RIMMING WITH GOOD NEWS, DIANA SNATCHED HER SCHOOLBOOKS from the leather seat of the new BMW her father had given her last month for her sixteenth birthday and raced up the steps of the stately Georgian mansion that had been her first and only home. In the two years since her stepmother, and then her stepgrandparents, had come to live with them in River Oaks, the house and grounds had changed in atmosphere and appearance. Laughter and conversation had filled the empty silences; wonderful smells emanated from the kitchen; flowers bloomed in rampant splendor in the gardens and splashed their colors in beautiful arrangements all over the house.

Everyone was happy with the new look, the new atmosphere, and the new family arrangements—everyone except Glenna, the housekeeper who'd helped raise Diana after her mother died. It was Glenna who was in the foyer when Diana ran into the house. "Glenna, is Corey home?"

"I think she's out in back with everyone else, talking about tomorrow night's party." Glenna finished dusting a walnut console table and straightened, giving it a close look. "When your mama was alive, she called in caterers and florists when she wanted to give a party. She used to let them do all the work," she added pointedly. "That's the way most rich folks entertain each other, but not us."

"Nope, not us," Diana said with a quick smile. "Now we're trendsetters." She headed down the hall, toward the back of the house, with Glenna walking beside her, irritably swiping her dustcloth at nonexistent specks of dust on tables and chairs as they passed.

"Used to be, when we gave a party," Glenna continued doggedly, "that everything only had to look pretty and taste good. But now, that's not good enough. Now everything has to be fresh and everything has to benatural and everything has to be homegrown and homemade. Homegrown and homemade is for country folks. I realize your grandparents are country folks, and they don't understand that…"

Glenna had become perpetually miffed ever since Diana's new mother and grandmother had taken over the household.

Corey's grandparents and Diana had fallen in love with one another during their first visit together. After several months of the girls splitting their time between Long Valley, where Rose and Henry Britton lived, and River Oaks, Robert instructed an architect and a building contractor to renovate and enlarge the estate's guest cottage. The next step was a greenhouse for Rose and a vegetable garden for Henry.

Robert was rewarded for his generosity with fresh fruits and vegetables grown on his own property and mouthwatering meals served in an endless variety of delightful ways and changing locations.

Robert had never liked to eat in the vast kitchen at the back of his house. It had been designed to accommodate the small army of caterers who were needed on those occasions when a large party was being given. With its white tile walls, oversize stainless-steel appliances, and uninspiring view from its single window, it struck Robert as institutional, sterile, and uninviting.

Until Mary and her family had come into his life, he had contented himself with the fiery fare that his cook, Conchita, prepared, which he had eaten as quickly as possible in the rigid formality of his dining room. He would never have considered eating under a tree in his pleasant but uninspiring backyard or dining beside the Olympic-size rectangular pool that his builder had unimaginatively stuck near the middle of the yard and surrounded with an ocean of concrete.

Now, however, Robert was a changed man, living in a greatly altered environment, enjoying savory meals, and he loved it. The kitchen he had once avoided had become his favorite room. Gone was the sterility of white tile walls and blank, gloomy spaces. On one end, Henry had created a solarium by installing skylights in the ceiling and tall windows along the outside wall. In this cozy, bright area were comfortable sofas and chairs for lounging in while dinner preparations were underway. Mary and Rose had hand-stenciled vines and flowers on each piece and covered the thick cushions with fabric of the same pattern. Then they'd filled the area with a profusion of green plants growing in white pots.

At the opposite end of the refurbished kitchen, the ordinary white tiles had been ornamented with a festive border of hand-painted ones. Mellow old bricks gathered from a torn-down building now covered one wall and formed a wide arch over the stoves, above which hung copper pots and pans in every size and shape.

His wife and her family had transformed his surroundings, bringing breathtaking natural beauty to the grounds and inviting charm to interior spaces. Whether their current project was unique place mats, elaborate picture frames, graceful, hand-painted furniture, gilded vegetable centerpieces, or elegant foil gift-wrap, it was created with a wealth of love.

A year after her marriage to Robert, Mary had made her formal debut as his hostess by planning and executing a lavish garden luau for the sophisticated, somewhat world-weary Houston socialites who were Robert's peers and friends.

