Victoria smiled through tight lips. “Respect,” she said. “Respect the person and the process. If I’d had a uniform and a silver eagle on my shoulder, you would have done that reflexively. Instinctively.”

He continued to stare. She was absolutely right. On all counts. As much as he admired Victoria as an individual, she was part of a social class for which he had exactly zero respect—the political class. And when a fellow military officer had an opinion, it was at least rooted in meaningful experience.

Victoria put her hand on his arm. “I don’t want to put you on the spot, but maybe give you a little perspective. Washington started this war, and now we’re stuck with the aftermath. You started the war that’s about to happen—not intentionally, but neither did Washington—and now the townsfolk are stuck with the aftermath. The question I want to ask you is, what’s the right thing for you to do now?”

“Why do I sense that you’re about to tell me?”

“Think about it. A bunch of people—whether it’s just a few or many more than a few—are going to go back up the hill and pick a fight with the Grubbs gang. Okay, the gang picked the fight initially, but still. The question you need to ask yourself is whether they’d be better off under the leadership of a proven warrior, or if they’re better off just winging it on their own?”

McCrea gave a wry smile as he crossed his hands over the grip of his rifle. “Mrs. Emerson, are you ordering me to take the hill?”

She laughed and it felt good. “I don’t have the authority to do that. I’d prefer that you just pursued doing the right thing.”

This woman could sell anything to anyone. Something in her demeanor, in the way of her words, made him want to please her. Despite all his misgivings, and despite his conviction that this was a dogshit conflict, he understood that he would soon be on his way up the hill to fight it.

“First Sergeant Copley,” he said.

Copley had been languishing in a chair near the back door. He may even have been asleep, judging by the way he jerked upright. “Sir.”

“I don’t know how carefully you’ve been eavesdropping—”

“Not at all, sir.” A giant yawn demonstrated the truth of his words.

“I am leaving you in charge of security here in Maggie’s Place as the food preservation efforts spin up. Mrs. Emerson is in charge. Do what she says, and don’t argue, because you’ll end up doing it her way, anyway.”

“Yes, sir. Are you going someplace, sir?”

“First Sergeant, I am heading out to attend an ass-kicking.”

“Whose ass would that be, sir?”

“That’s a determination that has not yet been made.” He winked at Victoria. “See you in a bit.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN