by Vella Munn
“We can’t change what happened,” she made herself say. “I know that. But...”
He sighed; the gesture lifted his chest and shoulders, lifted her hands. She gripped with the tips of her fingers and pulled even more of his heat into her. “But—” She took a breath and went on. “We’ve done a lot of growing up, become wiser. At least, I hope we have.”
With hands and body, he pulled her around until their shoulders were pressed together. Her heart pounded; she spoke through the sound. “I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me?”
“I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about what I put you through in the beginning. The way I pressured you to take that horrible, well-paid, dead-end factory job so we would have a roof over our heads. If I’d truly understood you, I never would have done that. Of all the things for you to have to do, being in a windowless room surrounded by machinery had to be the worst.”
“I offered. You didn’t force me.”
He’d taken control of her hands. Now he pulled them near to but not touching his chest. She didn’t move away; she couldn’t remember how to move. Talking was almost more than she could concentrate on. “Maybe not in so many words, but I remember yelling at you that I wasn’t going to spend my life working at minimum wage, and even if you didn’t care about an education, I was convinced I had to get one. I wanted to prove to my parents that we were old enough to handle our own lives. I was going to go to college, without their help. When I think of the pressure—”
“You never once yelled, Shannon.”
He was confusing her. Or maybe the truth was, their tentative contact was what had her off balance. It didn’t matter, she told herself. Not the tangled and twisted words they’d spoken years ago, nor why she couldn’t think tonight. She’d come to this isolated place with its night melody of song to look for their son. She hadn’t expected to find the man she once loved.
Stripped of everything except raw emotion, she would admit that in some ways she still loved Cord Navarro.
Pulling free, she staggered away from him. She expected—wanted—him to call her back so she could tell him that it was dangerous for them to talk about the past when it should be left buried. But he didn’t, and now she wanted to throw his silence back at him. Wanted him anywhere but here with her. She knew her night would be filled with memories of their daughter’s death and his inability to cry, to feel, to share and understand.
Matt propped himself against a tree and tried to pull his jeans up so he could see his knees but his pant legs were too tight. He probably should stand and take his jeans off, but it seemed like too much of an effort.
What had gotten into Pawnee? Sure, it had been pretty steep back there, but it wasn’t as if it was the first time they’d climbed. There was a lot of shale; maybe it had felt slippery under Pawnee’s feet and that’s what had set him to bucking. Maybe Pawnee had heard something he hadn’t.
Bucking. He’d done that all right, so quick and unexpected that Matt had been flying through the air before he knew what was happening. If he hadn’t been wearing his backpack, his balance might have been better.
What did it matter? Pawnee had run away and he’d landed on his hands and knees and for a few minutes had been so shook up that he hadn’t understood what had happened. Thank heavens he’d been wearing his pack. Otherwise he’d have nothing to eat tonight, not even a bed roll.
He licked the corner of his mouth but there wasn’t so much as a taste left of the soggy granola bars he’d had for dinner. Reaching out, he tried to snag his pack to see what else might be in there, but he couldn’t reach it without having to move and his knees were already stiff and getting stiffer. Besides, he had to quit eating like a pig.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the yapping coyotes, but no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t work. This was his second night out and he was nowhere near the top of Copper. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure—
But he would be in the morning. All he had to do was find a tall enough tree to climb or scramble up a boulder and then he could figure out where he was and where he needed to go.
You’ve been saying that all day. So far you haven’t—
You think it’s so darn easy, you try making sense of all these trees and rocks and hills and valleys and—
Stop it! All right, just stop it!
Feeling exhausted by the argument, he opened his eyes and tried to make out the man in the moon. He thought he saw his grinning face, not that it really mattered. What did matter was getting enough sleep that he could get to the top of the stupid mountain and back down tomorrow before his mom started looking for him.
“Is this what you usually do when you’re out on a search?”
Cord looked up from the lazy arcs and circles he was drawing in the dirt with a stick. Shannon had been walking restlessly around the campsite; at the moment she stood barefoot a few inches away. Given the end to their conversation a little while ago, he was surprised she wanted to talk.
“I do a lot of thinking, yes.”
She squatted on a rock not far from him. When she spoke, he heard an unexpected smile in her voice. “Drawing in the dirt helps you think? I stare out windows. If I’m not careful, I lose whole hours that way.”
What took hold of her and made her need to spend time within her head? Instead of asking, he told her that for him evenings on a search were spent assessing the information he’d taken in during the day, building on his knowledge of who he was looking for, mapping out tomorrow’s strategy.
“You don’t have to build on what you know about Matt.”
Didn’t he? He wasn’t sure he’d ever be done exploring his son, or that he’d ever want to. “He’s more adventurous than I gave him credit for. And he’s not afraid, at least not enough that it gets in the way of what he’s doing.”
“Not afraid?” Shannon breathed the question, and he felt her struggle to hold back tears. At least that’s what he thought she was doing. “That...that makes it easier for me.”
