And then he was back, and in his hands-at arm’s length because it was so disgusting-he carried the blackest, filthiest soggiest Tigger they’d ever seen. But it was…

‘Tigger!’

Erin barely got the word out before the boys were out of their beds, upending milk as they went and heading straight for Matt. They clung to what he held out to them-one to Tigger’s snout, one to Tigger’s tail, and all the grime in the world wouldn’t have made one ounce of difference to the love that shone from their eyes.

Their Tigger…

Erin was looking at him as if he’d produced a miracle, and the feeling was just great. His expanding chest almost popped the buttons on his shirt. ‘How on earth did you rescue Tigger?’

‘I never meant to,’ he told her and managed a shamefaced grin. ‘They thrust it at me in the fire and, to be honest, I thought it was a dead cat. I just shoved it down my shirt and kept going.’

‘A dead cat!’ Her lips twitched. ‘And do you always go around shoving dead cats down your shirt during house fires?’

‘Before anything else. They’re excellent for curing warts,’ he told her. ‘All you need is a graveyard and a full moon. Everyone tries to find them, but this time I got there first.’

He was ridiculous. She chuckled and suddenly things were just fine. The twins were inspecting their disgusting toy with relish. It appeared that the grime and general dishevelment made not the least difference to their affection.

How could it?

Matt grinned, trying to ignore the warm feeling Erin’s pleasure was giving him. ‘Doc Emily deserves some credit, too,’ he admitted. ‘She saw it when she was listening to my breathing and told me to hang on to it. Then I forgot it-until I took a shower, opened my shirt and it fell out. The damned thing nearly gave me a heart attack.’

‘I imagine it might.’ Erin’s smile was a mile wide. ‘We’re so lucky you didn’t toss it away.’