” Lila said. “You only live once. Won’t it be nice to look down on all the people who cause you such grief?” 

“It’s a little literal, but all right,” Rosa said. There was no winning against Lila when she had made up her mind. 

Once they had the buns, they went to the water tower. Despite her misgivings and fears, Rosa gritted her teeth and climbed up after Lila, who took the box of buns with her. Once up high above the town, they sat on the platform with their legs dangling over the edge. It felt as it had when they were children and had done the same thing. 

“This is still fun,” Lila said as she picked at the frosting-covered top of her bun. Popping the bits into her mouth, she smiled. “Don’t you think?” 

“Sure,” Rosa said, picking at her own bun. “Everyone looks so nice and friendly.”  

“Yes, my father always says that most of the folks round here are nice from afar, but far from nice,” Lila said. 

“That is accurate,” Rosa said, popping some of her bun into her mouth.  

A little dust cloud was visible, moving between the trees on the road into town. Rosa watched it for a while. It was only visible here and there, but she guessed that a cart was coming along the track. 

“Someone is on their way here,” Lila said. “I wonder who it is.” 

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Rosa said. 

“I wonder,” Lila said. “Did you hear that Jessie Harland is coming back to town? Maybe that’s her in a rush to get home to her father and brother.” 

“I doubt it,” Rosa said. “If you get out of here, surely you don’t want to come back.” 

“She does,” Lila said. “I heard that Jessie’s letters have been all about coming home and starting up a school here in Pine Rodge. Won’t that be nice?” 

“She’s a Harland though,” Rosa said. “There’s bound to be some strings attached.” 

Lila shrugged. “Well, at least there won’t be that long walk to school for our kids if we ever find suitable men to marry.” 

“I thought you had one,” Rosa said, turning to her friend in surprise. “What happened to Charlie?” 

The dust cloud was closer. 

“He’s thinking about things,” Lila said. 

“Like what things, exactly? He loves you,” Rosa said. 

Lila shrugged and popped a piece of bun into her mouth. “He says I’m too immature and wild to be a good wife. So, I told him that he’s a grumpy, dull old man, to which he said he needed to think.”

“Oh,” Rosa said, sadly. “I was really hoping it would work out.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Lila said. “He’s kind and thoughtful.” 

Silence slid between them. 

“Do you think that maybe you do act a little too much like we’re still twelve?” Rosa asked, biting into her bun. “I mean, we are eating cinnamon buns on the water tower.” 

Lila sighed. “I guess. I just don’t want to lose all the magic from when we were young and carefree. I thought a man I was considering marrying would know that.” 

“Did you tell him?” Rosa asked. 

“Now, what would I do that for? He should know,” Lila snapped. 

Sighing, Rosa fixed her friend in the gaze from her good eye. “Lila, he’s not a mind reader. And he’s a man. He’s never going to figure out what’s going on in your mind if you don’t tell him. So, tell him.” 

Lila sighed. “I hate it when you’re all rational.” 

“Tough, one of us has to be,” Rosa said, finishing her bun. “Now, we’ve been up here long enough to give me a headache. Let’s go down.” 

The dust cloud was closer now. Rosa gave it a last look before heading down the ladder. Going down was worse than up. She had to do it quickly, trusting her muscles to know what her eye struggled to work out, where the rungs were. 

Fourteen years on and she still struggled with depth. In the first few weeks she had struggled a lot with picking things up and walking into furniture and doorways especially. Now she could manage, unless she was tired. 

As they reached the ground and Rosa said a thankful prayer for being on terra firma, a bright yellow and red wagon came rolling into town. 

“Mmmm, I wonder who this is,” Lila said. 

“Probably someone lost on the way to Denver,” Rosa said. 

It was a standing joke that Pine Ridge had only been established as a town because someone got lost on their way to Denver and never left.  

Rosa and Lila joined the crowd that had gathered outside to gawk at the new arrivals. One of the two men on the driver’s seat was old with a waxed mustache, while the other was…well…he was really handsome. With sandy hair that hung just a little in his eyes, and a friendly smile, the sight of him quickened Rosa’s pulse. 

