“That would be very nice, sir.” Obviously having gone the full extent of his social duties, Matthew glanced up at Martin. “May I go now to play with Pedro, Papa? He’s been waiting on me for a very long time.”

“Yes, son. You did well.”

With a glance of happy pride, the boy scampered down the steps and fled across the yard, hurdling a low fence to reach his playmate more quickly. Steve watched him, reminded again of Franco’s impulsive, reckless nature. He glanced back at Elizabeth, standing now beside her husband, and shook his head.

“I’ve always blamed Franco’s daring on his mother. I see I may have been mistaken.”

Elizabeth smiled, though there was a hint of strain still left in her face. “He’s very well-behaved, just full of energy.”

“So Ginny says about Franco.” He glanced around, then back at the couple standing awkwardly on the porch. “So Fidelito is still with you?”

“Oh yes, and Domingo, too, though he’s not as spry as he used to be. He won’t admit to it, of course.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

It was suddenly far too uncomfortable now that he had achieved the purpose of his visit, and he could tell that they wished him gone.

“Will you let me know if he ever needs anything?” He looked directly at Elizabeth, holding her gaze, and knew that she understood.

“Yes, of course. But he’s very happy and healthy. We love him very much.”

“It shows. Well, I’m thankful you let me see him. And if it means anything to you, I won’t intrude.”

Martin Burneson nodded, relief in his eyes. “I rather thought you’d do the honorable thing, Morgan.”

“He has your name,” Elizabeth blurted suddenly, then colored. “His middle name. Morgan. Martin insisted, said that one day he should know about you and his real lineage.”

Steve nodded. “When the time is right, I’ll be glad to answer any questions he may have.”

As he turned, gathering up the reins to his horse, he heard a shout, and paused to see Fidelito running toward him.

“Señor! Señor! You have come back!”

It was the first true welcome he’d had since coming back to Prayers End and Steve grinned, bracing as Fidelito—now a sturdy adolescent—threw himself at him like a cannon ball.

“I saw you, and I thought to myself that you looked so familiar, but it wasn’t until I saw your face closer that I knew it was you,” the youth chattered in idiomatic Spanish, and grinned when Steve answered in the same dialect.

“I hope you haven’t been hiding under any sidewalks lately.”

“Ah, but if I had not, they would have hung you, so you should be grateful. Now, I am too big to hide in so small a space.”

“You’re nearly a man.”