“I should have told you earlier.”
“I should have asked.”
“There’s something else.” He thought about telling her that he’d heard rifle shots and that there’d been poachers on the mountains earlier, because his secrets might drive a wedge between them and he hated carrying his knowledge alone. But he couldn’t bring himself to add to her burdens when she’d given him the clear message that she couldn’t take much more. Instead, he told her that Matt didn’t know where he was going.
“He’s lost?”
“Yes.”
“Lost but not scared? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do, either. I’m thinking he’s still confident that he’ll be able to get out of this with his pride intact.”
She stared at him, eyes dark with concern. For an instant her mouth trembled. Then she pressed her lips together and nodded, a brave mother accepting reality. His respect for her knew no bounds. “Does that make it easier or harder to find him?”
“Different. That’s all, just different.”
“That doesn’t tell me much.”
“He isn’t panicking. A lot of people do when they realize they have no idea where they are.”
“Why isn’t he? It’s got to be more than dumb self-confidence.”
“He knows this country. You’ve never made it something he should fear.”
“I can’t take any credit for that. Admit it, Cord. Everything he knows about the wilderness comes from you. He’s in such a hurry to grow up. I know he needs the freedom to explore, but sometimes—sometimes he’s just a little boy.”
Little boy. It wasn’t the words so much as the way she said them that touched Cord. Needing to put his mind to something other than the image that conjured up and his unwitting role in Matt’s wanting to rush through childhood, he let his attention shift back to her. Her athletic yet feminine form easily caught and held him. He could no more fight her power than he could hold back
a storm.
The silence continued. Shannon was looking at him with the night dancing in her eyes; he met her gaze, not knowing what his own eyes revealed. He felt the wilderness surround him, call in its ageless way, engulfing her, as well. They’d come here because of their mutual love for a ten-year-old boy. But this wild land could spin spells over those who listened to its song. He’d always listened. Maybe Shannon would, too, and the experience would change what they were to each other.
Did either of them want that?
“It’s hard for boys at this age,” she said softly. She hadn’t freed him from her gaze. “Half little boy, half near teenager. Matt loves being around horses. When they do what he wants them to, it boosts his confidence and I’m amazed at his patience. Pawnee—”
“He’s a beautiful animal, intelligent, independent.”
“He is that, all right. But Pawnee sometimes intimidates Matt, although you could never get him to admit it. That animal’s a handful. It took Pawnee and me a while before we got our relationship nailed down. I accept Pawnee for what he is, all healthy energy. Matt isn’t old enough to understand that energy.”
Can you feel my energy? Do you know what you’re doing to me? Cord wondered. “It’ll come.”
“I know. That’s why I was willing to let them spend some time together. I just never dreamed it would turn out like this. I feel like the most neglectful mother who ever lived.”
“You aren’t! Damn it, you aren’t!”
She didn’t move. Although the night sky remained clear, he felt a storm building—a storm between the two of them.
“Thanks for saying that,” she whispered. “I needed to hear it. Matt isn’t cautious or easily intimidated.”
He hadn’t heard that proud, nonjudgmental note in her voice for so long that he’d forgotten it—or convinced himself that he had. “No, he isn’t.”
“He wants to parachute. Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.” Whose voice was that, deep and hollowed out at the same time? He could barely think. Maybe if she moved farther away—“He also wants to take a canoe down a class-five river.”
“Not yet.” She shook her head and he understood that his words had taken her away from him and back to their son. He was both grateful for the release and disappointed because, dangerous as it was, he needed more of this connection between them.
He reassured her that it would be several years before he’d take Matt down one of the country’s wild rivers. Then, needing the safety of words and yet not quite sure how to use them, he told her about exploring the John Day River in eastern Oregon and finding remnants of history in still-standing log cabins and long-discarded arrowheads.
“It sounds wonderful. Matt would love going there with you.”
“I know.” He’d dropped his stick when Shannon called his attention to it. Now he picked it up and began drawing a crude picture of one of the cabins. “After last Christmas, I know he’s ready for that.”
“Last Christmas? What happened?”
To his surprise, he found himself chuckling. “Matt informed me that he was too old for a stocking. He wanted me to be the one to tell you because he was afraid of hurting your feelings.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, either.”
“I’m tougher than that,” she told him. “A little dense when it comes to how fast Matt is growing up, but I’m not going to lose it simply because he doesn’t want a stocking anymore. Next year...” No. She refused to give in to fear. There was going to be a next year. Cord Navarro wouldn’t let her worst nightmare come true. She trusted him in that; she had to. “My mother made that stocking, you know. One of her few handmade endeavors. Maybe that’s what made telling me hard for Matt.”
“Maybe.”
Barely aware of what she was doing, she stepped closer and stared down at what he’d been drawing. Her arms dangled at her sides, fingers feeling empty. She sensed him turning toward her, should have had the wisdom to move away, but his dark eyes called out to her, pushed past the barriers and found something vulnerable.
