Free Three Little Words by Maggie Wells Page A

of their affair marked the beginning of a new life for her. A life she didn’t necessarily get to choose. Their beginning wasn’t too far off the mark for the woman she’d been then. She’d been sitting at the bar at McGivney’s throwing back shots and scrambling for a way out of the noose of responsibility hanging over her.
    Her first tango with Jose Cuervo helped to convince her everybody got a little forgetful as they got older. But her mother was only in her late fifties. The forgetfulness was getting to the point where Josie couldn’t brush it aside. Her brother’s voice echoed in her head as she gripped the second shot glass. Mother needed full-time care. They had to move her to a home, or Jo—the one who was still single, childless, and, well, female—needed to give up her apartment, her freedom, and her future in order to care for her. She tossed aside the soul-sucking option as she bolted back shot number two. Her throat still burned when Will walked through the door.
    Every time he laughed she was instantly transported to the hot, steamy nights spent tangled together. The steady thrumming of her headboard as he banged her into blessed oblivion. The urgent phone calls—booty calls these days—to arrange their next meeting. Trashy lingerie purchased with the express notion of snaring this man’s undivided attention. She didn’t love him as much as she loved the idea of doubling down against the hand fate had dealt. And somewhere in the thrill of letting him tie her up, she harbored a few crazy, desperate hopes of tying him down.
    But Will Tarrant was a rogue through and through. A fact she hadn’t forgotten. The thick, tangy sting of panic and guilt clogged her throat. The memory of Mrs. Burton’s voice blaring from her answering machine. Silky scarves held her bound to the bed. Will’s sexy, gravelly taunts when she strained against them. The minute she heard the words ‘fire trucks’ and ‘smoke inhalation’, the fun and games came to a screeching halt.
    She’d never forget his whispered, “Damn,” when she jerked one rickety spindle from the headboard. Rasping and sobbing, panting for breath, she shoved him off the bed, suddenly desperate to get free from the ties binding her to the selfish life she thought she wanted. Will caught on fast. He was also decent enough to dress with amazing speed. He deposited her in front of her mother’s house then disappeared into the night. The following day she found an apologetic message on her answering machine, thanking her for the time they spent together and wishing her well. The gentle kiss-off made her decision to move home to take care of her mother infinitely easier.
    And now, he’d come to her rescue after yet another embarrassing display of wanton selfishness.
    She sighed as he put the truck in reverse. He paused, his arm hooked over the back of the seat, his foot planted firmly on the brake. Then the bench seat dipped when he shifted his weight. In one smooth move he put the truck in park and killed the engine.
    “What’s the matter?”
    He turned to face her head on. “What happened to you, Josie?”
    The blunt question stole her breath. “Happened to me? Nothing happened to me.”
    “You never got married? You live with your mother now?”
    “My mother is dead.” The familiar pang came back. The same pang torqued her insides each time she spoke the words aloud. A pang loaded with guilt. And relief. “She died last year.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    His automatic response coaxed a weak smile. The irony of the common condolence never failed to tweak her funny bone. No one was truly sorry when her mother finally passed away. The disease robbed Beatrice Masters of her memory and stole her independence, faith, and security. For over sixteen years she lived in a world ruled by fear and paranoia, surrounded by strangers who spent their days trying to convince her she knew them. A shadow of the woman she once was trapped in a body too vigorous and