Page 112 of Head Room

It sounded strange — but good — to hear his rank and name together the right way.Perhaps especially because it came from a man whose respect was hard-won.

“I’m trying to learn that.But you’d best not call me that.We left Colonel Ransom buried back at Camp Douglas.”

“You’re right.”

Ransom had no fear the major would give him away — not with a slip, anyway — although from the thoughtful look in Brand’s gray eyes it was clear something else occupied him for the moment.Then Major Brand’s mouth curved up, and the ice in his eyes started to warm.Damned if the Marble Major didn’t grin.

“Sir?”

The grin eased away, though the humor remained as a memory in those stark eyes.“You outrank me.”

“Not in this army.”

“No.”His face unreadable, Brand said nothing more for a moment.And Ransom knew his future was being decided.He could take what was coming for him.He hoped to God, it wouldn’t take down Peter, too.

Or Maggie.

Oh, God, what would become of Maggie?Brand had to know—.

“Sir—”

“In this army, Ransom, you’re better off remaining a corporal.”

The major looked back at him, and Ransom had to repress the urge to shake his hand.But there could be no such gesture between a major — even one intent on resigning — and a corporal — even a false one.

“Yes.You’re right.”He drew up to give a salute.“Major Brand.Sir.”

The mouth under that down-turned mustache eased.“No need for such formality.At least not for the moment.”

A lifted brow indicated Brand understood how important it would be to maintain the formality before others if Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Fletcher Ransom, CSA, was to safely remain Corporal Ransom Fletcher of the U.S.Volunteers, in order to keep a watch over his young nephew and his new wife.

“I have a bottle of quite decent whiskey I was hoping you would join me in.”

Now it was Ransom’s turn to raise an eyebrow.“An officer drinking with a corporal?There’s not a place on post such a sight wouldn’t raise the dickens.”

“Not on post.And not in the public rooms of the hotel.But the proprietor owes his scalp to Jim Bridger, and for friends of Jim’s he has a special room in back, where a man — major, lieutenant colonel, or corporal — can be, shall we say, a private man.”

Ransom decided that, in addition to being a dangerous enemy, the Yankee major might be a good friend to have.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Needham, I needa primer on registered agents.Beyond the basics on the Wyoming Secretary of State’s website.”

He eyed me.

Not in a friend to friend way.

In a rival journalist to rival journalist way.

“For a story?”

He’d already gestured me to a guest chair in his office, while he slid into his own chair with the bonelessness of post-deadline.I took the seat before he changed his mind.

“Yes,” I said.Not an admission.Certainly not a confession.Simply a confirmation.Between friends.Good friends.“There’s no competition between us on this.Well, there is, because there always is.But it won’t hurt you.”

“Sure won’t if I don’t tell you.I’ve been working background on the issue, wanting a bit more time and—”

He stopped.