Instead of calling in professional caterers and florists, Mary and Rose supervised the preparation and presentation of food, which was cooked according to their own recipes, seasoned with herbs from Henry's garden, and served by flickering torchlight on tables covered with hand-appliquéd linens lavishly strewn with Henry's showy blossoms.

In keeping with the luau theme, Mary and her mother gathered hundreds of orchids from their own greenhouse; then Diana and Corey and four of their friends were put to work making elegant leis. Mary and Rose decided that each lady should receive a small lacquered ring box decorated with tiny painted orchids in the same hues as the real ones used for the leis. Clinging to the belief that even jaded Houston millionaires would surely appreciate the merits and uniqueness of her handcrafted table decorations, homegrown edibles, and the changes she'd made to soften and brighten the house's austere formality, Mary and her mother spent many happy hours in the kitchen planning and creating.

Two hours before the party, Mary inspected the grounds and the house, and burst into tears in her husband's arms. "Oh, darling, you shouldn't have let me do this!" she moaned. "Everyone will think I've ruined your beautiful home with homemade j-junk. Your friends are world travelers accustomed to five-star restaurants, formal balls, and priceless antiques, and I'm putting on a—a fancy backyard barbeque for them." Tears dripped from her eyes as she clung to him, her wet face pressed to his chest. "They're going to think you married the Beverly Hillbillies!"

Robert stroked her back and smiled over her shoulder. He, too, had taken a tour of his house and grounds that day, looking at everything through the eyes of an outsider. What he saw filled him with pride and anticipation. He truly felt that Mary and her parents had brought a whole new meaning to the term "homemade." They had redefined and elevated it to a creative act that personalized the impersonal and transformed commonplace things into items of remarkable beauty and significance. He was convinced his guests were discerning enough to recognize and value the uniqueness and beauty of Mary's efforts. He thought they were going to be amazed by her as well as everything she had done. "You're going to dazzle them, Mary girl," he whispered. "You'll see."

Robert was right.

The guests raved about the delicious food, the decorations, the flowers, the gardens, the house, and, most particularly, the unaffected graciousness of the hostess. The same acquaintances who had expressed amused shock months ago when they discovered Robert had plowed up part of his lawn for a vegetable garden tasted the vegetables it had produced and asked to have a look at it. As a result, Henry spent several hours proudly giving moonlight tours of the garden. As he guided them along the neat rows of organically grown vegetables, his enthusiasm was so contagious that before the night was over, several of the men had announced their desire to have vegetable gardens of their own.

Marge Crumbaker, the society gossip columnist for the Houston Post who covered the party, summarized the reactions of the guests in her next column.

As she presided over this lovely party and looked after her guests, Mrs. Robert Foster III (the former Mary Britton of Long Valley) displayed a graciousness, a hospitality, and an attention to her guests that will surely make her one of Houston's leading hostesses. Also present at the festivities were Mrs. Foster's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Britton, who were kind enough to escort many fascinated guests and would-be gardeners and handymen (if we only had the time!) through the new garden, greenhouse, and workshop that Bob Foster has erected on the grounds of his River Oaks mansion…

Now, a year later, Diana thought of all that as Glenna continued her litany of complaints about the upcoming party. To keep from getting angry, she reminded herself that Glenna didn't really dislike her stepmother or grandparents; Glenna simply disliked being replaced as head of "domestic affairs." As far as Diana was concerned, life was wonderful, so filled with people and activities, with love and laughter…

"I'm the last one to point a finger at a person's upbringing," Glenna confided, "but if Mrs. Foster had been from a nice high-society family, instead of from some rinky-dink little town, then she'd know how rich people are supposed to do things. Last year, when your daddy told me he was bringing her parents here to live in the guesthouse, I figured things couldn't get any worse. Next thing I knew, your new grandpa was digging himself a vegetable patch and a compost heap, right in our backyard; then he turned the garage into a—a toolshed and a greenhouse! And before I could catch a breath, your new grandma was diggin' up the grass for an herb garden and making clay pots with her own hands. It's a miracle that gossip-column lady—Marge somebody—didn't call us hicks in her column after she came here for the first party."

