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The spring sun was no more warmly benevolent than Hazard's smile as he walked beside his daughter. "You did extremely well, dear. You don't need me to protect you from Nott's stupidity," her father replied, not inclined to argue his masculine code of ethics.

Pleased her father seemed so amenable, Daisy politely reminded him she was no novice in dealing with male prejudice.

"He's not the first," she went on, "to oppose women practicing law or advocate that a 'woman's place is in the home.'"

"Or in a plush bordello like Ruby's," Trey sardonically added, his mouth curving into a grin. Keeping leisurely pace beside Daisy, he glanced down at his sister with amusement in his eyes. "Nott spends a lot of time there, insuring," he mockingly went on, "the double standard is alive and well."

He'll have more time to spend there in the future, Hazard coolly thought—if he can afford it when he loses his appointment. Regardless of his affable reply to his daughter, Hazard intended to see Nott suffer for his rudeness. Hazard had spent a lifetime fighting for his clan's existence and a degree of equality in an unequal society. Luckily wealth proved effective in the fluid nature of American culture and the degree of that fluidity was markedly more unhindered in the West. Men who were penniless one day could be millionaires the next in the mineral-rich West and an individual's past was never scrutinized too closely. It wasn't healthy in a state that still settled a great deal of controversy with gunshot justice.

"Actually, I was surprised he
was
stupid enough to take you on," Trey said to his father.

"Perhaps he feels confident with Wainwright's support."

The white ribbons trailing down the back of Daisy's straw boater fluttered from left to right as her head swiveled from her father to her brother—both tall, powerful men of action. "I don't want anyone taking on
anyone
over Nott's rudeness." Her classic chin came up in rebellious defiance. "I don't have to be defended. In a way, your interference is as gender-prejudicial as Nott's allusions to 'women's role.' I don't need male protection."

His protection wasn't gender-based. Hazard protected any in his clan regardless of sex, but admitting that might give notice of his intentions, so he said instead, "I was speaking in general terms. You know Nott's expecting a federal appointment with support from Wainwright's money."

"While you and Wainwright are mortal enemies over grazing land." Daisy's voice was without inflection.

"Nothing so melodramatic. I just don't like him taking down our fences and killing our horses." Hazard's voice, like his daughter's, was mild.
⁴

More mild, Trey thought, than it had been a month ago when he and his father had stood toe-to-toe with Wainwright and his men up near Cottonwood Creek, Hazard's rifle barrel pressed into Wainwright's paunchy stomach. "Take another step on my land."

Hazard had said then, his voice cold as the grave, his dark eyes ablaze with fury, "and you've solved my problem." Both Hazard and Trey could outshoot any man in the territory—a well-known fact—which allowed them the leverage they needed, along with Wainwright's quaking, ashen-faced fear, to see Wainwright's score of hired hands ride away. They'd taken Wainwright with them for a mile or so before releasing him, the Absarokee rules of warfare and taking coup precluding them from killing him in cold blood. "A damn impediment at times," Hazard had muttered afterward with a grin, "having been raised with honor."

"Wainwright seems to have reconsidered lately," Trey declared, soft-spoken as a choirboy, his pale eyes gazing down at Daisy, as innocent. "He hasn't touched any of our fences in a month."

"The injunction worked, then," said Daisy, an advocate of legal remedies for settling disputes. "At least as a first step."

"It looks as though it may have," Hazard politely replied.

Along with a lethal threat to his life, Trey refrained from adding.

"Hanna Mining is going to lose too," Daisy said, her thoroughness in presenting proof of each incursion into Braddock-Black mining territory impossible to defend against. "The judgment against them should be considerable. I'm guessing well get our full five million." Daisy was in good spirits regardless of Judge Nott's resentment of her presence in his courtroom. She'd met with enmity before. It only served to toughen her up and improve her edge. Preparation of a case and competence in court were the only two qualities needed to win. Well… advocacy too, and she
believed
in their litigation. The jury was well-selected and fair, their claims were legitimate, and Hanna Mining had been bluffing from day one. Tomorrow, she'd begin her summation. "I don't expect the jury to deliberate more than a few hours. Where do you want the check mailed?" Her cheerful smile was as confident as her voice.

