“Dry for thirty years.”

“No.”

Norah tapped the map.

“It was declared dry thirty years ago.”

“That means the same thing.”

“No.”

She turned the map around.

“Look at the original survey.”

Caleb bent over it.

The second spring was marked with a circle.

Beside it was a handwritten note:

Flow diverted underground. Access restricted.

Caleb frowned.

“Restricted by whom?”

Norah looked at the bottom of the page.

There was a signature.

Her face changed.

“What?”

She didn’t answer.

Caleb took the paper.

The signature belonged to Jonas Bell.

Norah’s father.

Her hands began to shake.

“My father surveyed this place.”

Caleb looked at her.

“You never said.”

“I didn’t know.”

She traced the faded ink.

“My father told me he’d worked railroad water stations.”

“He did.”

“But he also surveyed springs?”

“Apparently.”

Norah swallowed.

“What if he wasn’t only maintaining them?”

Caleb studied her.

“What are you thinking?”

“That he knew about this second spring.”

“Why would he hide it?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why would someone restrict access?”

“I don’t know.”

She folded the map.

“But I’m going to find out.”

They left before dawn.

Caleb insisted on going with her.

Norah didn’t argue.

They climbed through a narrow canyon where red stone rose on both sides.

After nearly two hours, they found an old timber marker.

The wood had rotted almost completely.

But the iron plate remained.

BELL SURVEY—PRIVATE WATER RESERVE.

Norah stopped breathing.

“My father.”

Caleb looked at her.

She touched the plate.

“Why would he call it a private reserve?”

They dug beneath the marker.

At first, nothing.

Then Norah’s shovel struck metal.

They uncovered a steel hatch.

Caleb pried it open.

A staircase descended into darkness.

The air coming from below was cold.

And wet.

Norah stared down.

“There’s water under us.”

Caleb lit a lantern.

They descended.

Thirty feet below the mesa, they found a chamber.

And in the center of it—

A reservoir.

Full.

Clear.

Untouched.

Norah stepped forward.

Her lantern reflected across the water.

Caleb whispered, “Good Lord.”

Norah knelt.

She dipped her fingers into it.

Cold mountain water.

Clean.

Abundant.

Enough to supply Dry Willow for years.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Then she noticed the pipe.

It ran from the reservoir toward the surface.

But the valve had been shut.

A heavy chain held it closed.

Norah examined the lock.

There was a name stamped into the metal.

MERCER WATER & LAND.

Caleb’s jaw tightened.

“Mercer owns the reserve.”

“No.”

Norah shook her head.

“Look at the date.”

The lock had been made twelve years earlier.

That was the same year the survey shed had been abandoned.

Caleb stepped toward the chain.

“I’ll break it.”

“Wait.”

She pointed.