It's Never too Late - By Tara Taylor Quinn Page 0,12

she added more easily. “And Montford has one of the best programs.”

He would have stayed to chat, but he heard the whir of Nonnie’s chair as the old woman moved closer to the door.

Eavesdropping.

Wishing his beautiful neighbor a good-night, Mark went back to his own place to talk to his grandmother about meddling. And manners.

* * *

IF SHE HAD TO COME back to Shelter Valley, at least she was there incognito. As a new student in town, Addy could keep to herself. There was no one to answer to. No flood of decades-old invitations that she’d feel duty bound to accept. Because there was no doubt in her mind that many of the folks who’d seen that scarred little girl off all those years ago were still in Shelter Valley, living and loving in the unique Western town nestled into the desert that surrounded it.

But no one knew Adele Kennedy. No one who would notice that the short route between the university and home, a route with a grocery store on it, was the only route she ventured upon. Will might have reached out to her if he could have done it without jeopardizing her cover. Becca certainly would have.

Thankfully, they couldn’t. Which left her alone to peruse the hundreds of electronic files he’d opened up to her during the week before classes started. She was enrolled full-time for the fall semester. With a horticulture major. Maybe she’d learn something about raising beautiful plants during her stay here.

And maybe... She stopped, looked away from the laptop set up on her kitchen table and listened. There. It came again. A tapping sound. On the shared wall between her and the gorgeous man with the Southern drawl who drove the older but well-cared-for black truck that would fit right in back home in Colorado. Tap. And then again. And again. Over and over. Sometimes with more force than others.

What was he doing over there? Not hammering, there wasn’t enough force. What else did one do that required tapping on a wall?

Except send Morse code to a prisoner on the other side?

Whatever, it wasn’t any of her business. He wasn’t any of her business. As she’d been telling herself repeatedly for the past four days.

She went back to student handbook changes and complaint files. She’d already been through all student discipline actions taken in the past five years, and would search further back if need be. So far every complaint had been handled with no untoward legal implications.

Tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Addy stopped. So the information on her screen was tedious. She was used to tedious. Actually liked losing herself in tedious. Researching tedious information to expose the smallest of inconsistencies was a large part of her job. One inconsistency could be the basis of winning—or losing—a case.

Tap.

The sound was in the exact same spot on the wall. Over and over.

What if Mark wasn’t home? School hadn’t started yet, but he’d certainly come and gone a lot more than she had during the four days they’d both lived in town. What if Nonnie was over there alone?

She’d yet to meet the older woman. Or to speak with Mark again since she’d returned the empty and cleaned casserole bowl.

But she heard them on occasion. Heard the timbre of voices when she left her window open so she could hear the fountain. Heard doors open and close. Heard pipes groan as water ran through them.

She thought of them, next door. Took an odd sort of comfort in their presence.

Not that she needed comfort. Addy had been living on her own for a long time. She liked the solitude.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound came from the back of the duplex, in the kitchen area. She couldn’t just ignore it. Not if Mark wasn’t there. Nonnie was elderly. Sick. And in a wheelchair.

Slipping out the sliding glass door off her kitchen, she knocked on the one next to it. And then, with her hands to the glass, she peered in.

She saw the wheelchair first. An electronically powered one coming straight toward the door. And then she caught a glimpse of the tiniest elderly woman she’d ever seen, sitting upright in the chair that engulfed her, her gnarled knuckles covering what must be the chair’s control.

Upon reaching the door, the woman reached up, hooked her hand around the latch, and with a couple of clicks the door slid open.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but are you okay?” Addy asked, taking in her neighbor’s sharp-eyed gaze with a sharp breath.