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Her refuge and security in all those weeks after leaving Paris centered on her commitment to her tribe. Like her father and her brothers, she'd accepted Hazard's vision of hope for their people. Together with the members of their small clan, she and her family cooperated in the mining ventures, the horse breeding, the education of the children, the struggle to maintain their lands for their people.

There was satisfaction in knowing each long day of activity contributed to the improvement of life for everyone in their clan. The percentage of their children in school was gratifying; the number of their students going to college and returning to serve as instructors was proof of the harmony of clan spirit. A special effort pridefully supported Absarokee artisans dedicated to preserving the craftsmanship of their nomadic way of life; apprenticeship programs had been established to guarantee none of the age-old arts would perish. Daisy volunteered, as well, at their medical and legal-aid clinics.

Contributing to a working society living in harmony, a society with common goals and purpose, offered her a measure of contentment.

But it wasn't complete compensation for what she'd given up.

And no one understood better than her family.

One morning at breakfast with Hazard, Blaze said with a faint frown creasing her brow, "Daisy stayed in town again last night. She's working entirely too many hours and you should put a stop to it."

A small startle reflex passed across Hazard's face. "How would you suggest I do that, darling? Bodily carry her from the office?" He smiled to mitigate his rebuff, set down his paper, and diplomatically added, "She may prefer being alone in her apartment in town."

"That's a worry as well. She shouldn't have so much time alone to brood." In her concern, Blaze was demolishing a muffin into dust.

"Darling," Hazard soothingly said, reaching over to put a calming hand on his wife's restless fingers, "she's not going to forget de Vec in a few weeks. Daisy's never even shown an interest in anyone before… or that degree of interest," he added, thinking of Martin. "Damn shame he was married."

"Well, it may be a shame and she may need time to get over it," Blaze replied, shifting a demonstrable anxiety to a rearrangement of her coffee cup and juice goblet, "but in the interval, I'd suggest we take a hand in helping put his memory to rest."

Hazard gazed at- his wife skeptically over his coffee cup. "Remember, you're talking about Daisy. She's not easily guided or open to casual suggestion."

Blaze's small grimace was acknowledgment and her ensuing smile typical of her inherent optimism. "Really dear, give me some credit. I wasn't planning on giving her a lecture. I rather think a trip to Newport might be a nice change of scene. You know Frank's been begging you and Trey to play in their international tourney at the end of the month. We could stop briefly in New York first and buy Daisy some new things—"

"She doesn't like to shop."

"Don't be negative, darling," Blaze remonstrated, her mood noticeably lightening as she outlined her plans. "She'll shop for a day, at least, if you make it interesting. Why not bring some of Riding Star's paintings to that gallery mounting an exhibition of Western art? We have to show a little imagination to tempt her out of Montana."

"A damn good imagination, sweet, to talk her into society right now. Even under the most benign circumstances, she avoids the fashionable world."

"I intend to bring her to Newport." Blaze's voice was softly emphatic.

"When I hear that tone of voice,
bia
. I'd better have the rail-car brought out and fitted up."

Blaze smiled. "How clever of you, darling. Now, we're a large and intelligent enough family to talk one of our members into 'cooperating' in a family excursion."

"Are you talking major guilt?" His grin was teasing.

"Nothing so unsubtle. Friendly persuasion, I think is the proper phrase. I'll have Empress talk to her."

"And Trey."

"And you at the last, with some project that will be beneficial for the tribe. I rather like the paintings for the New York gallery but if you have a more creative idea, so much better. Oh, I forgot to mention, Kit will be at Newport. He sailed in from the Indies… something to do with a sugar plantation in Jamaica. He's been in Newport for a day or so, he said when he telegraphed."

"Say no more. Daisy'll go to see Kit. She adores her uncle and delights in the fact he's four years her junior. Last time he visited they both agreed, kindred spirits at heart, that no earthly reason existed to ever contemplate marriage. Although, unlike Daisy, who's since discovered the potent force in Cupid's erratic aim, I don't think Kit will ever stand still long enough to make a target."

"We're agreed then. Newport for the polo matches." Hazard smiled at the wife he adored. "I know that look. You've started packing already, haven't you?"

"Just a few things for the babies."

"This will be a major undertaking, I can see."

"Frank will be thrilled you're coming and admit it, darling, you're dying to show those Brits a few Absarokee riding tricks again." The last time the British team had come informally to play polo at Newport, Hazard and Trey had dazzled the cool British officers with their fearless, "riding-with-their-necks-for-sale" speed and matchless combination plays. No one passed with their precision or brilliance, or scored so effortlessly with strikes from under their pony's belly, while both men hit with finesse from either side, off or near.

Hazard's grin was boyish. "Well, there's Sandhurst training and then there's the Absarokee way. What can I say?"

"So you don't mind going?" Blaze wouldn't have pressured her husband even for Daisy had he been strongly opposed. Her first concern had always been Hazard's happiness as was his for her. Friends, lovers, confidants, a sustaining empathy served as basis for their enduring love.

"No," he quietly said, "I don't mind. And if it'll help Daisy, we'll go."

The Duc de Vec opened his latest telegram from Jolie—the daily missive she'd warned him against.

