Witched at Birth--A Paris, Texas Romance

by Dakota Cassidy

  As Winnie followed her into the kitchen, she admired the comfortable yet stylish décor. Overstuffed furniture with colorful pillows, vases in turquoise and red, and a big fireplace with a Texas star above it.

  Grabbing two tall glasses filled with lemonade, Daphne shooed the children outside to the pool. “Now, just one small thing—no sea monsters in the pool. Got that? The last time Travis conjured one we had no water left in the pool after his belly-flop. Clear?”

  Lola and Travis nodded eagerly, their anxious bodies full of energy.

  “Then go get wet!” She gave each of them a pat on the head and a smile, dismissing them.

  While Travis and Lola, in a tumble of legs and squeals of joy, ran for the pool, Winnie sat at the lavish granite breakfast bar, one eye on Lola, the other on Daphne, who sat across from her.

  “So, let’s get to know each other. I know you’re an ex-con who has a thing for outdated clothes,” she said with a teasing grin, pointing at Winnie’s orange polyester pantsuit with the wide collar.

  Winnie shook her finger at her and laughed. “Look here, Miss Fashionista, some of us don’t have Baba Yaga as their personal stylist.”

  Daphne threw her platinum blonde head back and laughed, a throaty sound, rich and textured. “Baba Yaga is something else, huh?”

  “You know her?”

  “I met her a couple of times through Moira. Quite the character. Loves Lola to pieces, though. Was a total wreck when Moira was killed. I guess we all were for a little while.”

  Winnie’s nod was one of sympathy. “Were you close to Moira?”

  “We were just getting to know each other when she died. She was very kind to me when that pig I still have to call husband left me for his familiar, but Lola and Travis struck up a friendship long before Moira and I did. Way back in preschool.”

  “Lola’s struggling,” she admitted, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe this new resolve meant being more open, but the words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Daphne sipped her lemonade, the tinkle of her shiny bracelets clanking together, making Winnie envy her a little. “She should be. Her mother died, Winnie. Divorce is hard enough on them. Travis is the perfect example of that, but death? It’s permanent. It hurts my soul to even think about it.”

  “She’s so young…”

  Daphne tilted her head, her hazel eyes full of sorrow. “Too young. But you’re here now, and she seems to have really taken a shine to you. Ben, too, for that matter.”

  Her cheeks flushed hot. No Ben. She didn’t deserve a good, upstanding man like Ben.

  “Ben’s very nice,” she said, avoiding Daphne’s eyes.

  Daphne snorted. “There isn’t much about him that isn’t nice. That’s for sure. But we all saw the way he looked at you the other day when he came to pick up Lola. That sound you heard was every single mother in Paris picking up her Victoria’s Secret Miracle bra and leaving the playground.”

  Winnie waved a hand in the air, dismissing the notion. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m on parole. What would a nice warlock like Ben want with a convict like me? Tell all the single mothers to come back, recess is still on—bring bras.”

  Daphne offered her a plate of Brie and crackers with a chuckle. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk about Ben. How about we talk about whether you’re going to stay at Miss Marjorie’s when your parole is up. Because we parents like you a lot. The kids have really fallen in love with you, you know. Travis talks about you and your unconventional teaching methods all the time.”

  “Unconventional? That’s very PC of you and much too kind.”

  Daphne patted her hand. “But I mean it. I think you should think about staying, Winnie. I’d vote you in, and I’m on the school board.”

  Stay here? In Paris? With Ben firmly rooted here? Um, no.

  Yet, when she thought of leaving the kids, even after just two short weeks of being here, an empty hole bloomed in her chest.

  “I doubt BIC is going to want me to stick around, and let’s not forget about how unorthodox my teaching methods are. I’m not exactly winning points with Wyatt Jackson’s father, that’s for sure.”

  Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “Wyatt Jackson’s father is a grade-A douchecanoe. Can’t say why I don’t like him, but I don’t. In fact, if I remember correctly, Moira didn’t like him either. She said she couldn’t put her finger on why she didn’t like him, either. She just didn’t.”

  “He called in to complain about me last week when Wyatt came home and told him I’d taken his wand. Said I’d stolen his wand and when he got back from Rome, he was going to pay me a little visit.”

