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anyone at all?"
    He let that pass. "What time is the play?"
    "What? Oh, eight o'clock. Are you interested?"
    "Definitely." His expression said he meant it. "I'll come over and pick you up around seven-thirty. Will that give us enough time?"
    Shannon nodded, glad that he seemed to want to be with her but uneasy over the way he had switched the subject just as they were getting to a very important issue. If Garth didn't trust anyone, especially women, how did he really feel about her? She needed to know, Shannon thought as she said goodbye and left him to his bid work. She needed to know he trusted her, that she was the exception in his life.
    It was only when she reached her own cottage that she asked herself just why it was so important that she be the exception. The answer wasn't one she wanted to deal with just then. Everything was too new, too uncertain between herself and Garth Sheridan.
    But sooner or later she had to have all the answers about this man. The compulsion to know him completely was stronger than ever.

* * *
    WHEN THE DOOR CLOSED behind Shannon, Garth moved to the window to watch her walk back to her cottage. For a long time after she had disappeared inside the other house, he stood lost in thought.
    Something about Shannon reminded him of how it had all been back at the beginning of his career. Back before the reality of his world had set in and he had forced himself to face that reality. She was honest, enthusiastic, happy with the life she had created for herself. There was a gentle freshness about her that he found himself wanting to shield and protect. He hoped she never woke up to the same reality he had awakened to find. Any man with whom she got involved would have an obligation to keep her safe and untainted by the hard side of life. But how many men could be trusted to fulfill that obligation, he wondered. Certainly none that he knew.
    Then he grinned ruefully at his own false altruism. He wanted to do more than protect Shannon from the real world-he wanted to keep her safe for himself, and he was honest enough to admit it. There was something in Shannon that he suddenly realized he wanted and needed. Something he hadn't touched or held in a long, long while. Perhaps he'd never really possessed what Shannon offered. The deep hunger that flared in him was unsettling. He made himself turn back to the pile of papers on the table.

* * *
    THE THEATER HAD ONCE been a barn and the gray, weathered timber frame had been retained for atmosphere. A stage had been constructed in the center. Verna Montana's production of The Taming of the Shrew was done in the round. Garth and Shannon had excellent seats.
    "What's the matter? Couldn't the actors afford costumes?" Garth muttered as the play opened. "I know small-town theater troupes are usually hard up for cash, but they could have at least come up with a few fake daggers and long skirts."
    "Verna wanted to try something different, so she decided to do the play in modern dress. Now hush," Shannon whispered as the show began.
    It was soon apparent that Verna's theatrical vision had been paired with her feminist ideology to create a radically new version of Shakespeare's play. Kate, of course, had always been a strong character in the original, but under Verna's direction she became a modern, politically astute feminist. Shannon watched in astonishment as she somehow managed to make Petruchio appear to be the manipulated one in the story. Flamboyant, strident and infinitely smarter than the man who was supposed to master her, Verna's Kate dominated the play. Every scene in which she was supposed to be tamed somehow became a scene in which Petruchio appeared to be subtly led around by a ring in his nose. While he assumed he was mastering his wife, she was finding him amusing and childishly simple to handle.
    Kate laughed at him, scolded him, pretended to be in awe of him and eventually had him in the palm of her hand. When, at the end of the play, Petruchio