"Glenna, that's completely unfair, and you know it," Diana said, pausing to put down her schoolbooks. "Everybody who meets Mom or Gram or Gramps thinks they're wonderful and special, and they are! Why, we're getting famous in Houston for what Mom calls 'Getting Back to Basics.' That's why Southern Livingmagazine is coming to photograph our party tomorrow night."

"It'll be a miracle if they don't make us look ridiculous!"

"They don't think we're ridiculous," Diana said as she shoved open the back door. "Southern Living saw those pictures of our last party that were in the Houston Chronicle, and the magazine wants to do a story about the way we do things."

Recalling what her father had said about the need to be patient and understanding with Glenna, Diana smiled at her. She knew that she and her father were about all the family Glenna had. "Daddy and I know it's harder for you with four extra people to look after, especially when they're busy with their hobbies and things. We worry about you being overworked, and that's why he wants you to hire someone to help you."

Much of the ire drained from Glenna's face at this proof she was appreciated. "I don't need help. I've managed well enough on my own to take care of this family, haven't I?"

Diana patted her arm fondly as she walked outside, her mind on finding Corey. "You were like a mother to me for years. Daddy and I could never have gotten along without you before, and we couldn't now." The last part of that wasn't entirely true, but Diana felt the small fib was excusable because it brought an instant look of relief and pleasure to Glenna's dour face.

Diana stood beneath the upper balcony, looking for a sign of Corey amidst the chaos and temporary helpers hired for the party preparations.

Originally, the three-acre backyard had been spacious but unremarkable, with a large swimming pool in the middle, a guesthouse at the rear, tennis courts on the left, and a six-car garage on the right that was attached to the main house by a porte cochere. Diana had played out there for as long as she could remember, and it had always felt a little lonely and barren to her, just as the big rambling house had. Now all that had changed.

Despite her pleasure in the changes to her home and her family, Diana felt a little worried at the current state of affairs in the backyard. With little, more than a day before the crew from Southern Living was due to arrive, nothing was ready. Tables and chairs were scattered everywhere, along with umbrellas on the ground, waiting to be put up; her grandfather was on a ladder, trying to finish a gazebo by tomorrow night; her grandmother was arguing with two gardeners about the best way to clip the magnolia branches that were going to be used in the centerpieces; and her mother was reading from a list to two maids who'd been hired for the week.

Diana was still looking for Corey when her father emerged from the garage with his briefcase in hand and his suit coat over his arm. "Hi, Daddy," she said, leaning up and giving him a kiss. "You're home early."

He put his arm around her shoulders, his gaze taking in the elaborate confusion. "I thought I'd come see how the troops are doing. How are things at school?"

"Okay. I got elected class president today."

His arm tightened in an affectionate squeeze. "That's great. Now, don't forget all the ways you were going to make things better." His eyes smiled down at her, then shifted to his wife and his mother-in-law, who'd seen him and were heading his way with warm smiles and purposeful strides. "Well, Madame President, something tells me I'm about to be put to work," he teased. "I'm surprised you and Corey haven't been enlisted."

"Our job is to 'stay out from underfoot,' " she recited. "I came home to get Corey because Barb Hayward invited us over to ride today."

"I think Corey is in her bathroom," their mother offered, "developing some film."

"Oh, I think she'll want to go over to the Haywards'," Diana said, already turning and heading into the house. Actually, she was positive Corey would want to go, not to ride horses, but to see Spencer Addison, who was supposed to be at the Haywards' stable that afternoon.

Corey's bedroom was directly across the hall from Diana's. Both rooms were identical in size and layout, with private bathrooms, separate dressing rooms, and large closets. Beyond that, the bedrooms were as radically different as the personalities and interests of the two girls who inhabited them.

At sixteen, Diana was petite, poised, and charmingly feminine. She was still a straight-A student and an avid reader, with a propensity for neatness, a talent for organization, and a tendency to be a little reserved with strangers.

Her bedroom was furnished in French antiques, including a graceful painted armoire and a canopy bed upholstered in yellow chintz. Against the opposite wall was a French writing desk, where she did her homework. There was not a paper or pen out of place.