  “Screw Randolph Jackson. His kid had no business with that wand, and if he gives you hell, I’ll go to the board personally. Don’t you worry. I got your back, Miss Winnie.”

  “Even in my heinous pantsuit?” she joked, relieved to have found an ally of sorts.

  Daphne’s laughter tinkled in her beautiful kitchen. “It’s just so orange,” she said with a mock shudder. “Speaking of pantsuits. I have two huge bags of clothes for you. I’ve decided my soon-to-be-ex owes me an all new I’m-almost-single wardrobe, and if I have to see you in one more ripped sweatshirt, I’ll just scream And listen, Wyatt’s father aside, you ought to consider staying, Winnie. I genuinely hope you will.”

  Her eyes fell to the counter at the warmth in Daphne’s tone. At her generosity. In her promise to herself, she’d come to the conclusion that for now, she hadn’t earned the kind of warmth Daphne offered, but she wanted to. Yet, it was still uncomfortable.

  “Thanks, Daphne, but I think we should wait and see what Baba Yaga says before we assign me my own cubby.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Good enough. Now, whaddaya say we dig those ruffians out of the pool and carve some pumpkins?”

  “Winnie!” a desperate cry called her name.

  Her eyes popped instantly, trying to adjust to the velvety black night filling her bedroom. Rain pelted the windows and lightning streaked the sky.

  “Winnie!”

  She sat up, looking to the rocking chair. “Icabod?”

  “What?”

  “Was that you?”

  “Me what?”

  “Calling my name.”

  “I’ve been as quiet as a church mouse. I always am. God knows I don’t want you to miss out on a second of your beauty sleep.”

  “Winnie!” The cry was hoarse, tearful—a child’s cry.

  “Pooh Bear, what’s up?”

  “Wiiinnnniiiiie!”

  She threw the covers off, yanking the oversized muumuu from around her legs to untangle herself and looked around. A boom, deep and shuddering, rang through the house.

  She ran to Icabod and knelt down, cocking her head. “Don’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what? Oh Jesus. Are you one of those witches who hears voices, too? I’ve put up with a lot of your kooky, but that’s too far for even me to—”

  “Winnie! Help!”

  Lola. It was Lola, sobbing her name. “Don’t you hear her? It’s Lola!” She didn’t bother to wait for an answer. Fying across the room, she threw the door open and headed to Lola’s bedroom.

  “Winnie, please help me!” Lola sobbed, her voice more muffled now.

  Racing down the hallway, she used the nightlight to guide her to Lola’s cracked door. Pushing it open, she located Lola’s pink-and-yellow bed—empty.

  Panic clutched her heart so hard, she almost couldn’t breathe from it.

  “Winnie!”

  The rain pounded harder, slashing against the windows until she thought surely they’d break. “Lola!” she screamed above the crash of thunder. “Where are you?”

  Rushing out of the bedroom, she tried to flip the lights on in the hall but the power was out. “Lola!”

  Ben appeared out of nowhere, his eyes riddled with sleep, his thick hair mussed. He stood in the hallway in only his pajama bottoms. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “It’s Lola! She’s no
t in her bed. Didn’t you hear her calling for me?” She flew past him, pounding down the stairs as more thunder rumbled, shaking the entire house.

  “Winnie!”

  “Where are you, Lola?” she screamed frantically, trying to pinpoint the location of her cries.

  “Up here! I don’t know how to get down—please help me!”

  Okay, think, Winnie, think. Lola’s voice sounded garbled, almost wet.

  Wet.

  Jesus, no. The roof?

  Pulse pounding, heart crashing against her ribs, she threw open the front door and ran out into the driving rain. “Lola!” she bellowed over the wind, the rain piercing her skin in hard pricks of water.

  “Up here!”

  Frantically, she sought a way to the roof. The trellis in the garden. She could use that to climb to the first peak. Sloshing through the puddles, her muumuu clinging to her, she hiked up the ends of it and ran. “Lola! I’m coming! Don’t move, honey!”

  “Winnie!” Ben roared, the splash of his feet crashing behind her.

  But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Skidding around the side of the house, the flesh of her feet tearing on the pebbled pathway, she launched herself at the trellis, gripping the wet wood until her fingers ached.

