The Return Of Cord Navarro

by Vella Munn

  Then he leaned into her, eased her onto her back, and followed her down.

  With one hand bracing himself, he worked at her jeans’ zipper. She arched her hips upward, helping. When her jeans caught around her hips and he had to work at pulling the denim off her, she whimpered at the delay. Night air found her newly naked thighs; the heat in her body surged to the surface, kept her hot.

  The sound of a zipper slicing downward caught her attention. While she’d been lost in what he’d already done to her, he had stood and stepped out of his jeans. He started to reach for his briefs, but she reared up and grabbed his hands, stopping him. She needed his help to reach a kneeling position, then she finished the act of disrobing him while he stood with the night surrounding him and his eyes staring down at her, dark as midnight. He was a mountain, part of their untamed surroundings. Take me! Carry me to the horizon! Together we’ll find yesterday, tomorrow, a place without time!

  He knelt in front of her, thighs and hands and breasts touching. Then he gripped the fragile elastic that held her panties in place and began a slow downward journey. When he could go no further, he stretched her out on their shirts and lifted first one leg and then the other, the gesture both practiced and new.

  She lay naked beneath him, no longer existing anywhere else. The breeze, now like cool lace, brushed against flesh that felt touched by moonlight and lightning and, most of all, by Cord.

  I need this, Cord. Need you loving me.

  He seemed to hesitate. Could he, a man who saw the vast wilderness as his home, be afraid of making love with his wife? What little remained of her rational mind knew she hadn’t been his wife for a long, long time, but that didn’t matter.

  Tonight they were right for each other, or if not right, beyond caring.

  She held out her hands, accepted the swirling ball of heat deep inside her, and issued a silent invitation.

  He heard, came, slowly at first, then with a sense of urgency that matched hers. There was no more foreplay, no more time wasted erasing the years.

  She spread herself for him, took him into her. Lost herself against him.

  And she cried, tears without meaning or understanding.

  Sometime during the night, they left where they’d made love and, shivering a little, returned to their sleeping bags. She started to lower herself to her bed, but he stopped her with a touch and she responded. They made love again, just as silent and frenzied.

  In the morning, she woke with the weight of his arm over her breast.

  She opened her eyes to look at him. In the newborn day, she saw that he was already gazing at her. His eyes asked if she had any regrets, and because she couldn’t answer him or herself, she didn’t speak.

  Instead she kissed his powerful shoulder, the tanned hollow at the base of his throat, answered his silent kiss, and then, because he’d already taken too much of her, she slid away from him.

  Now he was getting dressed and she was trying to remember how to braid her hair and regret swirled around her like a free-moving river.

  She’d spent so many years and so much energy getting to that hard-won place where she believed she no longer loved Cord and couldn’t be hurt by him. Last night, twice, he’d made a lie of that belief and it would take years to undo two acts of lovemaking.

  But he wasn’t the only one responsible for the way her heart felt this morning; she couldn’t blame him for that. She’d let it out of its quiet, cushioned prison and learned that the years had changed nothing of what she felt for him after all.

  The realization terrified her.

  “Shannon, there’s a small elk herd around here. We aren’t that far from a spring they’ve been using. If Matt finds it, he might follow it down.”

  Although she wasn’t ready for this or any other conversation, she agreed that what he said made sense and should make sense to Matt, too—if the boy had given up on his goal of making it to the top of the mountain. She asked if that meant he intended to stop following their son’s tracks.

  “No. That’s the last thing I’d do. His footprints are our only tie to him.”

  Only. “It scares me when you say that.”

  He kicked into his boot and stepped closer to her. She thought she read the slightest hint of fear in his eyes, but couldn’t begin to comprehend its source. Not once during the hard past few days had he truly given her access to what was going on inside him. She’d come to expect that curtain to remain in place and could only guess at the changes inside him that had allowed it to momentarily slip away.

  If he was afraid for Matt, she didn’t want to hear about it. If what happened between them last night had changed him in some way he had no control over and left him vulnerable, honest about Matt’s chances, she didn’t want to know that, either.

  Cord was the mountain. Strong, invincible, the man she’d charged with bringing her son back to her.

  Not a frail, insecure, sometimes helpless human being.

  Like her.

  “I don’t want you to be scared. If I could, I’d take you out of here so you wouldn’t have to go through this.”

  “I wish you could, too, but the only way I’ll leave is when we find Matt.”

  “I know. And we will.”

  When? she wanted to shout at him, but didn’t ask, just as she hadn’t pushed for the reason behind what lurked in his eyes. As she watched him turn his attention to what little needed to be done before they could get going, she struggled for a memory of anything that had happened in her life before coming here with him. Nothing surfaced and after a minute she gave up the search.

  Her body needed his touch. If he reached for her, the gesture might put an end to the unease that flowed through her. But he, like she, must have decided that reaching for any more of what they’d experienced last night would only throw them into more turmoil.

  She took a handful of nuts and dried fruit and began chewing. Neither had any flavor. When Cord approached, she handed him the bag and told him that she wasn’t sure she but she thought the fruit was apple.