Diana went into her room, put her books down on the desk, and went into her closet. She took off her red cotton sweater, folded it neatly, and placed it on an empty shelf amid dozens of other identically folded sweaters that were all displayed and divided according to color hue, rather than style or sleeve length.

She peeled off her pleated navy slacks and hung them on a pants hanger in the section with blue slacks and shorts; then she padded barefoot along the row to the white section and removed a pair of pleated white shorts. From the sweater shelves she took down a navy polo trimmed in white piping and pulled it over her head. After slipping her feet into a pair of white sandals from the neat row of shoes along the floor of her closet, she stopped at her dressing table and ran a brush through her hair. Automatically, she picked up a tube of light pink lipstick, used it, and stepped back to study her reflection.

The face that looked back at her seemed extremely ordinary and unnoteworthy to her, and it wasn't changing in any noticeable way with maturity. The same green eyes and dark lashes were in the same place they'd always been, and even a touch of eye shadow made them look garish, instead of more pronounced, to her. Her cheekbones were high, but blusher made her feel as though she were made up for a masquerade, and liquid makeup didn't seem to make any difference in her skin at all, so she skipped that, too. She had a tiny dent in the center of her chin, which refused to shrink or go away. Her hair was her best feature, thick and gleaming from careful washing and brushing, but she preferred to wear it in simple styles that didn't require a lot of bother or maintenance, and she thought those looked the best on her anyway. After considering the wilting heat and humidity outside, she pulled it back into a ponytail with quick deft movements; then she went to find Corey to impart her news.

Corey's bedroom door was open, but she was nowhere in sight. The door to her bathroom was closed, however, and Diana gingerly picked her way toward it through the jungle of clothing, shoes, scarves, photograph albums, camera equipment, and miscellaneous debris that covered every surface of the room. "Corey?" she called. "Are you in there?"

"Be Out in a sec," Corey answered from inside. "I just need to hang this film up to dry. It looks like I got a great shot of Spence when he was playing night tennis at the club last week! I think I'm finally getting the hang of night photography."

"Hurry up. I have great news," Diana said with a smile as she turned away from the closed door.

Corey's interest in photography had begun two years ago, when Mr. Foster had given Corey her first camera, and it had grown into a full-fledged hobby. Her interest in Spencer Addison had begun one year ago, when she spotted him at a party, and it had grown into a full-fledged obsession. Pictures of him at home, at parties, at sports events, and even at the McDonald's drive-through in his car were taped to her mirror, tacked to her bulletin board, and framed on her wall.

Despite the fact that Spence was a football star at Southern Methodist University, where he dated beautiful coeds who drooled over his good looks and sports prowess, Corey never stopped believing that luck, persistence, and prayer would someday make him hers and hers alone.

"I was right," Corey said, emerging with a strip of wet negatives in her hand. "Just look at this shot of Spence making that serve!"

Diana grinned at her. "Why don't we go over to the Haywards' so you can see him in person?"

Corey's face lit up with joy. "He's home from school? You're sure?" Before Diana could reply, Corey ran back into the bathroom to hang up the film, then raced back out to the mirror over her dresser. "What should I wear? Do I have time to wash my hair?" Sounding as if she would die of disappointment if Diana was wrong, she said, "Are you sure he's going to be there?"

"I'm sure. Doug Hayward happened to mention that Spence was going over to their place after dinner to try out Doug's new polo pony. As soon as he told me, I found Barb and—very casually—wrangled an invitation for us to come over there tonight. I put gas in the car, and as soon as dinner's over, we can go."

Corey knew Diana didn't like to ride horses, and she knew it was boring for Diana to watch everyone else ride when the two of them went to the Haywards', but Diana was always willing to tag along because Corey loved to ride. Now she'd gotten them an invitation to go to the Haywards' because Spence was going to be there. "You're an awesome sister!" Corey said, giving her an impulsive hug.

Diana returned it and stepped back. "Hurry up and get ready, so we can eat and get there before Spence does. If you're already there, then it can't look to anyone as if you're chasing him."

