Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance Book 3) Read online

  What had been the plan? Run some more. That had been the plan. “I was going to try to save whatever I made working here on the farm then I guess start back at the beginning? See if maybe my parents left something behind to help me figure this out. I still have some of their things in a storage unit in Massachusetts—maybe I missed something when I was looking for who might have murdered them.”

  “Makes total sense. And now? What do you plan to do now, Bernie?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

  “After tonight’s fiasco…I don’t know…”

  “The one where you saved Gus’ hide and displayed an amazing feat of willpower and magic, you mean?”

  His words warmed her soul, sat right in her heart and got comfortable. “I don’t even know how that happened. I don’t know why I knew I could grab that thing, whatever it was—”

  “A devastation spell.”

  Bernie planted her elbow on her knee and let her chin rest in her hand while she mulled the word devastation. “Good to know. You people have spells for everything, don’t you? I don’t know how I knew what to do, but once I was holding it, once Fee gave me some direction, it all clicked.”

  “Well, the good news is, my people are now your people, Bernie, and with the kind of power you have, I can’t believe you didn’t wipe out a small country. I can’t believe your parents would leave you in such a precarious state willingly, with no guidance at all. Which means something’s not right here. I just don’t know what ‘not right’ means.”

  That boulder she carried around on her shoulders suddenly felt lighter. “Well, if you don’t know, I don’t know. I’ve lived with this for a very long time, thinking it was just a case of some severely rotten luck, but having some answers would be a relief.”

  “So I’d say this deserves some investigation, don’t you? It also means you need to talk to Winnie and the other witches in town, Bernie. You have to tell them about this. They can teach you things that a warlock like me can’t.”

  “Who said you had to teach me anything?”

  His chuckle resonated in her ears, warm and rumbly when he knocked her knee with his and squeezed her hand. “Don’t get all prickly on me, pretty lady. I’m offering my help—stop biting the hand and all. What I’m saying is, you don’t have to hide anymore, Bernie, or apologize for every accident that occurs. First, because you can’t afford not to learn how to use your power—someone could end up seriously hurt if you don’t know what you’re doing, and once you learn, there probably won’t be any more accidents. Second, we’re a community. We rally. That’s just how it goes here in Paris.”

  He was offering his help as part of the community. Her flushed cheeks and raging libido crashed. Everyone in Paris loved Ridge for a reason. He was a decent man who happened to be hotter than the month of July on Mars.

  But she couldn’t deny she needed help. Not after tonight.

  He ran a finger down the length of her nose when he asked, “So whaddya say we teach you how to be a witch?”

  And she tried to liken his affection to that of a friendly gesture. “I say yee-haw.”

  “Then I volunteer as tribute.”

  “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

  Orchid whinnied her approval, making them both laugh.

  Chapter 10

  “Atta girl!” Flora nodded her approval while knitting an afghan beneath a canopy tent with Fee curled happily at her feet. “You got it now, Bernie!”

  They were just a few feet beyond the edge of Ridge’s property, not far from the barn and the big pecan tree the seniors so favored. The seniors had gone to the town hall and looked up a survey of Ridge’s land. To everyone’s surprise, they’d discovered, his land ended not too far from where she spent most of her days.

  So they’d set up a makeshift camp with chairs and a picnic table so Bernie could practice her magic every day at lunch without being hindered by the no-magic rule Ridge’s father had placed on the farm.

  And it was paying off.

  Sweat pooled in her newly purchased bra, but by hell, she could levitate a John Deere for twenty minutes and counting at a time. Things were looking up.

  “Gooooo, Bernie!” Daphne cheered, waving her arms. “Ain’t no one gonna keep you down now, girl!”

  Gus and Clive chewed on pieces of straw, shouting their encouragement, too, when she was able to spin the tractor three hundred and sixty degrees.

  “Okay, kiddo, now let ’er down nice and easy. And remember what I said, it’s a slight pause, then a gentle twist of your wrist. We don’t want a repeat of old Betty Boop,” Gus encouraged with a cackle.