  “You made wonderful apple pies,” he told her around a healthy bite. His eyes settled on her, dark, keeping their secrets. “I tried making one a couple of times, but the dough I bought didn’t taste anything like yours.”

  Needing relief from his intensity, she pretended to be shocked. “Packaged dough? Did you ever see me use that?”

  Frowning, he shook his head. “I should have paid more attention to how you did it.”

  “I guess you should have.”

  He ate as if it was something he knew he had to do but which concerned him little. She remembered pressing against his right hip last night and noting how quickly he’d pulled away. He must have bruised himself during one of those times when he’d scrambled over rocks, but like fueling his body, bruises didn’t concern him.

  Despite herself, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d dismissed their lovemaking just as easily. If that’s why he was able to stand near her and talk about apple pies and now look around him instead of into her eyes; she hurt for both of them.

  But maybe it wasn’t like that at all. Maybe, as for her, last night still bombarded him.

  “There’s going to be a wind,” he said. “Coming from the north and probably lasting all day.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  “It might make it harder for us to hear Matt.”

  She nodded, barely understanding herself because talk and thoughts of how Matt was doing no longer brought her to the brink of tears. Had she been through so many emotions that they’d all been washed away? Maybe without knowing it, she’d become so tired that her system simply couldn’t reach to anything.

  And maybe making love with Cord had left such an impact that precious little else could penetrate. “We aren’t going to talk about it, are we?” she asked as he watched her adjust the straps on her pack.

  “About what?”

  “Last night.” He stood so close that she would only have to take a single step
to touch him. There wasn’t a square inch of her that didn’t want to answer her heart’s demand. Still, she remained where she was—standing safe and alone and untouched. “Cord, we can’t pretend we didn’t make love.”

  “I’m not going to apologize.”

  Was that what he thought she wanted? Surely he knew her better than that. She shut her eyes and lost herself in darkness until she began to feel dizzy. The question repeated inside her. Maybe he didn’t know her at all anymore. Maybe she didn’t know him. “I didn’t expect you to apologize.” She spoke with her teeth clenched and her eyes barely open. “Maybe what I want is a better understanding of why we wound up in each other’s arms.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you?” This argument, if that’s what they were having, was insane. “Is that the difference between us? I’ve surrounded myself with emotion. I need to know the strength, the boundaries of that emotion. You—maybe you just act.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  She’d asked him an impossible question. Now he’d thrown the same back at her. “I don’t know.” She forced herself to relax and took a step designed to let him know she was ready to get started. “I don’t know what goes on inside you.”

  Only his hair, buffeted by the breeze, moved. She couldn’t free herself from the power and probe of his eyes. Had her words wounded him? Was that why he was reacting this way? She couldn’t begin to guess what she might say or do to drag an answer out of him. It was easier to rock back on her heels and incline her head in the direction she believed they would be heading. Something dark and cloudlike drifted over his features, but she couldn’t penetrate that anymore than she’d ever been able to penetrate his silences.

  He started to turn away. She felt the keen stab of disappointment at the realization that he was actually going to do what she wanted him to. Then, letting the gesture speak for him, he reached out and brushed his hand over her cheek.

  “The first peace is that which comes within the souls of people when they realize their oneness with the universe and all its powers.”

  “Cord, what are you—”

  “Not me. The Sioux. They believe that the Great Spirit dwells at the center of the universe, that this center is everywhere, and is within each of us.”

  Not philosophy! Not ancient words! I need—you. And yet I’m afraid.

  They should have gone camping more. If she’d made the time, Cord might have taught her how to build a shelter from branches and leaves and limbs and she’d know how to start a fire without matches.

  She’d have a greater understanding of Sioux beliefs and why Cord had learned so much about them.

  She might know why his simple yet eloquent words had stripped her down to nothing except emotion.

  They’d been walking for nearly two hours now. The ground was steep and almost barren here, all but the hardiest of trees below them. From a distance, one would believe it easy to spot another human being, but the land was deceptive. It contained deep pockets of shade where the sun seldom touched, and rocky outcroppings impossible to see around. She felt surrounded by rocks and boulders and seldom saw the prints that guided Cord slowly but well.

  She could see only his powerful shoulders and muscular legs, learn how to walk herself from the sure way he kept his footing. His eyes took in everything, his head almost constantly in motion. A few days ago she’d tried to see everything he did, but that no longer seemed important.

  No longer pressed through the web of emotion that last night and this morning had left in her.

  If they’d been born generations ago, he would have been an Indian scout and her a mountain woman. They’d weave their lives around the elements. They wouldn’t need much; enough food to fill their bellies, a shelter when the weather became too raw for even Cord Navarro. She’d make their clothes from deer hide and he’d create exquisite arrowheads to place on strong, straight shafts. Their friends would be other Indians or the few mountain men who traveled through their wilderness.

  They’d raise their children here, make love under stars and moon.

  And whether or not they used words to communicate, they’d always understand each other.

  In that misty world where everything was right.

