Chapter Three
Margaret hadn’t slept well. The sun was already up, shining through the tiny window, by the time she rolled out of bed. Her small, boxlike room was the only bedroom in the house with furniture, as she had hauled her grandfather’s worn-out junk to the dump. Her room still held her childhood furniture, the same white dresser, nightstand, and matching headboard with flowers carved into the wood. It was a girl’s bedroom, one she’d grown up in.
She stumbled barefoot on the icy wood floor, completely out of sorts, all because she’d been outsmarted by a man—well, not just any man: Joe Wilde. She had realized too late that he’d controlled their entire argument yesterday, if not the whole situation. He was an absolute master at directing behavior, mainly hers, and she’d walked right
