Mateo didn’t want to love again. Or trust. He’d lost too much in his young life. He had nightmares almost every night, and it was almost impossible to comfort him. Conner knew the leopard in the boy was close, trying to protect him with the sheer force of anger, building a wall around the boy. He didn’t know how to bring that wall down.

“It will work out,” Rio said softly.

Conner shook his head and began the slow, rather humbling journey, limping across the yard to Isabeau and Mateo. He had to keep reaching out, hoping to find a way to the reach the boy—to let him know he understood and that the child could count on him to see him through the coming years.

Mateo didn’t turn his head, but by the slight stiffening of his body, Conner knew he was acutely aware of him. A shadow slid over the boy’s face as he approached. He felt the hesitation. Should he disturb them? Leave them alone to let the boy have a little peace? Or should he continue to try to insert himself into the boy’s life? How did his mother always seem to know the right thing to do? Isabeau had finally gotten Mateo to hold her hand; maybe this was the wrong time.

Before he could turn away, Isabeau halted, the boy’s hand firmly in hers. “You look so sad, Conner.”

Isabeau. Sweet Isabeau. She was giving him an opening. Willing him to be strong enough to talk about his mother to the child. She had brought up the subject late in the night, while lying in bed, holding him close. She thought the darkness would help him cope better, but he couldn’t talk about his mother or her death. Tears had threatened to choke him. He wasn’t the kind of man to talk about things like losing one’s mother. He didn’t cry. He didn’t acknowledge pain if he could help it. Yet Isabeau was convinced that if he could let down his guard, it would allow the boy to do the same.

Mateo’s expression was closed off, yet so very vulnerable. Conner was a man, and Mateo expected rejection from Conner. Those eyes. He looked at those every day in the mirror. So much pain. So much rage. So much vulnerability.

You’re like her. Your mother. Not like him. Isabeau’s soft words from the night before reverberated through his mind. You’re like her. She left you such a wonderful legacy, Conner. She taught you what love really means.

He looked into those upturned eyes so like his own and he felt the shift inside him. Something hard seemed to melt into a softness he didn’t quite understand. Marisa had left this child with him, believing he would give the boy the same gifts she had given Conner. Unconditional love. A sense of belonging. Freedom. Family. He looked at Isabeau. His woman. His wife.

He knew now why Isabeau made him feel whole. It wasn’t the laughter—or the sex. It was moments like this. Moments that counted for a lifetime. That trust in her, that faith, the serenity on her face. As if she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was like his mother—like Marisa—and he would find the way to unlock this boy’s heart.

“Let’s walk over here where I can sit down,” Conner suggested. Because he couldn’t choose his words carefully when his inflamed hip protested just standing. Or maybe, he was putting a confrontation off for as long as possible. The boy looked so frightened.

He turned without waiting, not giving Mateo a chance to protest. He simply headed to the barn where he knew Doc had a bench—and kittens. Isabeau followed with Mateo. He could hear them walking behind him. The boy was surprisingly adept at walking quietly, although Marisa had probably used the same tactics with him as she had with Conner—allowing him to sneak out, thinking he was getting away with it so the boy could practice.

He sank down onto the bench and waited until the boy was standing in front of him. Isabeau took the seat next to him. He could see Mateo brace himself for rejection.

“It’s been a tough few days, hasn’t it?”

Mateo blinked. Nodded. Remained silent.

“The thing is, Mateo, we were lucky. It doesn’t feel that way right now, but we had a mother who loved us and left us each other. When I’m feeling alone without her, I’ll always know I have you and Isabeau. When you’re feeling alone, you’ll have Isabeau and me.”

Mateo hissed, sounding exactly like a leopard cub, spitting mad. His golden eyes flashed and he shook his head violently, stepping back. “She’s gone.”

“Did she talk about me to you, Mateo?”

The boy’s chest heaved and he blinked rapidly, trying to cover up his deep agitation. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“What did our mother tell you about me?”

Mateo set his jaw. “That you were my brother.” His voice broke. “That you would want me. She said . . .” He pushed a fist into his eyes and shook his head.

Conner circled the boy’s wrist with gentle fingers. “For a very long time after I figured out that my father didn’t want anything to do with me, I thought it was because something was wrong with me. That it was my fault.” He shook his head. “It was his fault. There’s something wrong with him.”

The spiked, tear-wet lashes lifted and the boy looked at him solemnly. “That’s what my mom said.”

“You know she never lied, Mateo. We’re leopard. We can smell a lie. She told you the truth. About him. About me. I do want you. Isabeau wants you as well. We’re family.”

The boy’s mouth tightened and he shrugged.

Conner glanced helplessly at Isabeau. She brushed her hand along his thigh. A soft commitment of faith. “I hunt bad guys. That’s what I do. I get in fights and sometimes I win and sometimes the other guy does . . .”