The Cowboy

hand, a look of proud satisfaction on his face. The other flashed a wicked pirate's grin and took Kate's arm.
    Margaret stood quietly to the side, studying the two males who had claimed her best friends as brides. On the surface there was no great similarity between Gideon Trace and Jared Hawthorne, other than the fact that they were both large and both moved with the kind of fluid grace that came from strength.
    But although they looked nothing alike there was something about them that stamped them both as being of the same mold. They were men in the old-fashioned sense of the word—men with an inner core of steel, a bit arrogant, perhaps, a bit larger than life, but the kind of men who could be relied upon when the chips were down. They were men who lived by their own codes.
    Margaret had met only one other man who was in the same league. That momentous event had occurred last year and the fallout from the explosive encounter had destroyed her career in the business world and left her bruised emotionally for a very long while. A part of her would never completely recover.
    Dressed in black and white formal attire, both Jared and Gideon were devastating although neither was particularly handsome. There was an edge to them, Margaret realized—a hardness that commanded an unconscious respect.
    Jared was the more outgoing of the two. He had an easy, assured manner that bordered on the sardonic. Gideon, on the other hand, had a dour, almost grim look about him that altered only when he looked at Sarah.
    "About time you got down here," Gideon said to his new wife. "I've had enough wedding party to last me a lifetime."
    "This was all your idea," Sarah reminded him, standing on tiptoe to brush her lips against the hard line of his jaw. "I would have been happy to run off to Las Vegas."
    "I wanted to do it right," he told her. "But now it's been done right. So let's get going."
    "Fine with me. When are you going to tell me where, exactly, we're going to?"
    Gideon smiled faintly. "As soon as we're in the car. You've already said good-bye to your family?"
    "Yes."
    "Right." Gideon looked at Jared. "We're going to slide out of here. Thanks for playing best man."
    "No problem." Jared held out his hand. His eyes met Gideon's in a man-to-man exchange. "See you on Amethyst Island one of these days. We'll go looking for that cache of gold coins I told you about."
    Gideon nodded as he shook hands. "Sounds good. Let's go, Sarah."
    "Yes, Gideon," Sarah spoke with mock demureness, her love as bright in her eyes as the diamonds in her ears. Gideon took her hand and led her swiftly out the door and into the Seattle night.
    Margaret, Kate and Jared watched them go and then Kate rounded on her husband. "What cache of gold coins?"
    "Didn't I ever tell you about that chest of gold my ancestor is supposed to have buried somewhere on the island?" Jared looked surprised by his own oversight.
    "No, you did not."
    Jared shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind. But unfortunately that old pirate didn't leave any solid clues behind so I've never bothered trying to find his treasure. Trace said he might be able to help. I took him up on the offer."
    Kate smiled, pleased. "Well, at least it's a good excuse to get Gideon and Sarah out to the island soon. You'll come, too, won't you, Margaret?"
    "Of course," Margaret agreed. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised one more dance to a certain gentleman."
    Kate's eyes widened. "You mean, an
interesting
gentleman?"
    "Very interesting," Margaret said, laughing. "But unfortunately, a bit young for me." She waved at Jared's son, David, as the boy zigzagged toward them through the crowd. The youngster, who was ten years old, was an attractive miniature of his father, right down to the slashing grin. He even wore his formal clothes with the same confident ease.
    "You ready to dance yet, Ms. Lark?" David asked as he came to a halt in front of her.
    "I'm ready, Mr. Hawthorne."
     
     
    T hree hours later , Margaret got out of the cab in front of her First Avenue apartment building and walked briskly toward the entrance. The cool Seattle summer evening closed in around her bringing with it the scent of Elliott Bay.
    A middle-aged woman with a small dog bouncing at her heels came through the plate-glass doors. She smiled benignly at Margaret.
    "Lovely evening, isn't it, Ms. Lark?"
    "Very lovely, Mrs. Walters. Have a nice walk with Gretchen." The little dog yapped and hopped about even