When Daisy Black walked into her office overlooking the Montana Club facade a few minutes later, she came to a sudden stop just inside the threshold, mild surprise evident in the partial lift of her brows. Lounging on her black leather couch was Martin Soderberg, his long legs sprawled out before him, one arm loosely disposed on the tufted curve of the sofa back, his sandy hair tousled as though he'd ridden through a windstorm, his range-clothes in contrast, newly pressed.

"What do you want?" she asked of the man she'd once considered marrying, before he'd precipitously married someone else two weeks ago.

"I want to be friends."

She paused for a moment, considering the complexities. "Fine," she said, civil and collected. '"We're friends."

"You shafted Ryan nicely today in court."

"Thank you. I didn't see you there."

"I came in late, just prior," he said with a boyish grin she'd always considered his best feature, "to your pointed remarks on marriage in Montana."

"Give my regards to Sally, by the way," Daisy said. "She must be pleased."

"I will and yes, she is," he replied with honesty. They both knew Sally Newcomb was plain enough she would have married anyone. Instead her father had captured Helena's handsome young sheriff for her for the price of the Treasurer's office.

"I'm assuming this isn't purely a social call," Daisy said, removing her straw hat, advancing into the large sunny room. Martin must be looking for political support, mending fences prior to the fall campaign, she thought, placing her ribbon-bedecked hat on a polished tabletop. While Sally's father could promise him the Treasurer's office, nothing was entirely guaranteed in the rough-and-tumble world of Montana politics.

Moving for the first time since she'd entered the office, Martin slid upward off the base of his spine, straightened his long lean frame into a sitting position, and looked down at his worn boots for a moment in what may or may not have been awkward ingenuousness. Martin was a political animal, however, which fact, Daisy thought, generally precluded ingenuousness. Raising his gaze to Daisy's, he quietly said, "No, not purely social. You're looking as beautiful as ever, Daisy," he added with straightforward simplicity. "Even in those clothes." His smile was lazy and warm.

Daisy's clothes—tailored black silk suit and white high-necked blouse—were devoid of ornament or color save for the brilliant sparkle of an elaborate topaz brooch pinned at her throat. "I thought about wearing something more suitable for my 'gentler sex,'" she answered with a smile. "Red satin, perhaps, like the young girl Nott patronizes at Ruby's. But I didn't know how that would play to the jury."

"Extremely well, I'd say." Martin's low voice held suggestive memory beneath the light teasing.

She didn't want to be reminded of their common memories now that he was married; she preferred finding out what he wanted without lengthy preamble or any allusions to intimacies they'd shared in the past. "It's a thought," she casually said, her smile polite. Sitting down across from him in a comfortable Morris chair, she gestured to the liquor table under the window. "Help yourself. Or I could have coffee brought in." The courtesies attended to, she softly declared, "And tell me what you need."

"I'll take a bourbon if you don't mind," Martin replied, rising from the soft-cushioned couch to pour himself a generous portion. "Is it too early for you?" He knew she didn't drink at the office. His nervousness showed.

Perhaps she could have made it easier for him. If she wasn't beginning to feel the fatigue that always struck her after the adrenalin-induced energy necessary for court had begun to fade, she might have felt impelled to utter the polite preliminary phrases. Instead she spoke into the small silence after Martin sat down again, direct and to the point. "I don't bear you any grudge, Martin. My father and brothers will endorse your nomination. They might have reconsidered had I indicated I wished it, but I don't. You have my best wishes and my family's support."

Relief literally washed over the tanned, blue-eyed face opposite her. The rigidity of Martin's posture relaxed, the tenseness evident in his grip on the bourbon glass loosened, diminishing the whiteness around his knuckles. "You never seemed really interested," he softly said, his gaze holding hers, familiar, intimate, replete with memory, "or I would have waited."