  “Winnie!” Lola called again, hoarse, frightened.

  A flash of lightning highlighted a dark head and the edges of a blanket at the very tip of the second peak. “Hold on, Lola! I’m coming—don’t move, munchkin. Just stay put!”

  Hauling herself over the first peak, the roof tiles scraping at her skin, she clawed her way to her feet. “Lola!” she howled into the wind, her eyes scanning the next peak where she knew she’d seen her.

  Now there was nothing but a raging wind and hail, coming at her in small clumps, pelting her face and arms. “Lola! Answer me!”

  She heard Ben call her name, his frantic voice filling her head. “Winnie!”

  The wet world began to sway, her stomach revolting from the motion as she fell to her knees. Winnie clung to the roof, her eyes on the second peak, pulling herself up, panting, dodging the hard pummeling of the hail. “Lola!”

  She couldn’t see. She needed to get closer. Fighting another wave of nausea, she rose to her shaky legs, hunkered down against the harsh wind and plowed forward.

  “Winniiieeee! I’m over here!”

  The voice kept moving, changing, as fear and adrenaline raced through Winnie’s limbs. And then she saw her, huddled against the chimney on the third peak of the house, shaking, crying, flashes of lightning silhouetting her sheer terror.

  Winnie didn’t think twice—she launched herself upward using her torn feet to push off, hurling herself toward Lola, crawling along the small space, sputtering and coughing. “Don’t move, honey!” she yelled, cupping her hands over her mouth before she found the strength from some unknown place to rise to her feet, so close to the edge she was afraid she was going to fall.

  And that’s when it happened. She slipped and fell.

  It was as though a hand pushed at her shaking, tired legs and tipped her right over the side of the house.

  Winnie didn’t have time to react. She didn’t even consider using her magic. She dropped to the ground like a rock.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Winnie! Please wake up. Please don’t be deaded,” a soft voice whispered in her ear.

  She groaned, her head throbbing. “That’s dead, honey. You can’t get deaded.”

  Soft hair brushed her chin, wet tears dripped on her chest. “You made me so sad, but I didn’t get mad at you. I helped Uncle Ben bring you inside.”

  Winnie couldn’t open her eyes, but her hand found the top of Lola’s head and stroked it. “You’re a good little trooper, Lola-Falola. I’m proud.”

  “Okay, nugget, Miss Winnie needs to rest. Let’s let her do that, and you get back to bed, okay?”

  “I’m afraid,” Lola said, her voice watery and trembling. “What if I leave and she goes away?”

  Winnie gasped for a breath, her ribs on fire, but she tightened her hold on Lola anyway. “No, no, Tinkerbell. Miss Winnie’s much tougher than that. Off to bed with you so you can get your pretty sleeps, and I promise I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning, okay?”

  “Just a couple of more minutes, pleeease, Uncle Ben?”

  That was when everything came rushing back to her. She jolted upward, taking Lola with her, forcing her eyes open even though the light in Ben’s bedroom stung them.

  She ran her hands over Lola’s face, checking every square inch of her, inspecting her fingers. “You’re okay? Oh, thank the goddesses you’re okay!” Winnie hugged Lola to her tight. “What were you doing on the roof, Lola?”

  Lola peered up at her, her thickly fringed eyes wide. “I wasn’t on the roof.”

  Ben stepped in then, giving her a warning glance. “Winnie’s just confuzzled, nugget. She had a hard spill. Now, give her a kiss and it’s off to bed.”

  Winnie nodded with a wince. “I took a good one to my old noggin. So do as Uncle Ben says and put one right here.” She pointed to her cheek.

  Lola dropped a reluctant kiss on it and slid off the bed. “Promise you’ll be here tomorrow? Pinky swear?” She held out her pinky to Winnie.

  And Winnie latched on. Weakly, but she managed. “Would I miss Uncle Ben’s crispy-fried chocolate chip pancakes? Not a chance. Scoot now, miss. See you in the morning.”

  Lola trailed behind Ben, leaving Winnie to ease herself to the edge of the bed before realizing she was naked but for her panties. She reached for the blanket to cover herself, only to feel the hot stab of pain in her ribs intensifying.

  “Don’t move,” Ben ordered from the doorway. His hair was slicked back as if he’d just showered, his T-shirt and jeans were crisp and fresh. Unlike her and her straggly hair and bruised body.

  He handed her one of his T-shirts, helping her pull it over her head and tucking it around her thighs before slipping an arm under her. “Use my arm to brace yourself when you lie back against the pillows,” he encouraged.

  She winced as he levered her backward, clinging to the strength of his arm. “Why was Lola on the roof?”

  He sat at the edge of the bed and looked at her. “She wasn’t. Why were you up on the roof?”

  “What do you mean, she wasn’t? Didn’t you hear her calling me? I saw her on the roof, Ben.” She knew what she’d seen.

  “She was safe and sound in her bedroom, Winnie. I checked just before I tore off after you.”

  Winnie shook her head even though the motion made her grab for Ben’s arm to steady herself. “No. I heard her. I saw her. I know what I saw.”

  Ben’s eyes were warm when he brushed her hair from her cheek. “Maybe you were dreaming? I don’t know. I only know you took a helluva spill. It was like someone pushed you right off. One minute you were up, the next you were on the ground at my feet. You scared the shit out of me, Winnie.”

  The concern in his voice was undeserved. She’d blown up his life. What was a little slip and fall compared to that? “Now that you mention it, it was like someone pushed me off,” she said, her body suddenly so weary, she almost couldn’t hold up her head.

  “Why didn’t you use your magic to get up there, Winnie? If you thought Lola was in danger?”

  Because she hadn’t even thought of it. Because she’d been so beaten down about abusing it, she’d begun to refute it altogether. “Maybe because I wanted to learn? You know, like you said? I’m trying to stick to my guns here.”

  Ben kissed the tip of her nose, making her toes curl, even in her uncomfortable state. “Now you’re going too far left of field, honey. You weren’t conjuring up shoes or seeking revenge. You thought you were trying to save Lola’s life—that’s cause to use your magic.”

  “The point is moot for now. What I really want to know is why I saw Lola on the roof. It wasn’t a dream, Ben. I was wide awake,” she insisted, yet warmed by his words.
<
br />   Ben straightened, pulling the covers up to her chin then climbing onto the bed beside her, leaning on his elbow. “You really thought Lola was on the roof?”

  “I really did.” And the hell she was going to let anything happen to her.

  His eyes pierced hers, gazing into them for a long time. “Get some rest, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. You fell pretty hard. Thankfully you didn’t break anything, but you need to rest.”

  “You’re talking to me like you talk to Lola. Like I’m six and I’m out of my mind.”

  “Well, now, as minds go…” he teased on a laugh.

  She poked him in the shoulder. “I’m not out of my mind. Lola was on that roof. I wasn’t dreaming it. We’re witches, Ben. Bad things happen all the time. Something’s going on, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Fair enough. You can do that tomorrow. For now, you rest right here so I can keep an eye on you,” he demanded, gently easing her down until her head was on his chest.

  And then she remembered. “I was almost naked.”

  His chuckle was thick, the rumble reassuring in her ear. “Tell me about it.”

  “Where’s my muumuu?”

  “In the dryer. I didn’t have a choice but to pull it off. You were soaked and then Lola woke up crying before I had the chance to put more clothes on you.”

  Winnie smiled against his chest. “If that shrinks, I’ll kill you, Yagamawitz. I’ve grown fond of it.”

  “Uncle Ben? Winnie?” Lola called from the doorway, making Winnie try to sit up, but Ben tightened his arm around her.

  “What’s up, honey?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t like the thunderstorm. It’s scary. Can I sleep with you?”

  Winnie didn’t hesitate. She patted the space beside she and Ben. “You bet, sugarlumps.”

  “Easy. Winnie’s very sore,” Ben warned as Lola climbed over them and surprisingly settled herself behind Winnie.

  “I’ll be gentle. Promise.” She curved into Winnie’s back and patted her hip. “I hope you feel better tomorrow, Winnie,” she whispered sleepily.

  Winnie reached behind her, straining her ribs and clutching Lola’s hand. “Sweet dreams, peanut.”