“Well, now,” Lila said, looking him up and down. “What do we have here?” 

Chapter Two

Pine Ridge, Colorado, 1888

Clay Turner slid down from the driver’s seat and nodded at some of the locals. This was a really small town. Why had William brought them there? It looked too small for William to run one of his scams in. There wouldn’t be enough people to buy his miracle elixir, made from honey, water and licorice, to make this a good place to stop. 

“Let’s head for the saloon,” William said. 

Clay hesitated. “What about the horses? They need water.” 

William nodded and was about to head to the Lazy Lizard, as the sign above the door called it, when a man stepped into his path. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” the man said. He was tall, burly and had a star pinned to his sweat stained shirt. “I am Sheriff Cleaver, and you are?” 

“William Wetherby,” William said, patting his chest before gesturing to Clay, “And this is my assistant, Clayton Turner.” 

The sheriff nodded. His top lip was hidden by a brushy mustache, but Clay didn’t think he was smiling as he greeted them.  

“What brings you here?” the sheriff asked. “Are you a merchant?” 

“Oh, yes,” William said. 

Clay thought of the fine pottery goods that were in straw filled crates in the wagon. They weren’t all that fine, but they did sell in some places. That was the thing about William and his business. He would find and sell just about anything. 

“Well, then, welcome,” the sheriff said. “Just keep in mind that we’re a law-abiding town of God-fearing folks. We don’t like trouble and have a way of dealing with it quite sternly.” 

“Oh, we understand,” William said. He was a head shorter than the sheriff and looked like a little weasel speaking to a large wolf. “We just want to get a drink at the saloon and perhaps spend the night. The horses are tired.” 

The sheriff looked from William to Clay to the horses. “Like I said, you’re welcome so long as you toe the line. Good day, gentlemen.” 

He walked off. 

The townsfolk who had been watching this little bit of theatre from the porches of the buildings seemed to take that as their cue and they went back to their business. Although, they still kept an eye on William and Clay. 

This was kind of normal for them. The sheriff showed up and made a fuss and then everyone went about their day. 

Clay sighed and went to the back of the wagon to get the buckets for the horses. As he rounded the back of the wagon, he found two women walking by. One had a bush of hair tied back with a thick pink ribbon, and the other, she had her hair over her face. 

At first, Clay thought it odd. The visible eye was a lovely chocolate brown, rich and warm. It was set in a pretty face with full lips and a waterfall of dark hair that was in a braid that hung over one shoulder. She regarded him with a friendly look. 

“The well’s running dry,” she said. “You might want to take the horses to the town stables. Mr. Garland has his own well and can take care of the horses if you’re staying a while.” 

“It’s just down that way,” the young woman with the mass of curly hair said, pointing down the street. Then she bit her lip. “What is it you do, mister? Why is your wagon so colorful?” 

Clay smiled. “I keep asking William about that myself,” he said. “We’re traveling men. We do what jobs we can find and have been known to sell a thing or two from time to time. You ladies interested in some…” he couldn’t bring himself to call what they had fine pottery and settled for, “bowls or vases?” 

The young woman with the warm brown eye shook her head and the hair over her left eye shifted just a little. There was some light scarring there, white against her olive skin. She hastily dropped her head down, looking at her feet. 

“Well, good luck to you,” she said and together the two women walked on. 

Clay watched them go. They met an older man with a braid of his own black hair down his back. He was carrying a couple of sacks of goods. He handed them to the women. They looked really heavy, but neither balked. They shouldered the burden and walked to a cart parked in the shade. 

“If you want some advice,” a voice said. 

Clay turned to find another woman in front of him. She was blonde, slender and wearing a pretty dress with blue flowers. She fixed Clay with an obviously flirting smile. “You should stay away from the witch and her pets. She has a habit of getting the people around her dead.” 

“Excuse me?” Clay asked. “What witch? All I saw was two young women.” 

“Looks can be deceiving. Anyway, I’m Jenny Smythe. My father owns the bathhouse over there. If you like I can organize you a nice hot tub and your own bar of soap.” 

