"Yeah, Mary," Lee admitted. "I knew."
"And you didn't say anything. You let Pelham think…" She let her words trail off when she realized she was too angry to form coherent sentences.
"Yeah, well, I'd be willing to bet over half the people in the church knew. But they didn't say anything either."
Everything he said was true. Mary couldn't dispute it, but she couldn't let him have the last word. Something in her refused to let the matter rest. She knew the truth, but she wanted him to say it—dared him to say it. "You didn't save me from humiliation. You set me up!" She flung the words at him like a gauntlet. "Admit it! I was set up!"
Lee looked down at her. "Yeah, well, welcome to the club."
"What's that cryptic little remark supposed to mean?" She tugged on his sleeve once again like a belligerent little bulldog holding on to its catch.
Lee sighed. "It doesn't mean anything, Mary, except that I'm not going to argue with you anymore. What's done is done, and if you can't accept that now, well then, you'll just have to live with it. Now, I'm tired and sleepy, and sick of carrying on what should be a civilized discussion beside a damned outhouse! Come on. There's no need to stand here freezing. We can argue when we get home."
He was right. There was no sense standing out in the cold when they could argue within the warm confines of a Denver hotel. "Fine." She bit off the word in a manner that eloquently warned him that their discussion was far from over.
"Fine," Lee repeated as he took hold of Mary's elbow and helped her negotiate the narrow path from the outhouse to the depot. The train engineer blew the warning whistle to inform passengers it was time to begin boarding. Shivering with cold, Mary hurried up the path. Lee tightened his grip on her elbow, steadying her as she tripped over the hem of her skirt.
"What's wrong with your skirt?" he asked, knowing full well what was wrong.
"Nothing is wrong with my skirt." She glared at him.
"Then slow down," he warned, "before you fall and break your neck. I didn't go to all this trouble to get married just to become a widower the first day."
"You couldn't be so lucky," Mary shot back. "And if we miss the train, don't blame me."
"It doesn't matter if we miss the train."
"Of course it matters," Mary told him. "If we miss the train to Denver, we'll have to wait for the next one."
"We aren't going to Denver. This is the end of the line for us."
"What?" Mary stopped in her tracks and turned to face Lee. "You're abandoning me, too? You married me just to leave me here in the middle of nowhere?"
Lee recognized the note of indignation in her voice but he also heard the fear. "No, I'm not abandoning you, Mary. I'm staying here in Utopia," Lee told her as they reached the depot and climbed the two steps leading to the platform.
Judah struggled from the rocking chair beside the ticket window, grabbed hold of his cane and rose to greet them. He tipped his hat to Mary. "Morning, ma'am."
Mary forgot her anger at Lee in her pleasure at finding Judah Crane lucid. "Good morning, Mr. Crane."
Judah glanced at Lee.
"Judah, you remember my wife, Mary Kincaid," Lee prompted.
"Yes, of course," Judah responded. "A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Kincaid."
"Please, call me Mary," she said.
"Mary is it," Judah agreed. "And you must call me Judah. Mr. Crane is much too formal a way to address a friend."
Mary smiled. "Thank you, Judah."
"You're welcome, Mary." The elderly attorney matched her smile with a smile of his own. "And welcome to Utopia. I hope you'll be very happy living here."
Mary turned to Lee for confirmation. Live in Utopia?
Lee nodded. "That's right. Welcome to Utopia, Mrs. Kincaid." He smiled his most charming smile. "Welcome home."
* * *