His fingertips brushed hers, clasping around her knuckles, but it only made it worse. A guttural, embarrassing sob escaped from her lips, and her shoulders started to tremble more violently than her hands.

“Come here,” he said, his voice cracking as he sat up. She knew the pain he was in, how much it must have hurt him, but he didn’t let go of her fingers, holding on tight as she tried to steady her breath and fight the overwhelming emotion rising inside her.

“I just want to go home,” she whispered. “I want this all to be over, I just want to be home.”

“You might want to be home, but I’d much rather be here, in this room with you,” he said, his low voice making her slowly look up at him, tears caught in her lashes and blurring her vision. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, Cate. You want to cry, you cry. You’ve dealt with blood and wounds and broken men, I’ve seen the way you’ve taken everything in your stride and made everyone around you always feel better, but you’re allowed to be the broken one now.”

His words washed over her, only making her cry more, because he was right. He was so right. She’d spent every waking moment in France tending to others; there hadn’t been time for her to be upset or worry about herself, until now.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me,” she apologized, brushing her eyes with the back of her fingers and taking a big, shuddering breath.

“Come here,” he repeated, leaning back down a little, one elbow propping him up as he beckoned her to lie beside him.

She’d been doing it only moments earlier, but that had been different. Jack had been asleep then, she’d pressed against him for warmth and comfort without it meaning anything, but lying with him now . . . She looked down, not sure what to say.

“I don’t expect anything from you, Cate. I just thought we could lie here for a bit until we fall asleep. You look like you could do with the rest.”

Her body was exhausted, her shoulders slumping forward, eyes even heavier from the crying. A little voice in her head told her not to, that she shouldn’t trust any man like that, but this was Jack. I can trust Jack.

“You do realize we’ve already slept together in a ditch, in the pouring rain,” he teased, his smile warming her. “So it’s not like it’s the first time.”

Cate gave in then. To hell with what her mother had told her about never trusting boys. She’d been to hell and back with Jack already, and the crook of an arm had never looked so inviting.