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

“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?”

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.”