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

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 her 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.”

She gave him a shove with a roll of her eyes. “No! You know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I was inside your body. Or I possessed your body—or—or…” How did she explain this without sounding like she was crazy?

Winnie dropped down on the bench of the picnic table across from her, the surprise on her face startling Bernie. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Winnie’s grin was triumphant when she shook her head. “No, you did something very right, Bernie!”

“How are my delusions figuring into this?”

Winnie bounced in her seat. “I just figured out how you robbed a bank without knowing how you did it, and that means we can go to Baba Yaga and the Council and have your parole abolished!”

Now Bernie’s head really spun. “What?”

Ridge dropped the cloth, his eyes pinned on Winnie.

Winnie gripped Bernie’s shaking hand. “You, my unwitting witch, are a shifter.”