But right now, the home thudding under his sternum was not a place, but a person. Leah. She was home to him. All his exhaustion, the weary thinness of his soul, had slowly healed under the care of her hands. She had nurtured and prodded and loved him back from the half-life he had been living. It blindsided him then. A deep welling of emotion rising upward and scouring all pain and doubt in its wake. A brilliant white-hot wave of . . . love. Complete. Undeniable. Yes. This was love. He loved her. Fox Carnegie loves Leah Penn-Leith.
