Sam claimed the seat next to her and reached for her hand. His father saw the gesture and grinned proudly, as though he were personally responsible for bringing the two of them together.

A moment later Irene Bretton returned. “Dinner will be ready in another fifteen minutes,” she announced, and took the chair beside Sam’s father.

Roy Bretton looked all the more pleased. “Good. We have enough time for a glass of wine first.” He eyed his son intently, as though he expected Sam to make some momentous proclamation.

“Dad patronizes several local vineyards,” Sam explained, ignoring his father’s look.

“There are a dozen or so excellent wines bottled right here in Washington state,” Roy added, filling in the conversation. “I found another superior winery recently, near Bonney Lake.”

Marjorie nodded and started to relax against the back of the sofa. There wasn’t anything to be nervous about, especially since Sam’s parents appeared to be even more anxious to make a good impression than she was.

“Give me a hand, son,” Roy said, standing.

“Sure.”

The two men left the room, leaving Marjorie and Irene alone.

“Sam has spoken fondly of you on several occasions,” his mother said, clearly seeking a way to start the conversation. “His father and I are very proud of him.”

“You have every right to be.”

“It will take a special woman to share his life.”

Marjorie dropped her lashes, fearing that Sam’s mother was suggesting that she wasn’t the right one for their only son. Her heart pounded wildly, filled with doubts.

“I knew from the moment he mentioned your name that you were special to him.” Irene smiled and smoothed her hand across her skirt in a nervous gesture. “A mother knows these things about her children. For instance, I knew long before Sam—or even his father—did that he would be a physician. Roy was sure Sam’s career would involve animals. He had pets from the time he was little and was forever collecting more.”

“He’s the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever known.”

“He always was,” Irene said. “I swear, that boy brought home more stray dogs than the city pound ever collected. His heart would melt over things that you and I would hardly notice.” She warmed to her subject and scooted forward in the chair, her face bright with love for her son. “I remember one time—he must have been around ten or twelve—anyway, he found an orphaned kitten in a rainstorm, a sickly, weak, half-drowned little thing. By the time he got her home, she was more dead than alive.”