It's Never too Late

Dropping the toothbrush, she hurried from the bathroom, wiping her hands on her T-shirt as she made her way to her computer. A few quick keystrokes, a couple of returns, and she was back to the university’s personnel files, looking up Phyllis Sheffield’s history at Montford. The psychologist had been hired to start the fall 2001 semester. She’d given birth to twins, Calvin and Clarissa, in early June 2002. A few more clicks. Matt Sheffield was the father of twins, Calvin and Clarissa, born in June 2002.

He’d fathered Phyllis’s children less than a month after the woman had moved to Shelter Valley from the East Coast. Which sounded to Addy as if the man hadn’t learned how to be circumspect with his fly, although he’d chosen a conquest who was of legal age this time. The criminal charges should have been enough to prevent Will from hiring the man. Fathering children with a coworker he hardly knew should have, at the very least, been further cause for concern. But it was at that time that Will Parsons had approved a promotion for Matt Sheffield from technical coordinator to director of the performing arts center.

Addy added another task to her list. When she showed up at drama club later that week, she was going to come as a femme fatale, ready to give the club’s adviser, Matt Sheffield, anything he wanted.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THERE WAS A MARKED energy in Mark’s step as he made his way to his car after his shift Monday evening. Jon’s supervisor had looked Mark up to let him know the man he’d referred was performing beyond expectation. He hadn’t received an emergency call regarding his grandmother. He had, in fact, had a call from the woman herself to tell him good-night—and not to bug her with a pressure check when he came in from work. She’d also told him to drive safely on his way home—Nonnie’s version of “I love you.”

And...he was heading to the chair on his back patio.

After a shower. No way was he showing up smelling like cactus jelly. Or sweat.

It was too hot for jeans, too, he decided as he climbed into the truck and rolled down his window. September in Arizona might not be as hot as August or June or July, but it was still close to eighty degrees—and that was after the sun went down. He hoped he’d thrown his basketball shorts into the washer with his work clothes. And a T-shirt that matched would be nice, too....

The peal of his cell phone broke the peacefulness inside his truck. Tensing, he grabbed the phone off the holster on his belt, his gaze going instantly to the caller ID flashing on the screen. He’d heard from Nonnie less than an hour ago. If she’d failed to put on her nighttime undergarments before bed she could have tried to get herself to the bathroom and had problems....

Nonnie wasn’t calling. Nor was it the paramedics, or Addy. He pulled off to answer, anyway.

“Ella?” Holding his phone to his ear, he tried to ease the dread seeping into his gut.

“Hey.”

That was it after all this time? “Hey”? Not that it had been years. It just felt like that to Mark. So much had changed. He’d changed.

Just as she’d known he would.

Guilt fell like dead weight over him.

“How are you?” Lame. But he didn’t know what else to say. Why was she calling?

Because all she’d needed was for him to quit trying? Playing hard to get worked sometimes. But he hadn’t been playing. And wouldn’t. Thoughts tumbled one after the other. He wasn’t a game-playing type of guy, Ella knew that....

“I’m okay.” She didn’t sound normal. “I wasn’t sure you’d even speak to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“The way I treated you there at the end. Before you left. Going out with Rick. It wasn’t right.”

“Sure it was. You told me what you were doing. If you’d done it behind my back, that wouldn’t have been right.”

Two minutes ago he’d been heading home, to his new home, hoping like hell that he was going to make love with his new neighbor.

“I ignored all the texts you sent.”

“You told me you didn’t want to talk to me.” And he hadn’t wanted to harass her. He’d just wanted her to know that he wasn’t leaving her. That he’d be there for her if she needed him. He’d wanted to honor the promises he’d made to her. “Anyway, what’s done is done.” Or was it? God, he hoped it was. “Tell me what’s going on. How’s everyone doing? How’s work?”

He stopped short of asking her how she was doing, personally. It made him ashamed as hell, but he didn’t want to know.

“I’m... I don’t know how to tell you this.”

It sounded as if she was crying. He stiffened, his free hand wrapped tight around the steering wheel.

“You can tell me anything, Ella, you know that.”

Was she getting married? And feeling guilty? How did he tell her he was fine with that?

“I know. And I will tell you. It’s just that, it’s so good to hear your voice and...”