Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance #3)

“The fire was more bark than bite, Clive. Petey’s gonna be just fine,” Ridge reassured.

“Damn women,” he spat. “Should be in the kitchen makin’ sandwiches, not bonfires.”

Flora Watkins dug a knuckle into Clive’s side, her gray hair still in the neat bun she’d arrived with despite the heat and the dry winds coming in from the north. “You mind yourself, Clive. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’ll make you a sandwich outta your limp burrito if you keep talking about my persuasion that way! Now take your wrinkled old butt on over to the bus where it’s cool or you’ll have us missin’ Judge Judy with our lunch because you passed out from this bloody heat.” She pointed a knobby finger toward the senior center bus and scowled at Clive.

Clive flapped his hand at her, but he was moving his wrinkled butt in the other direction and far away from Flora’s glare of death as he retorted, “Bah, you women. All so damn demanding. Pushin’ us around like we ain’t got no say in anything.”

Ridge shook his head with a chuckle. “Now, Clive, you be nice. Miss Flora’s just looking out for your health.”

Flora gripped Ridge’s arm. “The fire’s out and it doesn’t look too bad. So go easy on her, will you?”

Ridge grunted, scanning the last wisps of smoke coming from the barn. “The parolee?”

“You know exactly who I mean, Ridge Donovan. Yes, the parolee, and she has a name. Her name’s Bernie, and I hear she claims she didn’t even know she was a witch.”

He hooked his thumbs into the loops on his jeans and glanced over at Bernie, sitting quietly on the barrel as her outspoken familiar circled her feet. “Says who?”

“Says rumor. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s been spreading all over town like the black plague.”

“And you believe that story? Who doesn’t know they’re a witch, Miss Flora?” She couldn’t have pulled that one over on Baba Yaga. No way would that fly with someone as travel weary as her.

“I’d believe anything at my age. Which is somewhere around two thousand. I think. Have to check my iPad calendar app the kids installed for me.”

Ridge sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his gaze. “You suppose she knows she robbed a bank?”

Miss Flora pursed her lips. “Don’t be persnickety with me, boy. I just think there’s an explanation we haven’t come across, is what I think. If you ask me, she looks a little lost. So maybe don’t be mean Ridge today. Cut her some slack?”

“Mean Ridge? Why, Miss Flora, I’d be insulted if not for the fact that I know you’re sweet on me. Gus told me so.”

She scoffed, her eyes twinkling as she drove her hands into the pockets of her denim skirt and rocked back on her pristine-white orthopedic shoes. “Who isn’t sweet on cloudy Ridge Donovan? Not one witch as far as the eye can see, that’s who, mister. All crazy women like men who brood and pout. It’s like flies on manure to a girl, brings ’em all to your yard. They think it’s sexy. They want to fix you. But I know the real Ridge, and he’s only standoffish at first because he’s busy assessing you, and he forgets he’s wearin’ his poker face when he does it.”

That was his business face, and it was true, he was assessing. He spent a lot of time reading body language as part of his job as a securities consultant.

Sometimes, you had to really dig to find out why a client needed a bodyguard to begin with, and he was good at parsing the crappy dangerous gigs from the current-visiting-pop-queen security job.

Still, he widened his eyes in teasing mockery. “Me? Standoffish?”

Flora wrinkled her nose and poked him in the ribs. “Yep, you, with that sourpuss and that frown. Keeps people at a distance, which I’m supposin’ you like until you can size ’em up right. All I’m saying is, give this one a chance. She seems like a nice kid who’s just pretty lost, and she doesn’t need your scary face in hers, glowering down at her and makin’ it worse.”

“And you know this after seeing her for all of five minutes?”

Flora began to wander toward the bus. “You forget who you’re dealing with, Broody McBrooder. I read auras, buddy, and yours is all pink and fluffy on the inside!” she teased.

Yeah. Fluffy. He raised a hand to wave to Flora as he picked his way past the lingering seniors toward Bernie.

She popped up from the barrel, reaching a hand backward to steady herself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan. I’m really, really, really sorry. Sometimes, this magic…er, my magic just happens. But I promise to work harder to control it, and I’ll clean the mess up. All of it.”

He paused a moment, remembering what Flora said. Did women really find him attractive because he came off brooding and sullen? Was he really scary?

Stop.

Still, Ridge found himself relaxing his face in light of Flora’s words, shifting his jaw back and forth as though doing so would wipe away the scary.