The clarity of his remark struck her as uncomfortably true for a moment before she reminded herself of the pragmatic nature of Martin's marriage. "You're probably right," she diplomatically said, shaking away the shiver of remembrance, aware of the futility of arguing a lost cause. "And it certainly won't hurt to have a friend in the Treasurer's office."

His smile was genuine and cordial, his long-fingered hands stroking the heavy tumbler in comfortable rhythm as he leaned back against the black leather, at ease once again. "Come over for dinner soon. No other woman understands politics as well as you. My campaign could use you, Daisy. If you'd take the job, although I know what your commitments are, I'd ask you to be my campaign chair. Think about it. Don't say no immediately. We could arrange a schedule you could live with."

Daisy smiled at his enthusiasm. Political discussions had always been their closest bond. She wasn't unkind enough to mention his wife had warned her off in picturesque language that left no room for ambiguous interpretation. "He's wearing my brand now and off-limits," she'd bluntly said. Sally Newcomb knew she was having a bridegroom purchased for her and she was just enough of a spoiled bitch to think she could assure his fidelity as well. Although Daisy wasn't so certain Martin had sold his fidelity when he signed over his name to Sally. Certainly he hadn't wasted any time repairing his friendship with her, and if his political future required
amicable
gestures to other women less principled, she suspected Sally would have competition.

"As you know," Daisy replied, glad she had a legitimate, known excuse for refusing, "we're opening a new mine so I'm neck-deep in work. But thanks for the offer." She and Martin had been good friends, more than friends at times, and despite Sally's vivid characterization of her territorial prerogatives, they'd continue to be friends. Martin had an earnest boyishness she'd always found refreshing. "And tell Sally I'd love to come for dinner," she added, her smile innocent.

"Excuse me. I didn't know you had company."

The deliberate invasive tone didn't suit the courtesy of the sentence.

Two glances swiveled to see Trey standing in the doorway, his pale silvery eyes trained on Martin. Still formally suited for business in navy worsted, yet he conveyed menace and aggression as though he wore beaded leather and held a warlance in his hand.

"Sorry," Trey quietly added in a consciously much-delayed afterthought, his voice neither polite nor apologetic. Was Martin a welcome or unwelcome guest in Daisy's office?

"Martin was just leaving," Daisy said, which didn't answer his question but effectively removed the object of his query in any event. "I told him he could count on our support in his election campaign."

Taking his cue from hers, Trey smiled. Any need for chivalrous protection was apparently uncalled for. Daisy and Martin were reconciled and friends from the look of things. "Whatever we can do, Martin, just let us know," Trey offered, acknowledging Daisy's promise of aid. "Although Daisy's better at strategy than anyone else in our organization."

Having been politely dismissed, Martin drained his glass and set it down. "I was just trying to talk Daisy into taking on the position of campaign manager for me," he said, rising to his feet, his worn boots in stark contrast to the sumptuous carpet.

Relaxing against the soft cushion of her chairback, Daisy smiled up at the two tall men. "And I told Martin I'm scheduled for the next five years… or is it ten?" One dark brow lifted ironically. "Maybe Judge Nott's right. Pouring tea and playing the pianoforte would be considerably more relaxing."

"Since you fortunately don't have to consider ploughing the north-forty," Trey waggishly reminded her. Walking the small distance to her desk, he dropped into her chair and comfortably propped his booted feet on her immaculate desktop.

For the right man perhaps she would, Daisy realized in a rebellious inward reply. The revelation was startling. Which might explain why Martin's sudden marriage hadn't wounded her very deeply.

Her smile was automatic, concealing the intemperate direction of her thoughts—Absarokee culture abjured farming. "Give my regards to Sally," she heard herself saying, her words instinctive and mechanical.

Martin's hand gripping hers was warm, as she remembered.