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.