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

“It’s a long story, my arrival here in Paris. And someday, probably sooner than you’d like, I’m going to share that story with you whether you want me to or not.”


Bernie chuckled, letting Ben Junior squeeze her pinky. “I’d like that.”

“Okay, I’m going to take Ben Junior downstairs and get him fed before the festivities. So why don’t you grab a shower and get changed? Maybe rest up before dinner, which is at seven sharp. We’re having a bit of a welcome-to-Paris party for you.”

Shit. She’d forgotten about her clothes. Not to mention her borrowed shoes.

Bernie looked down at her feet, utterly mortified. After a lunch that some would label beneath them—but to Bernie, had tasted like nirvana after ten months of prison food—Winnie had insisted she borrow a pair of Ridge’s boots to protect her feet while she worked. She’d stuffed rolled-up socks into them and sent Bernie back off to the barn to finish her assigned chores for the day.

Ridge had taken one look at the borrowed cowboy boots, riding almost past the tops of her knees and five sizes too big for her, and snickered before returning to his own chores.

That was the last she’d seen of him as she’d cleaned up the mess she’d made, raked the stalls and scattered fresh hay for the horses. Hopefully, in the ensuing days, he’d be just as scarce.

Bernie looked down at the scuffed boots, instantly feeling guilt. “I’ll return them tomorrow. It’ll be like I never wore them.”

Winnie cocked her head, her eyes searching Bernie’s. “Those? It’s not a big deal, Bernie. Just some old cowboy boots Ridge doesn’t even use anymore. I couldn’t have you go back out in that mess with nothing to protect your feet until we hunted you up some shoes, but they’re not a pair of Pradas. Why do I get the sense that you’re walking on eggshells here?”

Because she was?

She didn’t want to screw up a single instance for fear of being slapped back in the hoosegow. She had to figure out how she’d gotten here, and if shutting up and playing this witch game was part of the gig, she was aiming to please.

“I just don’t want anything else to go wrong.”

“Things are bound to go wrong if you keep telling yourself you’re not a witch, Bernie.”

Elephant in the room addressed. Perfect.

“You’re right.”

“And you’re appeasing me.”

Bernie remained silent, pulling her eyes from Winnie’s and swallowing hard.

But Winnie put her hand on her arm and squeezed, her eyes piercing Bernie’s. “Listen, I don’t know what’s happened to you. I don’t know how you came to this point in your life. But I’d like to. And then I’d like to help you fix it…manage it…whatever stupid therapeutic word you want to frost your situation with. I can help. Just ask.”

Fuck. Why did this woman have to be so nice? Why did this house have to be so warm and inviting? Why couldn’t she just keep burying her head under the covers?

Because the days of managing whatever this is are over, Bernice Sutton. It’s too far gone. You’ve fucked up once too much. You served time. You’re an ex-con with a magical rap sheet now. Suck it.

Maybe the key to figuring out how not to be a witch anymore was to let these gurus teach her how to be one?

Bernie bit the bullet while she stared down at her ridiculous cowboy boots. “I need…” Her words hitched momentarily, her throat growing tight. “Help. I. Need. Help.”

Winnie smiled and squeezed her arm again. “At your service. But first, grab a shower and take an hour or so to just be. Okay?”

Tears started to rim her eyes. Big, ugly, hot tears of gratitude. She let her eyes fall to the floor again. “I don’t have any clothes. I only have this. Is there somewhere I can wash it?” she squeaked, fighting the lump in her throat.

Winnie laughed and plucked the arm of Bernie’s jumpsuit. “Oh, hell no, you can’t wash it. We’re gonna burn that tonight in the fire pit. It’s kind of a ritual around here. Our way of showing the universe you’re never going back to the pokey. I’ve pulled some clothes for you and placed them in the cubby marked with your name in the bathroom you’ll share with Vanessa across the hall. I apologize in advance if the clothes aren’t exactly in this decade—or even in the last two decades—but we had a full house until recently, and I’ve had trouble finding the time to sort through all the donations.”

“Donations? Can’t you just wave your wand and make some appear?” For that matter, couldn’t she? The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them.

Winnie winked a beautiful eye. “Lesson number one—no magic for personal gain. I’m sure they preached that to you back in Cellblock Hell. It’s a rule you should always follow, even once you leave here, but it’s also a rule we enforce here at the house. We work for everything we own, and you’ll collect a paycheck from Ridge once a week. You won’t get rich from it, but it should be enough to pick up some things.”