Tim ended up at the appointed spot a few minutes early. He had dashed home to change, glad the Hardesty estate was only a couple of miles away, and since it was Saturday, the traffic was not quite as crazy as on weekdays. Now comfortable in jeans and a pale blue chambray shirt, he paced the corridor leading to the lobby from the less-used west door. Where was DeVore? At six-fifteen, he began to fear he’d been stood up.
Just then, DeVore appeared. For an instant, Tim did not recognize him. Casual attire did not detract from his presence or his arresting good looks, but now he could almost pass for a film star. Feminine heads turned to follow his path, as did some of the men’s as well. Like Tim, he wore jeans, but he’d topped them with a fitted western shirt decorated with striking Native A