  That made her laugh, thus almost breaking her concentration.

  “Watch your noggins! Witch-in-training on the loose!” Glenda-Jo screeched, hopping up out of her lounge chair and scattering her embroidery.

  But Bernie really did have it. In fact, since she’d talked to Ridge, and consequently Winnie and the other senior witches, she more than had it.

  With a snap of her fingers, she made the tractor disappear with a huge grin.

  “Woohoo!” Calla and the seniors cheered from beneath the shade of the canopy.

  They’d given her books and advice and tons of their spare time, teaching her how to manage her power—a power bigger than they’d first imagined. She practiced every day on her lunch hour, every fifteen-minute break, and every single night until her eyeballs wobbled and her fingers were sometimes raw from shooting nothing but sparks.

  But she was getting the hang of it, and growing stronger by the day.

  Calla came up behind her and gave her a light squeeze. “Look at you! The way things are going, you’ll be uber witch in no time flat. We’re all so proud of you.”

  Bernie wiped her hand over her brow, cupping her eyes to block the glare of the sun. “It’s such a relief to be out in the open, and that’s thanks to all of you.”

  “You could have been out in the open a lot sooner, B. All you had to do was trust me,” Winnie reminded, her smile teasing. “But I’m not going to grudge. I’m just glad you told someone. Especially when that someone is cute as the day is long.”

  Ridge. Again. Surprise.

  Though, in all fairness, he’d been an active participant in her witch lessons. He’d spent every afternoon with her when her workday was over, and before dinner, coaching her, reading passages to her from book after book of spells, helping her learn the signs of an oncoming surge of magic, feel her body language, understand that her powers were driven primarily by her emotions or adverse reactions to the emotions of others.

  Which, she and Fee privately deduced, completely explained the kiss and Ridge’s truck ending up in the creek, and Violet losing her hair.

  But it was all strictly platonic. So platonic, it set her teeth on edge.

  And that would be just fine if not for the fact that he was driving her out of her mind. When he sat next to her at his kitchen table, elbow to elbow as they poured over all sorts of rules and regulations regarding white witches. When he drank from a beer and her eyes fell to his lips, surrounding the opening of the bottle.

  When he just damn well existed.

  And every day was getting harder to concentrate on remembering witch rules rather than on wondering what Ridge might look like naked and all tangled up in some sheets.

  “So, how are the lessons going with Ridge, anyway?” Winnie asked, trying very hard not to be obvious and totally failing as far as Bernie was concerned.

  Daphne fluttered her eyelashes, tucking her hands into a fist behind her back. “Yeah, how’s that going, Bernie? All that midnight-oil burnin’ sure must be hot.”

  Bernie snapped her fingers again and made the tractor reappear, forcing her face to remain placid at their ribbing. “It’s fine.”

  Calla squawked, “Fine? Did I hear a measly word like fine associated with Ridge Donovan? C’mon, Bernie, it’s obvious he likes you. And it’s even more obvious you like him. What’s the holdup in the romance department?”

&
nbsp; Heat flooded her cheeks. “There is no romance. There’s just Ridge being a good community team player and helping me to learn your witchy way.”

  “Our witchy way, sister. And in the interest of full disclosure, B, you can like him. It’s okay to like him then dish to us about it. Right, ladies?”

  Calla and Daphne clapped their hands. “Yes! Do dish!”

  “Like who?” Greta muttered as she approached, her clipboard in hand, her infamous whistle gleaming in the bright sun.

  “Ridge,” Winnie provided with an evil grin.

  Bernie sighed, immediately ready to correct Winnie to keep her record clean. “I don’t like him. Wait. I mean I like him. I don’t like him, like him. He’s my boss. That’s it. Witch’s honor.”

  Greta frowned, putting her hands on her stout hips. “So that’s not hormones I smell every time he’s around you?”

  Bernie shook her head. “Nope. Must be cow poop. No hormones. No romance. No nothin’.”

