Free Rebel Waltz by Kay Hooper

rosebush and stared up at him. Then, seeing the glint in his gray eyes, she relaxed. “My God—I thought you were serious.”
    “A dog act, then?” he asked anxiously.
    “Quit it.”
    He started laughing. “It was worth it to see your face. Come on, show me the pool and we'll start planning.”

FIVE
    T HE NEXT FEW days were hectic ones. And peculiar. Raised in a family that traditionally loved parties, Banner was accustomed to planning quite lavish ones; Rory's barbecue-and-pool-party-cum- moonlight proved to be no exception. Clearly determined that she not be forced to do all the work, he threw his energy—which was considerable—into the effort. They worked together companionably over lists, shared the chore of innumerable phone calls and errands,bickered amiably over what kind of music and who was to cater, and argued the merits of Japanese lanterns versus torches around the pool.
    The Hall servants bore up nobly under the deluge of temporary help and delivery vans, although Conner, their butler, who had been given the prior week off to visit a sick relative, threatened to give notice when it turned out that the caterer Rory had hired was Creole and explosively temperamental.
    Rory saved that situation, although Banner never could find out from the principals exactly how he managed. And she was desperately curious, because the normally taciturn Conner walked around for two days with a peculiarly shy smile on his face, and then tended to poker up whenever he saw her watching him.
    “What on earth did you bribe the man with?”
    “Shame on you. I'm above bribery.”
    “Oh, of course. Did you find him a hot date?”
    “Banner!”
    “That shocked look sits ill on your devious face.”
    “Just for that, I'll never tell you.” “Rory!”
    One of Rory's “special touches” turned out to be a hayride, which he planned with meticulous detail. He managed to find six huge wagons, the teams to pull them, and a driver for each wagon. He found the sweetest- smelling hay in the county for the wagons. He even managed to locate an old rutted trail that wound for miles all around the plantation and never got near paved roads or the noisy sounds of civilization.
    “The invitations look peculiar, you know.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, explaining the moonlight barbecue and pool party is no problem, but how do I warn the guests to bring jeans for the hayride?”
    “You say: Optional hayride—bring jeans.”
    “There's something lacking in that.”
    “Who's going to care?”
    “True.”
    As the days slipped by, Banner was uneasily aware that Rory's companionship was becoming far too important to her. From their morning swim to a late snack before bedtime, they were almost constantly together. To be sure, it was an undemanding companionship; other than holding her hand or occasionally draping an arm around her shoulders, Rory made no attempt to put their relationship on a more intimate footing.
    She told herself she was glad of that, told herself what was never begun could have no painful ending. She didn't believe herself.
    She could at least partially put the matter out of her mind during the busy, laughter-filled days. But the nights were hell. It was more than irritating to one who had always slept easily and soundly to find herself suddenly restless and awake long into the night. She tried hot chocolateand warm baths, and she tried counting sheep. Nothing worked.
    On Thursday, the night before the party, she was particularly restless. A week of being constantly in Rory's company, trying vainly to ignore the tense awareness his nearness brought, had taken its toll. It was late, the house was dark and quiet, and Banner lay awake staring at a shadowy ceiling. The fifth time she looked at the clock on her nightstand, it was two A.M.
    Deciding that it was better to be up and doing something if she must be awake, she threw back the covers and left the bed. After flipping a mental coin, she exchanged the sleep shirt for one