Clay almost laughed, but stopped himself in time. A hot bath? Now, in this heat? She had to be joking. If she had offered him a room full of ice, he might have been more inclined to go for the offer. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and headed back up to the driver’s seat. 

He was just climbing up when William came running out of the saloon with a group of men following him. 

“Get going!” William yelled. “Clay, get the horses turned around.” 

“What’s going on?” Clay yelled as William reached him and hastily pulled himself up onto the driver’s seat. 

Clay turned the horses’ heads, and they hurried out of the town the way they had come in. William was panting and his eyes were large and round as though he was very afraid. 

Looking behind them, there was no sign of the men after they left the town and Clay turned to William. 

“What happened this time?” he asked. 

“I merely mentioned our services that we provide,” William said, panting and huffing like a winded buffalo. “That’s all, I swear.” 

“And they took offense?” Clay asked. 

“Indeed, they did,” William said. “Which is ridiculous, since this town needs your help, Clay. They need a water diviner badly, but apparently all those kinds of things were sent by the devil and so can’t be trusted.” 

“What?” Clay asked. “Is that what they think?” 

“These are isolated little towns up here,” William said. “Didn’t I tell you when you said you wanted to try some mountain towns that we might run into some trouble?” 

“No,” Clay said slowing the horses to a walk now. There was no danger. “I recall saying that we shouldn’t go near mountain towns. I said they were too isolated and full of people who run their lives based on crazy superstitions. That’s what I said. You’re the one who had to come. You’re the one who said that it would be fine.” 

William, who had recovered now, smoothed his mustache and waved Clay’s words away. “Well, however it happened, we’re here now and I think we should leave. Let’s make camp somewhere and work out what to do next.” 

They rode on for a while and then Clay said, “It’s the drought, isn’t it?” 

“Clever boy,” William said. “I tried to tell those people that you could find them water. Apparently, they had a run in with a water diviner a long time ago and have never forgotten it. He caused some trouble and now we’re not welcome here.” 

“So, should we go on to the next town?” Clay asked. 

“No,” William snapped. “Find a place to make camp, like I said. We have to think of a plan.” 

Clay knew better than to disagree too strongly with William in this mood. He had been kicked out of a town and that would cause him to feel agitated. The feeling would pass in a couple of days and then they could move on as they had been doing for years. 

Although, since arriving in the town, Clay had felt as though he was being drawn to something here. Maybe it was water underground, waiting for him to find it. He was a bona fide water diviner and it seemed something had brought them there to Pine Ridge whether the folks there wanted to believe it or not. He had been looking for, and consistently finding, water for a long time now, ever since he left his home and went on the road with William. 

After driving for a while, they came to a creek that crossed under a little bridge. It was still flowing a little, and the land to the right of the road looked green. Clay decided to follow the creek a little way and set up camp under the shade of a copse of trees. 

There were some tilled fields on the other side of the creek. They were growing vegetables and grains from the look of things. Clay was certain they were fine where they were. Farmers usually used things like creeks to mark the end of their land and since the land on their side of the creek showed no signs of being farmed, he was relatively certain they were safe.  

They stopped the wagon and set about making camp, pitching their tents, one for each of them, letting the horses roam freely cropping the grass along the edge of the creek. 

Clay went down to the creek to get some water to make coffee. With the kettle in his hand, he was bending down when a voice spoke to him. 

“What are you doing?” it asked. 

He looked up and to his surprise he found the woman with the warm brown eye looking down at him. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she had a stern look on her face. 

“I’m fetching water for coffee,” Clay said. 

“No, I mean why are you camped on our land?” she asked cocking her head to one side. 

“Your land?” Clay asked, frowning looking around although all he could see was the creek bed and the creek itself. “This belongs to someone?” 

She nodded. 

“I’m sorry, we had no idea,” he said. “There were no signs.” 

She blinked. “Well, this is my family’s land all the way to that copse of trees,” she said pointing off behind him to a clump of trees about a hundred and fifty yards away. 