  “Don’t make me write you up for lying, parolee.”

  “You strike such fear in my heart. Can you do that?”

  “I can do whatever I want.”

  “Do you want me to sign it so you have it on record?”

  Greta held up her whistle a mere blip of a moment before blowing it so loud, it made Bernie’s eyes tear up. “Stop being a moron, Sutton. Of course I’m not going to write you up for lying about liking a man!”

  “But he’s my boss and I’m an ex-con.”

  “So you’re the first ex-con who’s liked a man?”

  “Well, no, but I’d think as my parole officer you’d frown on that sort of relationship.”

  “So now you’re telling me how to do my job?”

  “No…I…” She floundered. What was the right answer here?

  But Greta began to laugh, her round crimson cheeks swallowing her sparkling eyes whole, and Winnie, Daphne and Calla joined in.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Can I see you for a minute, Bernie?” Ridge drawled as he sauntered toward the barn, tipping his hat to them.

  “‘Can I see you for a minute, Bernie?’” Winnie teased, lowering her voice to mimic Ridge and batting her eyelashes.

  Bernie glowered at them, running a finger over her neck in cutthroat fashion, but they giggled in spite of her threat, evil grins securely on their faces as she made her way to the barn.

  Poking her head around the corner, she caught her breath as Ridge pulled his shirt back down and dropped a towel on a hay bale, giving her a glimpse of his muscled back. Bronzed from being out in the pasture, the rippling flesh wide then tapering into his jeans—it made her mouth go dry.

  If he could just be ugly, or even a little unappealing, it would make her interaction with him so much easier.

  One deep, shaky breath later, and she wandered into the barn and tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s up?”

  He turned to face her, his smile white and delicious. “Hey, do you mind if we study later tonight instead of after work? I’ve got a couple things I need to do.”

  “If you’re busy, it’s no big deal—”

  “I’m not busy, Bernie. Not too busy to help. I’m just delaying. But let me make it up to you?”

  She shook her head, wiping her palms on her jeans. It wasn’t just hot in the barn because of the temperature; it was always hot when Ridge was too close. “You don’t have to make up anything to me. I can always ask Fee to help me—or independent study is okay, too.”

  He sauntered up to her, his arms crossed over his wide chest, his eyes amused. “Do you really think you should independently try to move a body of water without just a little help from this warlock? It’s pretty heavy, you know.”

  She giggled and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, as oceans go, you have plenty of room for one out in the pasture. I don’t know why you’re worried. I’m really good at burning things down, why should moving a body of water be any different?”

  He cupped her jaw without warning, making her knees wobble and her breath quicken. “Bernie, I’m just delaying our tutoring session, but I’ll make you dinner and we can study while we eat. That work?”

  “Depends on what you’re making.”

  “What if I told you it was spaghetti and meatballs?”

  “I’d call you a liar.”

  Ridge grinned. “You’d be right. I’m a crappy cook. How does pizza from Alphonso’s and a cold beer sound?”

  “Better than the can of ravioli you burned the other day when you were making lunch.”

  “Did you smell that all the way out here?”

  “Siberia smelled it.”

  He tipped her chin upward. “You’re funny. Very funny. So are we on for tonight?”

  Her toes were all but curling in her new running shoes as his thumb caressed her chin. “You bet.”

  “So meet me up at the house at about seven?”

  “Done deal.”

  Ridge leaned in close and whispered, “You do know you’re not putting me out, right? I always get the feeling you think you’re taking me away from something really important. I’ll have you know, that’s not the case.”

  “Everyone’s been really nice about this, and I feel so guilty when I consider there are plenty of things everyone could be doing other than babysitting me.”

  “I like having you around, Bernie,” he drawled, low and husky.

  What did she say to that? I like being around while you drive me and my libido around the bend? She stunk at small talk and flirting. Was there a class for that?

  Her heart throbbed as she looked up at him. “Then make sure you have plenty of beer. If we’re moving bodies of water, we might need more than a six-pack.”

