The Return Of Cord Navarro

by Vella Munn

  She desperately wanted Matt to return, not just so the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach would go away, but so that father and son would leave and she wouldn’t have to look at Cord anymore. Wouldn’t have to feel. Remember. Remember too much.

  Realizing he was watching her, she snagged one of the mare’s halters and led the roan out of the corral while Cord closed the gate behind them. Strange. Without either of them having said a word, they’d managed to work together to accomplish a simple but necessary task. Too bad—

  No! She wasn’t going to go down that road again. She wasn’t! After all, she couldn’t blame Cord entirely for not being who she needed. Her college psychology courses had taught her how much of an impact one’s parents had on how a person turned out. Well, Cord hadn’t had parents. He’d had Gray Cloud. Only Gray Cloud.

  She’d seen a faded newspaper picture of the old Native American after he had brought a trio of lost Boy Scouts down off Breckenridge. Its quality hadn’t been particularly good, but because that was the only picture Cord had of his grandfather, she had no other way of putting a face to the man who’d shaped her ex-husband. Shaped and, in many ways, limited him emotionally.

  “You’ve been letting Matt stay out after dark?” Cord asked as they headed toward the barn.

  “Not beyond sleep-overs and campgrounds where I know the managers. I’m aware of how you feel about him gaining self-confidence, but I’m not ready for him to be any more independent than he already is. I’m much more comfortable playing the overprotective mother.” She couldn’t prevent sarcasm from entering her voice, then worked up a smile she hoped would blunt the edge of her words. Confrontation bad never been her strong suit; she wasn’t going to start today, with him. “You have to be around school-age boys all the time to understand that logic is not something they give a lot of thought. If it feels good at the moment, they do it and worry about the consequences later.”

  Cord rubbed the heel of his hand against the mare’s forehead, saying nothing, waiting for her to speak, as he’d done too damn many times. She obliged only because she hated what was going on inside her. “Once, when he was in kindergarten, I got a call from the principal because Matt had upended another kid in the toybox. When I asked him about it, his only excuse was that it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “What happened?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Did he get into trouble?”

  “No,” she admitted as they stepped inside the cool, dark barn and the smell of wood and hay and horses engulfed her. “At least, not from me. I acted pretty firm when we were in the principal’s office. Sometimes it’s easier to go along with authority figures than to get into long debates.” Working from feel and experience, she chose a bridle. “Afterward I asked Matt why he picked that particular kid. He said he’d butted in line ahead of him at the water fountain and he didn’t want him to do it again. It seemed to me that the boys were handling their problems about as maturely as a couple of five-year-olds could be expected to. I pointed out some facts, like what might have happened if there’d been anything hard or sharp in the toybox, and then let it go. The next day Matt and that kid were best buddies.”

  She shrugged and even smiled a little although she wasn’t sure Cord could see. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being in this confined space with him. “I’m convinced that’s how kids grow up, by working things out on their own as much as possible.” Her smile faded and she knew her eyes were giving away what she felt inside. “He’s a good boy. Just young. Impulsive.”

  “I know.”

  Cord’s words stopped her. For perhaps a half second raw fear tore at her, but because as a mother she’d battled worry for her child before, she knew how to smash it into submission and concentrate on a plan, what had to be done to return that child to her. What happened to Summer had nothing to do with Matt. Nothing! Matt, like his father, was healthy and filled with a zest for life’s risks.

  “It’s going to be all right, Shannon,” Cord said.

  Can you promise me that? Can you? Instead of throwing her irrational words at him, she simply nodded and watched as he worked the bit into the mare’s mouth.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she told him. “Matt’s been talking about the south end of Dillon Reservoir a lot lately, asking me how big the fish get and whether there’d be tadpoles this time of year.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You don’t know when you’ll be back, do you?” she asked, pointing to the saddle she wanted him to use.

  “When I know something.”

  Another wave of fear washed through her. She spoke around it. “What kind of communication system do you use? I want to know as soon as you find him.” If you find him.

  Lifting the saddle effortlessly, he placed it on the mare’s back. “Hand-held radios. I’ll show you how to use them.”

  “Good,” she said, as if she would have it any other way.

  While she waited outside the barn with the mare, Cord walked over to the Jeep. He came back carrying a powerful flashlight, the radios, a denim jacket, and a small, personalized first-aid kit. It made her feel better that he hadn’t bothered with a lot of equipment. If that was all he intended to carry, it wasn’t as if this was a real search, just a necessary, time-consuming but routine chore by an adventurous child’s tired father.

  “Don’t try to hold Misty back,” she said as she turned the mare’s reins over to Cord. “Let her run herself a little. Then she’ll do everything you want her to.”

  “I understand.”

  Of course he did. There wasn’t a thing she had to tell him about how to conduct his business—except that the boy out there was so much a part of her that there was no separating them.

