was exactly the kind of man she’d sworn she’d never let herself get near—tortured and troubled, with an alcohol problem. Truly, considering the daddy she’d had, and the things that had happened in her life so far, she ought to know better.
She did know better.
But sometimes a person’s heart just loved where it wanted to, no matter that her brain kept ordering it to stop.
Margie let out a dry cackle of laughter. “The mystery baby is Flynt Carson’s, did you hear that?”
Josie swallowed. Hard. “I heard it, but—”
“No buts about it. It’s his baby and he ain’t sayin’ who the mother is.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know.”
Margie blew out more smoke and squinted at Josie through the thick fringe of her false eyelashes. “Yeah. Right. Now that makes a lot of sense.”
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