“Oh,” Clay said. “Well, we can move.” 

“I would appreciate it,” she said. 

“I’m Clay, by the way,” he said holding up his hand to her. 

She regarded it coolly. 

“And you are?” 

“Rosa Hale,” she said, bending down and shaking his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Turner. May I ask why you aren’t staying at the Lazy Lizard? It’s a lot nicer than our bottom field.” 

Clay shrugged. “It seems he said the wrong thing and some of the men in town decided we should leave.” 

She nodded. “Well, you won’t do yourselves any favors staying on my land. For your own sakes, you might want to move.” 

Clay frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

Rosa sighed. “If you stay here for a while, you will.” She turned to walk away. 

“Can we at least stay here tonight?” Clay asked. “William is terrible at pitching his tent. I think it will break his heart if I tell him he has to strike it and do it all over again.” 

She turned back to face him and closed her eye. Then she opened it again and nodded. “All right. One night.” 

Clay nodded. “One night. And we’ll be gone.” 

She smiled. It was as though the sun had come out from a year of hiding behind clouds. Her whole face lit up, and she was beautiful in a striking and sad kind of way. Clay longed to know everything about her, what had given her that melancholy look in her eye and why she wore her hair in such a strange style. He wanted to know why people called her a witch and what it would take to make her smile like that at him again. 

But it was too late now. She had turned and started walking away. Clay scrambled out of the creek bed and watched her walk up a slight rise to a house which he could see the roof of between some pine trees. 

“Who were you talking to?” William asked. 

Clay jumped at the sound of his mentor’s voice. Turning, he dropped the kettle, and the water spilled out onto the thirsty ground. It was gone in seconds. 

“Clay!” William scolded him. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing,” Clay said. “I met the woman whose land we’re on. She said we could spend the night.” 

“Well, that was nice of her,” William said. He looked at the spilled kettle. “Well, you’d better fill that up again. Who knows how long the water in this area will last.” 

Clay climbed down into the creek again and filled the kettle from scratch. He wondered about this drought, about the water hiding in the ground. He could feel it. Especially out here in the open air with the soil beneath him. Out here, it was like the water could speak to him. It made his palm itch. 

He took the kettle, now full, back to their fire and made the coffee. He took care of the horses and made them food. All the while William strode back and forth trying to work out some piece of theatre that would get them back in the town’s good books. 

“What did you say to them?” Clay asked. “I mean, what words did you use?” 

“Considering how parched and dry this place is, I told them about you,” William said, pointing to Clay with his pencil. He was holding his notebook in his other hand and scribbling down ideas. “I told them that you are a bona fide, honest to God, true in the bone, water diviner. I told them that you were like a hound dog, that you could sniff out water even far underground.” 

Clay balked. “You didn’t put it like that, did you?” 

“I might have,” William said, ruffling his mustache by waggling his lips from side to side. “So, what of it?” 

“It makes me sound ridiculous,” Clay said. “I wouldn’t want to trust either of us if that’s what I was told.” 

“Why not?” William demanded. 

“It sounds like you’re spinning a tale, like you’re trying to dupe them,” Clay said. “Why don’t I just show them? There is water here, I can feel it.” 

“See, like a hound dog sniffing it out,” William said, gesturing theatrically to no one. 

Clay sighed. “Sure, like a hound dog.” 

“I guess we can try that approach,” Wiliam said. “Can you find water here for this farmer? Then perhaps with a little word of mouth, we can get ourselves a business going.” 

Clay nodded. It was worth a try. And he might get to see Rosa smile again.

***

The next morning, Clay was up early. He pulled his rods from his pack and went out of his tent. He had dreamed of water the night before, and he had a burning urge to walk the fields. He crossed the creek by walking through it. It was shallow enough. 

On the other side, he began to walk. At first, he left his rods at his sides and just walked slowly. He could feel something there. It was in the ground, calling to him, but it was very faint. Clay stopped here and there and put his hand to the ground. 