  Matt was a part of Cord, too, she reminded herself as Cord handed her a radio. The unit felt solid, yet too small. This black box was all that connected her with what might happen out there. She concentrated as he showed her how to use the instrument, then stepped out of the way so he could swing into the saddle. The mare flung her head high, a snort of excitement renting the wind-whipped air. Shannon felt exhilarated, momentarily blocked off from her unease simply because Cord was sitting astride a horse, looking a part of it and his surroundings.

  Bring him back. That’s all, just bring him back tonight. Could he sense her thoughts? she wondered as he ran his broad-fingered hand over the mare’s taut neck. Did Cord ever try to put himself in another person’s place? She’d thought so back when he’d pressed his hands over her swollen belly and looked at her with eyes that seemed to churn with a million emotions. But he’d been gone so much the last year they’d been married, she could no longer delude herself into thinking she knew anything about him. She hadn’t understood why he’d been willing to risk losing a roof over their heads so he could be his own boss, and although he’d encouraged her, she knew he hadn’t really understood why she’d wanted to go to college—or why, after Summer’s death and the crumbling of their marriage, a formal education had no longer mattered. She didn’t believe he’d sensed her resentment and loneliness when she had to be student and parent and tenant and bill payer and a thousand other things while he was off taking care of other people.

  Most of all, he hadn’t said what she’d desperately needed to hear when Summer died. She’d had to mourn alone.

  “Cord? When my customers come back, I’ll ask them if they’ve seen anything. And I’ll call Wagon Creek, ask Kevin’s uncle to keep an eye out for him.”

  “Good,” he said, then, without looking back at her, he cantered out of sight.

  Three long hours later, during which Shannon moved through the motions of her business, Cord called. “I’m at the south end of the reservoir. He isn’t here,” he said without preliminary.

  She gripped the radio, speaking slowly in an effort to keep her emotions under wraps. It was no longer afternoon; the day was moving relentlessly toward evening—darkness. “How can you be sure? The reserv
oir is so big.”

  “I’ve been listening.”

  “Listening?”

  “For something that sounds different. I know the wilderness, Shannon. Its rhythms. When there’s something in it that doesn’t blend in, I know that. There’s nothing.”

  Nothing. “That doesn’t tell me anything,” she told him when what she wanted was to demand he stop scaring her. “Where have you been? I kept thinking you’d call.”

  “I didn’t have anything to tell you.”

  Damn him, he didn’t understand, would never understand that she couldn’t live without communication. “And you thought three hours of knowing nothing wasn’t going to bother me? Never mind. Where were you?”

  “I went to Kevin’s place first,” he said, then explained that he hadn’t been able to pick up Pawnee’s prints because Kevin’s sisters and several of their friends had been riding their horses all through the area. Kevin hadn’t been there to question further, prompting Cord to act on her suggestion to check the reservoir. She strained for any hint of emotion in his voice, but either it was lost in the distance between them or was lacking—probably lacking. She couldn’t stop staring at the now deeply shadowed sky.

  “Shannon? I need you to think. Are there places you don’t allow him to go, somewhere that’s particularly intriguing?”

  “I try not to rein him in any more than necessary. Arapaho—” No! “—maybe.”

  “That’s miles from here and steep. The snow runs are for advanced skiers. There’s no reason—”

  “You took him there once—he’s never forgotten that. He was so little you carried him on your back most of the way to the top. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cord, it’s going to be dark in less than two hours. You can’t possibly get there before that.”

  “I know.”

  I know. Why did so much of what he said frighten her? But even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Cord Navarro’s worth came from his ability to take away the unknown, the uncertainty; at least, that’s what the press said about him. However, he was only human—a man who couldn’t hold back the night or find one little boy who might be anywhere in the vastness she’d always loved.

  Cord told her that he’d cover as much territory as he could in the daylight left to him and then do what he’d done at the reservoir—let his senses tell him whether he’d gotten any closer to their son.

  Alone, she listened to the now angry wind beat itself against the side of the house and tried not to think of Cord riding into the dark, letting it engulf him, becoming part of that rugged world. The air smelled of rain. If Matt had gone to the reservoir, at least he’d be at a relatively low altitude and less likely to be caught by the unpredictable weather.

  However, if he’d gotten it into his crazy head to climb Arapaho, he might even encounter snow.

  Fighting frantic thoughts, Shannon prayed for her last customers to return. Finally they did. Trying to keep her voice calm, she asked if they’d seen a boy on a high-spirited pinto, but no one had. She considered calling her parents but decided against it. There was no reason, she told herself, to upset them if Cord returned with Matt. Her son was having an adventure, not lost or hurt. Why did she need to keep reminding herself of that?

  Because she’d already spent too much time pacing in the house, she took the radio into the barn with her and killed time by meticulously arranging halters and bridles. She even brushed several horses who wanted nothing more than to be left alone so they could sleep. Every few seconds she willed Cord to contact her, to tell her something, anything. But he didn’t and she nearly hated him for that.

  It was dark; the mercury light that lit her small spread had been on longer than she wanted to think about. It hadn’t started to rain yet, but from past experience she knew it soon would. The temperature was cold for this time of year and the blasted wind hadn’t let up. What jacket had Matt taken?

