"Only when you're away?"
"You won't need him to guard you when I'm here," Lee told her. "Because I plan to be right in bed beside you from now on."
"Good," she told him. "Because that's where I want you from now on."
They watched in companionable silence as the puppy amused himself leaping at the bed clothes, barking, and tugging at the sheets, until he finally curled up into a tight little ball of black and gray fur and fell asleep between the two of them.
"What are you gong to call him?" Lee asked.
"Barker," Mary decided.
"It fits." Lee reached out to scratch one of the puppy's ears.
"Thank you," Mary said, staring at him with all of her love for him shining in her dark brown eyes.
"You're welcome."
"I don't just mean for the puppy. I mean for everything. You altered the course of my life, Lee, and have given me all the things I wanted so desperately. I can't tell you how much that means to me."
Lee squeezed his eyes shut. "You could have had all these things with someone else. Maybe not Cosgrove, but with someone else."
"I don't think so." Mary shook her head. "Who else would have taught me not to be afraid of the night like you did? Who else would have given me a puppy for my birthday?"
"Among other things," Lee interjected.
"Among other things," Mary agreed. "And who but you could have given me this town? This house? Or Judah? Or most importantly, Maddy?"
Lee took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. The moment of truth had come. It was time to tell her all he knew about Madeline. "Mary," he began, "there's something I think you should know about Maddy."
"What?"
"Well, remember when you asked about my personal relationship with Tabby?"
"Yes." Mary knew where the conversation was heading but she wouldn't make it easier for him. He had to tell her the truth, not the Pinkerton truth, but the real truth—all of it. And he had to do it in his own way.
"And I avoided the question by telling you that I didn't remember saying anything about a personal relationship between Tabby and me."
"I remember."
"Well, there was one," Lee said at last. "A very brief one."
"How brief?" Mary couldn't keep herself from asking the question.
"Four weeks."
"I see." Mary bit her bottom lip.
"No, you don't," Lee told her. "It wasn't like this. It wasn't what you and I shared. It was something else. We were working together, pretending to be lovers, practically living together as we worked-—going to parties, dances, the opera, and midnight buffets." Lee exhaled and raked his fingers through his hair. "Anyway, it all started on New Year's Eve, Tabby and I went to a party. We danced and drank champagne and, well, one thing led to another and pretty soon we were in bed together. I think I knew it was a mistake almost from the first moment. It felt dishonest somehow. I felt guilty afterward, as if I'd taken advantage of her. I mean, I liked Tabby. I really liked her. I admired her ability and her courage."
Mary was very still and very quiet.
"But I didn't love her. I wasn't in love with her."
"Then how could you…" Mary broke off.
"It
was passion, Mary. And lust. And loneliness. And need. The kind of need we all have that makes us want to be sure we're still alive, that we can still feel things for other people. I think Tabitha must have felt the same way. We drifted into an affair. We were adults with healthy appetites. I don't apologize for that. I just want you to understand that what I shared with Tabitha was not the same as what you and I shared tonight. It was different. It ran its course and at the end of the four weeks, we were friends but no longer lovers. I left Denver for Chicago and I never saw Tabitha again. I thought everything ended when we said good-bye at the depot, but I was wrong."