It's Never too Late - By Tara Taylor Quinn Page 0,49

would oversee Jon in any way. He didn’t need to be present, but he wanted to make sure the guy had no problems getting his locker and learning the lay of the land.

After tossing and turning for a long time, Mark got up, tiptoed out to the kitchen, got a beer out of the fridge and quietly let himself out the back door. Nonnie was a sound sleeper, but she also woke up many times during the night. He didn’t want company.

Or, more accurately, he didn’t want Nonnie’s astuteness poking around his psyche.

He noticed the body occupying the chair on the other side of the wall too late to retreat.

* * *

SHE’D COME OUTSIDE to get away from Adele Kennedy. To think.

And then the object of her thoughts was standing there—in nothing more than a pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless undershirt. Almost as though she’d conjured him up.

That was the problem with falling for your neighbor. He was always right there.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said in a near whisper. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

“It’s no problem, I can go in.” She started to rise and remembered that all she had on was the short terry-cloth robe she’d belted around herself when she got out of the shower.

“No.” He glanced at her, and then away, uncapped his beer. “Please, stay. I’ll go in.” But he didn’t.

Holding up his bottle, he said, “I hope I didn’t blow things between us, with my pronouncement tonight. I just had to be honest in case you don’t feel safe around me, or something.”

“Of course you didn’t blow things.” She’d spoken too quickly. “You were being honest. I admire that.”

“A lot of people say they do, but real honesty makes them uncomfortable.”

“I’m not one of those people. I prefer to know where I stand.”

For her, honesty meant that she wasn’t her father’s daughter. She was mentally and emotionally strong. And morally determined to choose right.

So what was right? Helping Will in the only way possible, which, at this point, meant living a lie? Or being honest with Mark Heber about who and what she was?

He sat down.

In her world, complete honesty was rare. By nature, lawyers tended not to say anything at all if the truth would hurt their case.

There were those in her profession who didn’t seem to care about right or wrong, truth or justice, at all. To them the world seemed to revolve around winning. It was all about having the best argument. The ability to read and manipulate a jury.

Not that she could tell Mark any of that.

He sipped his beer. She held a cup of decaffeinated hot tea.

She must be a better lawyer than she thought, the way she was lying to Mark.

But what choice did she have?

She already knew the answer. She just didn’t like it. There really wasn’t a choice to make. She’d given Will her word. She’d known him a lifetime. Owed him.

She’d only known Mark a few weeks. And she’d soon be leaving...

“You ever think about going back to Bierly?” She didn’t know the place, but it wasn’t Shelter Valley. Maybe, if he went back, and wanted to get to know an educational lawyer from Colorado, she could be friends with him in real life.

Maybe even more than friends. Sitting with no underwear on so close to Mark, Addy couldn’t deny certain things. Uncomfortable things. She crossed her legs, pulling the edges of her robe together, and her arm brushed against her nipple. She practically jumped out of her skin. Since when did touching her own nipple send shards of pleasure down below? She clasped her hands tightly around her cup of tea.

“I plan to go back,” Mark said slowly, softly. “We have a home there—the house where I was born. And Nonnie, too, for that matter.”

Oh, God. No, they didn’t. That secret wasn’t hers. But it was being kept from Mark.

A man so honorable he’d confessed that night that he was falling for her.

She needed to confess, too. So badly.

And to find out what would happen if he touched her like he’d implied he wanted to.

“Is there a college there you can transfer to?” She was grasping. But if he qualified for a scholarship at Montford, surely he could get one at a state school in West Virginia.

She had to look up his scholarship. But not until she looked at the others. In the order she would have normally looked at them. She was splitting hairs, but somehow the distinction mattered. She was going