  She’d gone inside and was just walking into Matt’s bedroom when she heard hoofs thudding against the hardpacked soil. Not breathing, she stepped outside.

  Cord and Misty were illuminated by artificial light, their shadows fading off into the night. He rode the mare as if he’d been born on the animal’s back. He was all Native now, both timeless and primitive. She needed her anger and the hard lessons of the past, but how could she wrap those emotions around her with the sight of him consuming her?

  When he was close enough that she could make out his features, he locked eyes with her. His silence said everything. She pressed her palm to her stomach and watched as he guided Misty toward the corral. He dismounted with a liquid movement and reached up to remove the saddle. He would have to speak first; she couldn’t.

  He ran his hand over Misty’s neck and then turned toward her. He looked older than he had earlier today, but that might have been a trick of the unnatural light. “Nothing.”

  Nothing. “You went all the way to Arapaho?”

  “To this side of the base, yes.”

  The knot inside her tightened. She looked up at Cord, needing and yet not wanting to see the same mood in him. But whatever he felt, he kept it to himself as he had too damn many times in the past. “What happens now?”

  “We’ll have to wait until morning.”

  “Morning,” she repeated, not caring that the word came out a whimper.

  He nodded, then, without speaking, started toward the barn. Something about the set of his shoulders caught her attention; he was exhausted. “Go inside,” she ordered. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “It’s the least I can do. Go.”

  She remained behind long enough to feed and water the mare. Although she knew she was being foolish, she kept her senses tuned to the dark. If will alone could accomplish miracles, Matt would be coming into the light now.

  When she entered the house, she noted that Cord had removed his boots and jacket. He’d slumped onto the couch and was staring, not at her, but at the rocker she’d once used to rock Matt to sleep. “I should have helped you out there,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  Unexpectedly her heart went out to him. No matter how much he shuttered his feelings inside him, he couldn’t completely disguise his body language. He leaned forward and ran his hand over the back of his neck in that gesture she had given up trying to forget.

  “Darn him!” The words were out before she knew they’d been bottled inside. “Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to us?” She pressed her fingers against her mouth. “I’m sorry. That isn’t the point right now, is it?”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  Chapter 3

  “It’s going to rain tonight.”

  Shannon didn’t need Cord to spell out the obvious. Besides, he should realize she didn’t want to think about what Matt might have to endure tonight. “This isn’t the first time he’s pushed his boundaries. Pushed himself I should say,” she admitted. “He’s a good boy. But...he has a lot of you in him.”

  Cord blinked slowly, the movement hitting her somewhere deep and unwanted. “I know he does.”

  “He needs space,” she continued, feeling her way past memories of their years together, buried years. “He’d rather be outside than in no matter what the weather. And he’d rather die than sit still.”

  “Yes, he would.”

  Yes, he would. Words of understanding between parents. Darn it, she wouldn’t let him get close!

  “Cord, I’ve been thinking. That’s all I did while you were gone. Think. The other day I heard Matt on the phone telling someone about all the places he was going to go with you. That someday the two of you would—”

  “I can’t be with him all the time, Shannon.”

  “I didn’t say you should.”

  “But if I’d been here today, he wouldn’t have gone off.”

  “No. He wouldn’t have. But we can’t do anything about that, can we?”

  “Do you blame me?”
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  She wanted to. Heaping responsibility on him would take it off her shoulders, but to what purpose? “I don’t know all the factors that went into his half-baked decision to do this. Until I do... I just wish he wasn’t on such a healthy, adventurous horse. The two of them together—Oh, well, that’s water under the bridge. Getting him back is the only thing that matters.” The rest of life means nothing.

  When he didn’t respond, she forced herself to walk into the kitchen. Working automatically, she threw together a couple of tuna fish sandwiches, her mind bouncing between unwanted thoughts of Matt having to sit out the night in the rain and Cord retreating into the silence that was so much a part of him. Once she hadn’t cared whether Cord went the rest of his life without saying another word. Let him live in solitude! Let him drown in it! Now she wanted to march back into the living room and shake something—anything—more out of him.

  Guilt stalked her for not having nailed Matt’s foot to the floor. Cord should feel the same way. She fervently wished she could wring a confession out of him. Instead she put his dinner on a plate and carried it to him. She stood over his slouched, strangely vulnerable-looking form, wondering which of them carried the most guilt and why that should matter. He hesitated a moment and then took the plate.

  “Have you already eaten?” he asked.

  She could have lied. Instead she shook her head. “I thought about it, but my stomach—it has all it can do to manage the emotions I’ve thrown at it.”

  He lowered his gaze to his plate and picked up a sandwich but didn’t bring it to his mouth. Was his stomach as knotted as hers? For some reason, the thought frightened her. Cord Navarro was supposed to be all strength and competence, not mortal like everyone else.

  Not scared like her.

  “He’s going to be all right,” she said, hating herself because she knew how trite and untested the words were. Still, she couldn’t stop herself. “I—”