Proposition: Marriage

He didn’t even remember gripping the wheel.

Shaken, he relaxed his grip. It was definitely time to retire, if his emotions could control him that way. He took one last, lingering look at the town below. Long habit had him evaluating it in tactical terms, matching what he saw to the map he’d studied earlier, but the feeling that welled up in him as he put the Cherokee into gear had little to do with tactics.

He didn’t have a name for what he felt. The gentle tugging deep inside was nothing he recognized. It didn’t seem strong enough to disturb his control, however, so he ignored it as he had ignored the pain, and pulled away from the rest stop.

It was no wonder the feeling was unfamiliar. The man who was now named Samuel had never come home before.

“Jane!”

“Hmm? Oh.” Jane realized she’d let her thoughts drift off. That had happened too often lately. Hastily she closed the notebook where she’d jotted down the minutes. “Sorry. I was thinking.” Glancing around, she saw that she was the only one still seated in the conference room, though a number of people were milling around, chatting or making their way to the door. “Did you ask me something, Sandy?”

Sandy Clemmons was the local Red Cross director. She was a plump, pretty woman several years older than Jane whose calm temperament disproved the stereotypes about redheads. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Jane pushed her chair back and stood.

“Are you sure? It’s none of my business, but I can’t help noticing that you’ve acted different ever since you got back from that trip.”

“I said I’m fine.” Jane grabbed her purse and her coat.

Sandy’s eyebrows went up. “Heard that sort of comment a little too often, maybe?”

Jane’s mouth twitched in reluctant humor. “Have you been talking to my mother? She wants me to consider therapy. And eat more vegetables.” The suggestions were typical of Marilee Smith, who had also mentioned a CAT scan, earlier bedtimes and Saint-John’s-wort as possible cures for whatever ailed her youngest child.

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