Finally, he stripped down to his shirt and trousers, sank beside her in bed, and tugged them both under the counterpane, curling her into his body. Leah snuggled into his chest, the starchy smell of his shirt, the sandalwood of his shaving soap. How she had missed him. Missed them. Missed this. The blessed heat of him brought another bout of greiting. How did she have any tears left? And yet, he soothed her . . . his hand in her hair, the thud of his heart under her ear, the gentle sound of air flowing through his lungs.