  Shaken by the depth of her need, she forced herself to focus on her surroundings. The effort succeeded for maybe two minutes, then Cord extended his hand to help her over loose shale.

  She stood beside him on their precarious perch, unable to remember how to work her muscles to free her hand. His shoulder was now molded to hers, a mountain of strength. They hadn’t spoken for hours. Other than pointing occasionally at wildlife or uncertain ground, he’d done nothing to make her think she was on his mind. But now, although he could have easily moved away, he didn’t. Instead, he turned her slightly so she could see what he’d been looking at. Just below them, maybe no more than two hundred feet away, a spring bubbled up from the earth. Overflow trickled downward to be lost among grass and shrubs. Between them and the spring she could see several distinct tracks—the tracks they’d been following for days.

  “We’re close.”

  Her heart skittered and then caught. “How...close.”

  “Very. The grass he stepped on is still bent.”

  Feeling weak, she slid her free arm around his waist and continued to stare at the fragile proof of their son’s existence. He held her to him and brushed his lips over her forehead. There was no imagining it; she knew she could hear his heart beating. She prayed he could hear hers, as well.

  She had no words in her, nothing that could possibly express what she felt at this moment. When his breath caught as he tried to inhale, she knew the same emotion had entered him. She continued to cling, sharing in the only way she had. Their son was near; they’d soon find him; he’d feel his parents’ love.

  “Do...do you want him to know?” she whispered.

  “Not yet. I want to make sure he’s safe first.”

  Tears built behind her eyes, but with an effort, she managed to keep them there. Cord had done the impossible, brought her to her son—their son.

  “Where?”

  “I can’t say for sure. From the angle of his prints, its obvious he was headed toward the spring.”

  “He...he’s thinking he’ll have to follow the creek all the way to the bottom, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  A sudden sense of urgency washed over her. With all her heart, she wanted to be able to cut the bruise out of the remaining apple and feed it to Matt. She wanted to watch as Cord clutched his son to his chest.

  Only two things held her back: realization that the thick brush around the little creek could accommodate a child but prove daunting to adults, and the belief that no one else in the world except Cord could possibly know what she was experiencing at this moment.

  “I thought...” She shuddered. “I tried so hard not to think about it, but I couldn’t help — There’ve been times when I was terrified of what we’d find.”

  “So was I.”

  No. Cord wasn’t supposed to have nightmare. thoughts. Although she’d accused him of having buried his emotions so deep that he might have lost them, she needed him to be as strong and confident as her mythical Indian scout, a miracle-working machine.

  “You? You were—”

  What was that?

  Cord started, suddenly gripping her with a strength that took her breath away.

  A rifle shot!

  Comprehension of what she’d heard came so close on the heels of Cord’s reaction that she couldn’t separate the two. Her blood seemed to stop in her veins; her heart skittered; her lungs screamed with the need for breath but she couldn’t remember how to accomplish that incredibly difficult task.

  Another shot! A rifle blast echoing, at the same time sounding so close that if Matt hadn’t been more important than her own life, she would have dropped to the ground.

  “No!” Cord’s deep scream all but shattered her senses. “Oh, God, no!”
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  Chapter 13

  “Cord! Wha—”

  “Poachers.”

  How did he know? Cord didn’t give her half a second in which to ask. Whirling away, he plunged into the thick shrubbery. Alive with fear, she followed his lead. He was already deep in the underbrush and making more noise than she’d ever heard from him, but it wasn’t the sound that made her plow after him.

  He’d begun yelling Matt’s name.

  She shoved herself around a stunted evergreen and struggled to keep up with him. “Cord, stop it! You’ll scare—”

  “Hunters! If they’ve shot...Matt! Matt! Stay where you are!”

  Shot! Her legs weakened, but she refused to give in to the dread that instantly replaced all other emotion.

  When they reached the narrow, ambling water, there were enough rocks on either side that brush had been unable to get much of a toehold on the bank. She could run without worrying that some sharp branch might slap her face; still she was unable to keep up. Foot by foot, Cord increased the distance between them. Still, the air felt alive with his fear.

  “Matt! I’m here! Mom, too. Matt, please! Where are you?”

  Once more she heard the horrible explosion of sound she so hated during bunting season. Cord stared over his shoulder at her; whatever he was experiencing had so altered his features, she barely recognized him.

  What she saw terrified her.

  “Cord?” she sobbed. “Cord, please!”

  Instead of answering her insane plea, he yanked off his pack without losing stride and kept running. She jumped over it, nearly lost her footing, and struggled with her own burden. By the time she’d flung it off, Cord had disappeared.

  A thousand emotions boiled up inside her—rage at whoever might have cost Matt his life, a desperate plea to give Cord the strength and speed to get to their son before it was too late. Prayers to God, to Gray Cloud’s Great Spirit.

  Guided by a trail that might not have been one to any other eyes, she followed Cord. Her heart beat so rapidly that it robbed her of the breath she needed, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Nor did she waste time in cries Cord wouldn’t pay attention to and Matt might no longer be able to hear.