Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

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.”

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    “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
    . . .”
    “Mostly you win,” Isabeau interjected.
    Conner nodded. “I have to win if I want to live. But the point, Mateo, is that for a long time I thought to be a strong man I couldn’t show emotion. I couldn’t ever lose control. Certainly I could never cry, no matter what the circumstances. But I was wrong about being emotional and not being a man. A real man knows it’s okay to show when he’s hurt. I’ll never get over our mother’s death. Not ever. I’ll think about her every day, and at night, I cry when I’m missing her. Isabeau puts her arms around me and then I don’t feel so alone.”
    Mateo pulled his wrist away and wrapped both arms around his middle, as if hugging himself. “I don’t cry about it.”
    “About what?” Conner prompted.
    “My mom leaving.”
    “She didn’t leave you, Mateo,” Conner said. When the boy remained stubbornly staring at the floor, Conner put a thumb under his chin and forced his head up. “Look at me.”
    The eyes flashed at him. Anger. Unbearable sorrow. Fear. Conner’s heart contracted. “She didn’t leave us, Mateo. Someone took her from us. Isabeau and I killed him.”
    Isabeau gasped, pulling her hand away from his thigh. Conner didn’t look at her, knowing she would disapprove of his methods, but he had been this very little boy with that same rage, that same fear. And he felt the same unbearable sorrow.
    “We’re leopard, Mateo, and it isn’t always easy to contain that much hatred and rage, even though our mother told us