"You're right!" Corey said, impressed yet again by Diana's foresight. No matter what Corey wanted to do, Diana tried to help her accomplish it, but Diana also thought ahead, looking for ways to keep Corey from getting embarrassed or into a mess. Diana excelled at looking ahead and thinking of the risks, but Corey was so impulsive and so persuasive that she still landed in deep water now and then, and Diana usually landed in it right beside her.

It was inevitable that some of their ill-fated escapades would come to the attention of their parents, and when that happened, Corey's mother usually took it in stride and pointed out that there was no real harm done.

Diana's father, however, was less philosophical about such things as having his daughters lost overnight in Yellowstone National Park because Corey wanted to photograph a sunrise with elk in the shot. He was not pleased to discover from the newspaper that his daughters had been rescued from a construction elevator on the thirtieth floor of an unfinished high-rise that was surrounded by an eight-foot fence and posted "ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE."

"While you're getting dressed," Diana said as she turned and started toward the back stairs that led down to the kitchen, "I'll go downstairs and see what kind of food I can find to bring for Cole."

"For who?" Corey said, her mind fixated on the unexpected thrill of seeing Spence.

"Cole Harrison. You know—at the Haywards' stable. Doug said Cole's back from his vacation," she explained with a smile and a breathless catch in her voice. "Unless something's changed, he'll be short of food, as usual."

Corey watched her walk away, immobilized by the unmistakable undercurrent of excitement she'd just witnessed in Diana. Not once had Diana ever said anything to indicate she had secret feelings for the Haywards' stable hand, but then Diana didn't blurt out every thought that came into her mind the way Corey did.

Once the idea of Diana and Cole had taken root, Corey couldn't seem to shake it loose. In the shower, as she worked shampoo into a thick lather, she tried to envision Diana and Cole as a twosome, but it was just too ludicrous.

Diana was sweet and pretty and popular, and she had her choice among the wealthy guys from backgrounds like her own—guys like Spencer Addison, who never made social blunders and who were sophisticated and well-traveled by the time they were seventeen or eighteen. They grew up in country clubs, where they played golf and tennis, and wore custom-made tuxedos to formal dinners by the time they were sixteen.

Wrapped in a towel, Corey pulled a brush through her long, blond hair, still trying to understand how Diana could possibly prefer someone like Cole, who had none of Spence's polish or charisma. Spence looked like heaven in a navy blue sport jacket and khaki slacks, or tennis whites, or a white dinner jacket. Whatever he did or whatever he wore, Spencer Addison looked as if he was "born to the blue," as Gram often said of wealthy Houston youths. With his sun-streaked, tawny hair, smiling amber eyes, and refined good looks, Spence was handsome, polished, and warm.

Cole was Spence's opposite in every way. His hair was black, his face was tanned, his features were rugged, and his eyes were the cool, unsettling gray of a stormy sky. Corey'd never seen him in anything except faded jeans and a T-shirt or sweatshirt, and she couldn't even imagine him playing tennis with Diana at the club in tennis whites or dancing with her in a tuxedo.

She'd heard the saying that "opposites attract," but in this case the differences were too extreme. It was almost impossible to believe that practical, sweet, fastidious Diana would actually be attracted to all that raw sex appeal and macho ruggedness. He wasn't even very friendly to anyone! He did have a great physique, but Diana was so petite and dainty that he'd tower over her if they went anywhere together.

To the best of Corey's knowledge, Diana had never had a real crush on anyone, not even on Matt Dillon or Richard Gere. It seemed impossible to believe she'd go and get a crush on a guy like Cole, who didn't seem to care what he wore or where he slept. Not that there was anything wrong with how he lived or dressed; it was just that it seemed so wrong for someone like Diana.

Corey paused, a pair of tan riding breeches in her hand, when she remembered that Barb Hayward and the other girls didn't share Corey's indifference to Cole, either. In fact, he was the object of a great many secret fantasies and a whole lot of speculation. Barb Hayward thought Cole made all the other guys they knew look like wimps in comparison. Haley Vincennes thought he was "sexy."

Corey was so bewildered that for a moment she had forgotten she was going to see Spence tonight. When she remembered, she felt the same sharp stab of longing and delight that she'd experienced the first time she had set eyes on him and every time since.