No, not yet. It wasn’t the right place. He would use the copper rods, as all diviners did, to pinpoint the exact spot where the water would be found. He didn’t know if the rods were essential, but they helped him to focus and so with them in his hands, held in palms so that there was no way he could turn them himself, he walked on. 

And on. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” a male voice demanded. “Can’t you hear me? Answer me!” 

Clay was startled from his almost trans-like state. He dropped the rods in the face of the man with the black braid down his back. “Oh, sorry,” he said, his hand rising to his right ear. “I didn’t hear you.” 

The man’s lips moved, and in his panic, Clay missed the words. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“I don’t care if you’re sorry, tell me what are you doing on this land?” the man demanded, moving towards him in a threatening manner. He was close enough now. Clay had no trouble hearing him now. 

Clay held up his hands. “I mean no harm. I was just looking for water.” 

“There’s water in the creek you crossed,” the man said. 

“No, I was looking for it up here,” Clay said. He pointed to the rods. 

The man turned and looked at them. Then he turned his dark eyes on Clay. “Is this a joke?” 

Clay shook his head. “I can…the water calls to me.” It sounded ridiculous to Clay when he said it to this man. Somehow, anything Clay said would sound like the warbling’s of a mentally deficient child when said to this man. He exuded some sort of power and authority that Clay couldn’t contend with. 

The man held his gaze and then turned to his left, Clay’s right. He must have heard something that escaped Clay.  

“What is going on?” a female voice said, finally close enough for Clay to hear. 

It was Rosa. Dressed in a navy skirt and a white blouse, she came striding around the pine trees right at them. She looked angry. Her hair was flowing freely in a brown, silky waterfall that swept and rippled around her. For a moment, the left side of her face came into view and Clay saw it before the veil of her hair hid it again. He swallowed. 

Her left eye was white as snow. It stared out of the socket blankly. Around it was a spiderweb of fine little scars and Clay understood. Something had happened and taken her eye all but physically from her. 

He smiled. “Good morning, Rosa.” 

“You know this man?” the man with the dark eyes asked. 

“Yes, Tom, this is Mr. Turner,” Rosa said, pulling her hair more firmly over her left eye. “He’s one of the men camping on the bottom field.” 

“He says he’s looking for water,” Tom said. “I think we should let him see if he can find it.” 

“Is everything all right?” William’s voice called. 

He came running up, panting and holding his side. “William Wetherby,” he said doubled over but holding out his hand, nonetheless. 

“This is William, my travel companion and mentor,” Clay said. 

“Can he hear the water speaking too?” Tom asked. 

“No, that’s all Clay, here,” William said, reaching up to pat Clay on the back. “Well, shall we?” 

“I don’t think so,” Rosa said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe in this sort of thing.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” William said. “Luckily, your belief doesn’t affect the outcome at all.” 

“But—” Rosa began. 

“I think we should,” Tom said. “Let’s give this man a chance, Rosa.” He said it in a way that made her stop and groan. 

Sighing she gestured to the farm. “Go on.” 

---

“Love’s Blind Embrace” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Rosa Hale carries the visible scars of a bandit attack that left her blind in one eye, yet the more insidious wounds come from the relentless judgment of the townsfolk. In the face of a devastating drought, Rosa’s love becomes a distant echo, drowned out by the chilling whispers of those who will not see past her conditions.

Can Rosa summon the strength to rise above the town’s cruel criticism? Is there a chance for love to bloom amid the arid landscape of her life?

Clay Turner is a skilled water diviner whose arrival in Pine Ridge sparks both hope and hostility. However, the town’s hostility forces him and his colleague into an intricate dance of secrets and strained alliances. Isolated and scorned, Clay carries not only his own burden but also a haunted past that adds an air of mystery to his presence.

Can Clay navigate the skepticism of Pine Ridge and find solace in the unlikeliest of alliances?

Ostracized and ridiculed, Rosa and Clay stumble upon a chilling plot deeply rooted in the town’s history, a tale of betrayal and vengeance spanning over two decades. Will their growing love withstand the trials posed by a community unwilling to change?

“Love’s Blind Embrace” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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