When he took her hand in his and gently squeezed, she squeezed back. The gesture should have conveyed mutual concern for their lost son, nothing more, but she couldn’t lie to herself. This was about her and Cord, emotions unfinished, needs. Despite the danger, she allowed him to draw her hand to his mouth so he could kiss the back of her knuckles. She shuddered; maybe he did, too. Words were beyond her.
After crouching for so long, surely he needed to stretch his legs. Instead, he remained where he was and she could neither explain or comprehend why she used her free hand to draw his head against her thigh, or why he let her. For the better part of a minute, neither of them moved or spoke as she absorbed all she could of his strength and more and prayed he could draw something essential from her. Then, because she was afraid of what she might do next, she broke the contact and headed to bed.
She wanted him so badly that she had to fight herself to keep from reaching for him again. She’d gone to stand near him because she hadn’t been able to free herself from the realization that a part of her still loved him. Something about his very essence had found its way to her. Into her. Her mouth went dry and her heart hurt each time it beat. She felt so alive and sexually charged that her body seemed like hot liquid.
He could still do that to her. Melt her down with a look, a touch, soft words.
She tried to turn her attention to the seemingly impossible task of finding enough flat ground under her so that she could sleep. But her mind was too filled with memories of their lovemaking, with worries about her son.
Sleep was a long time in coming.
Chapter 9
Risking a call while Shannon was still asleep, Cord learned that the sheriff had spent much of the night trying to discover more about the whereabouts of the suspected poachers but so far had nothing to report. He hoped that would change once people, particularly forest service and ski resort personnel, were up and about. After getting his old friend to repeat his promise that he wouldn’t say anything to Shannon, Cord settled back on his sleeping bag and waited for his ex-wife to wake.
It didn’t take long, and he wondered whether she’d somehow sensed his scrutiny of her or if dreams of their son had gotten between her and her need for sleep.
“You’re up,” she said, no surprise in her voice. “I swear, you can get by on less sleep than anyone I’ve ever known. Either that or—nothing happened, did it?”
“No, nothing did. I’m sorry.”
She sat up and he realized that she’d worn a man’s undershirt to bed. For a moment, uncertainty and a jealousy he’d never admit surged through him; who had given her the white cotton? Then he remembered. They’d been married only a few months when she discovered how comfortable his shirts felt, especially when her growing belly made it impossible for her to wear many of her clothes and they didn’t have the money for a maternity wardrobe. Now, although he was out of her life, she still clung to a piece of the past.
After storing away that piece of information, he asked her how she’d slept. Her answer was noncommittal. She studied him for several seconds until he realized she was trying to decide whether to crawl out of her sleeping bag with him watching. Although he should have done the gentlemanly thing and turned away, he didn’t. Instead he made no secret of his interest in her. With a sigh, she threw back the bag and stood. Beneath the shirt, she wore only underpants, which peeked out from under the hem as she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs were as long, as finely muscled as he remembered them. Those muscles, the way she used them to play him, control him, pleasure him...
She returned his gaze, waiting until he’d taken his attention from her legs. Then, “When are we going to get going?”
“As soon as you’re ready,” he told her, his thoughts torn between memories of things better forgotten and the need, the drive, to run his hands along her legs.
“It’ll just take a
few minutes. Cord, I don’t like you looking at me that way. It makes me feel...”
“You’re a beautiful woman.”
She blinked and for a second her mouth sagged. “I’m grungy and stiff, not beautiful.” When he didn’t say anything, she ran her fingers through her hair, a gesture that looked sensual, which he was sure was the last thing she’d intended. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked. “I could kill for some bacon and eggs.”
“When we’re done with this, I’ll make some for you.”
“Will you?” She sounded wistful and still off balance. “I’ll tell you what. You do the frying. I’ll tackle the waffles. Matt loves them—he always has.”
“I know. I made them for him when you were in the hospital after Summer’s birth. They were the only things he’d eat.”
“You did? I neglected Matt so much then. If you hadn’t been there—All I could think about was Summer, pray for a miracle.”
“Don’t,” he warned. “Leave her in the past. She doesn’t belong with us today.”
“Doesn’t she?” Shannon retorted. “Cord, you and I had two children. How can you act as if she never existed?”
Suddenly his anger matched hers and, not thinking, he reached into his rear pocket and pulled out the waterproof wallet that held his identification and a few pictures. Stalking over to her, he held one of the pictures out to her. “Maybe I didn’t carry her inside me the way you did, Shannon, but I held her in the hospital. I fell in love with her. She’ll always be part of me.”
Shaken, Shannon ran her fingertips over the faded picture of their infant daughter. She hated seeing the tubes and needles that had been connected to Summer for the five days of her life, but that wasn’t what kept her staring at the photograph. She had a picture her folks had taken of Summer, which she kept in her room; she’d never known about this one, or that Cord carried it with him. Memories of that time, of the deadly helplessness and despair in the face of overwhelming birth defects, hit her hard, but she fought them off.