When are you coming to visit
? the familiar message inquired, as had the ten previous ones, and he glanced at the calendar on his desk this time with a purposeful gaze. Justin had informed him yesterday, the polo club was putting together an extra team to send over to the informal matches in Newport and if he'd play, everyone would be eternally grateful, because Centrelle's team was bound to lose with their excessive interest in drinking.

The auxiliary team would operate in an unofficial capacity, but in the event Centrelle couldn't play or others of his hard-drinking team succumbed to their excesses, the auxiliary team could serve as replacements. As head steward of the polo club, Centrelle, of course, had the right to assemble his own team, and he had. It was a touchy situation.

Etienne hadn't committed himself yesterday, but with Jolie's telegram in his hand and his trip to Samarkand coming up next month, perhaps, he should consider a short visit to America. Seated on his first pony, Hector smiled at him from the framed photo on his desk. The Duc believed in his shaman gods; that smile looked real. Jolie, Henri, and Hector would be in Newport for the polo matches.

He'd go.

Trey noticed Etienne first, when the French team cantered onto the field. He was substituting for Centrelle at second.

"There's de Vec," Trey said to his father, "at Centrelle's position. I didn't know he was here."

Hazard's head swiveled around and he half turned in his saddle, his dark eyes dwelling consideringly on the man who had caused his daughter so much heartache. "Centrelle was tight as a mink yesterday; he mustn't have been up for play. Both he and Daudet have preferred the bar at the clubhouse." He squinted against the sun, his eyes taking on a calculating expression. "The French won't be so easy to beat today."

"Saint-Joris is playing too." Trey lounged in his saddle, his hands resting on the pommel, a light breeze from the ocean ruffling his dark hair.

"For Daudet. Someone finally had the good sense to take him and Centrelle off the team. De Vec and Saint-Joris must have both come in recently." Hazard unconsciously touched his gold cougar charm at his wrist, a contemplative expression visible on his face.

"Have you seen him play?"

Hazard turned an inquiring look on his son, as though brought back suddenly from some inner reverie.

"Have you seen De Vec play?"

"Once, years ago at Trouville," Hazard said, his tone still half musing. "He plays a rough-and-tumble style of polo, learned, I was told, in Chitral in northwest India during some of his travels. They play there in the streets without rules."

"Like the Absarokee riding games," Trey said with a faint smile.

"Except we don't have streets." Hazard's small shrug seemed to indicate dismissal of the concept of rules altogether. The Absarokee played literally for blood.

"And you're playing second too," Trey noted, his gaze on the positioning of the French team.

"How convenient," Hazard replied, his voice chilling to ice, turning his pony with a nudge of his knees, vengeance strong enough to taste in his mouth. "Shall we get into position?"

The big polo field near Morton Park was curried until the grass was smooth as a carpet. Rolled lengthwise in opposite directions, broad stripes of light and darker green alternated down its length, giving an illusion of artificiality. Under a clear blue sky, bright sunshine shone down on the ranks of splendid carriages filled with well-dressed gentlemen and elaborately gowned ladies, the ladies' great cartwheel hats adorned with sumptuous silk flowers, ribbons, and feathers like a showy garden bordering the field.

The teams were lined up at opposite ends of the field waiting for play to begin, keenly watching the umpire about to roll the ball out to the center of the field. According to the rules currently in vogue, once the ball was dropped, both number-one players raced for it in a mad charge, their teammates close behind. Horses sidled, impatient to be off, players slid their reins once more carefully into place, readjusted their grip on their mallets, their eyes on the official.

A moment later the ball dropped.

And the large crowd of spectators in carriages three deep around the field sat in dead silence as the galloping horses raced headlong down the field. At the moment of impact when the teams clashed, they all groaned in unison as the Duc de Vec was unhorsed. He held onto his reins and vaulted back into the saddle before the astonished referee could stop play, but in that flashing instant, the Americans had taken possession of the ball and were charging down toward the French goal with the disorganized French team flying after them. Trey had a clear shot for a goal and he scored.

On the next swiftly executed play the tables were promptly reversed. The French back hit off a tremendous wallop to Etienne, who, with a punishing backhand, that had both loft and length, dropped the ball neatly in front of the American goal for Henri to knock through.

"Good shot," Hazard grudgingly said, as the teams took position for the next play. De Vec played like a wild man, his pony trained to the inch. One had to admire his skill.

"The last time I was unhorsed, I was eight. Good shot yourself," the Duc acknowledged. Hazard's checking had been deliberately rough, but recognizing Trey, Etienne had identified his attacker as Daisy's father, and understood. No father would appreciate his daughter being coupled by gossip with a married man. His resentment was natural.

Their ponies sidled and jostled each other as they stood at the ready.

"Stay out of my way and it won't happen again," Hazard murmured, watching the referee confer with an official on the sidelines.

"It won't happen again," the Duc softly said, his gaze too sharply focused on the field. Expecting conservative polo, he hadn't been prepared, but he wouldn't be taken by surprise again.

At the quiet defiance, Hazard turned to glance at the Duc briefly, his gaze immediately returning to the ball being placed in position. "I'd watch out if I were you," he warned, his body alert, intent on the movement of the other players, his eyes staring straight ahead. "She's unhappy;
you
made her unhappy."