Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

knew the cat would never harm her, but it would be unacceptable to frighten her.
    “I know I said something to upset you, Conner,” Isabeau continued. “I wanted you to know, I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories. Your mother was wonderful—a kind, loving person who really helped me when I needed it.”
    Another roar of anguish welled up. Conner fought it back. She looked so young to him, so inexperienced but brave, and love welled up for her so that his chest felt tight and his heart ached. How could he have blown it so badly? Handled everything so wrong? The moment he knew he was in over his head, he should have told her. He’d taken a chance talking to her father. It should have been her. He should have trusted her enough to give her the chance he gave her father. He hadn’t even considered the idea. He knew Marisa would have asked him why. She believed in talking. She was an intellectual and believed problems were solved by talking them over.
    Isabeau took a cautious step forward. “I swear, Conner, I wouldn’t use your mother to hurt you in any way. Yes, I was angry with you over what you did, but I have come to some understanding about why you did it. Your mother was an exceptional person and I know she loved her son. I didn’t know your real name and she never mentioned yours. She just referred to you as ‘my son.’ She said it lovingly, Conner. Proudly. You were everything to her.”
    He watched her, afraid to move, afraid of doing the wrong thing and making her run. She kept moving toward him, in a slow, freeze-frame stalk, one hand out tentatively. Her hand was small, and trembling.
    He kept his mouth closed over his teeth, and a close watch on the leopard. The cat trembled and slowly sank its hindquarters down, first into a sitting position, and then finally to a prone one, although the golden eyes never moved from her face.
    Isabeau took a cautious look around at the torn trees and shredded bark and then looked down at the leopard’s heavy paws. Traces of blood streaked the golden fur where he’d deliberately smashed his paws, using them like clubs against the tree trunks. The sea of rosettes created an optical illusion so that the large cat appeared to be moving when he was actually stationary. His penetrating stare was nearly lost in the sea of black spots. His sides heaved with every heavy breath. She knew she would never forget that smoldering hunger in the leopard’s eyes, or the sharp intelligence.
    It might not have been such a good idea to follow him. All the others had shouted to her to come back, but she’d hastened down the ladder and sprinted after the leopard once she’d heard the terrible anguish in his voice. She couldn’t bear to hear him. She knew grief when she heard it. The idea that he couldn’t express that same grief as a man tore at her heart. She’d known his mother, what kind of woman she was. Conner had to have loved and admired her. What son wouldn’t have?
    She took the last three steps to the leopard and let her fingertips brush over the powerful head. Her hand trembled and she sunk her fingers into his fur in an effort to stop shaking. “Are you all right?”
    The leopard arched his neck under her scratching nails, turning his head from side to side, allowing better access. She sank down onto the one flat rock she could find near him, circling his neck with her arm, shocked that fear was receding so rapidly. The leopard stretched out beside her while she stroked the fur.
    What did she know of leopards other than they were considered dangerous and cunning? Just looking into his eyes she could see that same keen intelligence that had attracted her to Conner. He was there—the man. And he was suffering. She wasn’t certain what she’d said, but she knew she’d been the one to upset him.
    “I talked to her about what happened,” she admitted, searching for the right thing to say. “She knew I was upset. How could she not? I’d lost my father and then discovered terrible things about his business.
    And finding out the man I thought loved me had deceived me in order to get to my father—that was difficult, Conner—but I was coming to terms with it with her help. She didn’t know it was you. How could she?”
    His eyes went sad. Stricken. Those fierce, burning eyes, so open to her when the man wasn’t, and she Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    saw the truth. Marisa had known. Somehow his mother