  “You bet. See you tonight.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips, one she wasn’t at all prepared for, one that made her want to slip her arms around him and drive her body against his.

  Instead, she murmured a “later” and headed back out into the heat, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, her heart crashing in her ears. She went to sit on the bench at the table under the pecan tree and put her head on her arms to ease the pitch and roll of her stomach, and closed her eyes.

  “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Her head popped up at the sound of Calla’s voice. “Of course.”

  “So, I’m thinking of asking Bernie if she’s considering staying here in Paris.”

  Bernie frowned, confused. “Okay…”

  “I’d kill for an event coordinator, and I think I have the budget for it now. She’s amazing with the seniors; they love her more than they love tapioca pudding on Tuesdays. I won’t be able to pay her a huge amount, but I really need to free up some time to handle the business end of running the center. She’d be perfect for the job, not to mention all the horses really like her. I know it seems a little early to make a choice like this so quickly, but Bernie’s good people. I feel it in my gut. Smell it with my werewolf nose. Anyway, I know you said you were going back to Dallas once you got this place fixed up, but first, I hope if you hire someone to run it, you’ll still let the seniors come to garden and ride the horses.”

  Bernie opened her mouth to ponder out loud if Calla might have a touch of heatstroke when the woman held up a hand.

  “No. Don’t say anything yet. Just think on it. Also, I was wondering if Bernie decides to take me up on my offer, when the time comes for her parole hearing, would you give her a recommendation? I doubt she’ll need it, with all the glowing references she’ll get from the seniors and Winnie, but as a just-in-case?”

  Wait. First, Ridge wasn’t permanently staying in Paris? And why the hell was Calla asking her to give herself a recommendation. Stranger still, why was she talking about her as if she wasn’t even present during this conversation?

  Bernie looked down at the table, unsure where to go from here, when she caught sight of her hands.

  That weren’t her hands at all.

  She held one up to the sunlight, her eyes going wide.

  Wait, were they even he
r eyes?

  She flapped her hand as though she might shake off this strange skin covering her own.

  What the fuck?

  Then she looked down at her chest. Her hands plucked the T-shirt she wore; it was the same one Ridge had on earlier in the barn. The one she’d watched him put back on while drooling over him.

  Bernie’s hands flew to her chest. Her big man hands. To her flat, ripply chest.

  Panic surged in a rush of her heart punching at her chest—or Ridge’s chest—her pulse racing.

  Calla leaned over and tapped her on the arm. Her laden-with-muscles arm. “Ridge? You okay?”

  The world began to spin then—spin just like she was on a mad carousel, twirling out of control.

  There were gasps, but they were vague and far away.

  Very far away.

  * * * *

  “Bernie girl! Wake up, Sweetness! C’mon, snap out of it!” Fee coaxed, his flair for the dramatic clear in his voice. He used a paw to knead her arm, his claws grazing her skin.

  “Bernie,” Ridge called, running his big hand over her forehead, his voice, as opposed to Fee’s, calm and gentle.

  “Here, take this, Ridge,” she heard Flora say. “Put it on the child’s forehead.”

  The cool material of a cloth forced her heavy eyes open. She lifted her head and immediately held up her hand, letting out a long sigh of relief. “It’s my hand!” she yelped. Oh thank God, it was her hand.

  Instantly, she let her hands roam over her chest, caring little about how lewd she looked. “My breasts! These are my breasts, Ridge!”

  His face was amused, his chuckle almost uncomfortable. “So they are.”

  “No! You don’t understand. A minute ago they weren’t my breasts! They were yours. I mean, not yours, they were…” What the hell did she mean?

  Ridge sat down next to her, pressing the cloth to her face. “Just sit still and let me tend to you.”

  As nice as it was to have Ridge’s hands on her again, Bernie batted him away. “Don’t you get it? A minute ago, it was your hand on my body.” She frowned. “I think. I don’t know.”

  Now his grin was wicked. “My hand was on your body though I was in the barn? Wow. I’m better than I ever gave myself credit for.”