The Return of Cord Navarro

Sometimes, when they get going while he’s trying to fall asleep, he leans out his window and yells at them to shut up.”

“Do they?”

“For a moment. Then they start up again. He had a frog for a pet once. He brought it flies and kept water in its bucket.”

“What happened to it?”

“It died. I told him it would, but he had to see for himself the consequences of his intervention.”

When she looked at Cord, he was nodding, the movement slow and unconscious and so graceful that she felt it deep in her belly. “I’m glad you gave him the experience, although I doubt that the frog would agree. That’s how we all learn. At least, the best lessons. Not because someone tells us, but from doing something ourselves.”

“I agree,” she said, shaken by the depth and breadth of his comment. “Since then, Matt’s never wanted to control another wild animal. He doesn’t even like it when orphaned or injured animals have to be penned up until they’re ready to be re-released into their environment. I don’t think he’s ever going to hunt.”

Cord didn’t hunt. Once he’d been offered an incredible sum of money to guide some wealthy hunters with more determination than savvy, but he’d refused. He hadn’t offered her an explanation of why he’d made that decision. She hadn’t needed one because she knew he believed that no amount of money could atone for putting an end to a wild life.

Because she needed to free herself from yet another memory, she asked Cord if he knew that Matt wanted to be a search and rescue expert when he grew up. Her words turned Cord around again.

“He told me that, but I thought he might be saying it for my sake.”

“He means it.” Cord was backlit and nearly surrounded by forest. It was almost as if the trees had taken claim of him, as if he’d given them permission to do so. If she didn’t keep her eyes on him, he might slide away into nothing like morning mist when the sun hits it. “He thinks the world of you-you must know that. Of course, he tends to idealize what you do.”

Cord’s mouth tightened. “And he thinks he knows more than he does.”

He wouldn’t if you’d taught him the way Gray Cloud did you. But that was unfair. Cord had lived with Gray Cloud. Cord didn’t see enough of his son. As for whether that bothered Cord, she couldn’t, say. “Most children are like that. So dam cocky. He’ll learn from his mistakes, unfortunately-we all do.”

“Do we?”

“Yes,” she said without giving herself time to think. “If I hadn’t been so tied up inside myself when we separated, I would have done some things differently.”

“Like what?”

“Like-” Was she ready for this? No matter. It was too late to turn back. “Like asking you to live closer so you could be with Matt more.” Matt. That’s who she needed to think about, not what couldn’t be changed.

“You want that?”

“That’s not my decision, Cord. It’s yours.” Because trees grew close to the trail here and he had to concentrate on where he was going, she found herself speaking to his back.

“I did what I had to,” he said.

What did he mean by that? She hadn’t pushed him away, had she? “I’m surprised you didn’t go back to your grandfather’s cabin.” If he needed quiet, he’d tell her. Otherwise, talking was better than listening to what insisted on going on inside her. “Oh, I know it’s barely habitable the way it is, but it could be fixed up. It shouldn’t be that hard to get electricity to it, or phone service. Still-” She weighed the wisdom of saying anything, then plunged ahead. “I rather like it the way it is. Rugged. Primitive.”

“Hmm.”

Hmm wasn’t enough of a reply to hang a conversation on. Still, although he would probably prefer it, she didn’t feel ready to retreat into silence. “You heard from the local historic society, didn’t you? I know they’d love to buy it and turn it into some kind of landmark.”

“I talked to them.”

“And what did you tell them?” she asked, although she’d bet everything she had that she knew the answer.

“That I can’t give up the only thing that remains of the man who raised me.”

That admission, so intensely personal from an intensely private man, sent a chill through her. Fighting to keep her reaction from him, she told him that was what Matt had said his response would be.

“I’ve taken Matt there a few times,” Cord said. “What about you?”

“A few,” she acknowledged. Her thoughts spun away from their conversation and settled in the past. Cord had taken her to his grandfather’s cabin the day after she’d told him about being pregnant. A few days later he’d told her that she was the only girl he’d ever wanted to show the log walls and shake roof of the little place Gray Cloud had built. He’d admitted he’d wondered if she’d laugh at the not-quite-square sides, or if she could possibly understand why he’d been content growing up in a place without electricity.

She hadn’t laughed. Instead, she’d run her fingertips over the sleek peeled logs his grandfather had lifted into place more than fifty years ago. She’d bent, taken a deep breath, and then told him she could smell pitch and pine and hoped that the aromas would never fade. Finally she’d touched the corner of the handmade kitchen table where Gray Cloud had carved an eagle in flight. “I wish I’d known him,” she’d said. “There’s so much of him in you.”

They’d made love on the sagging old mattress Cord had always slept on, two kids still discovering the wonder and excitement and fear of sharing themselves with each other-and the consequences of surrendering to that wonder. He’d held her and pressed his hands over her full breasts, then brushed his lips against her belly. Although he said nothing, his eyes had told her that he was just beginning to grasp that his child was growing inside her.

When their lovemaking was done, he’d stood naked in front of her and it was all she could do to keep from losing herself in the sight. His long, dark hair had sheltered him somehow and those incredible eyes of his had looked both trapped and awestruck, and she’d known he couldn’t decide whether to run for freedom or stay.

In the end, he’d pulled her against him and awkwardly told her that he’d be there for her and their baby. Nothing about that afternoon had faded from her mind. She’d given up hoping it would.

Today the memories were stronger than they’d ever been.

They were giving the horses a breather and Cord was giving Shannon a brief sketch of what country he’d covered last night when his walkie-talkie squawked to life. Afraid it might be the sheriff with news he didn’t want to share with her if at all possible, he thought about moving away from her before answering, but that would only make her suspicious, only drive more of a wedge between them.

“Cord. It’s Hallem. Kevin’s father. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get in touch with you. Thank heavens, you left this receiver with Shannon’s parents.”

“That’s where you are?” he asked. “You have news?”

“Maybe. Hopefully, although I’m not sure it’s the kind of news you want to hear.”

He watched as Shannon moved closer. He read fear and determination in her eyes. “We’re both here,” he told Hallem. “What is it?”

“I’ve been grilling my son. Unfortunately for him, I know him better than he wishes I did. He was keeping something to himself and it was eating him alive, something that’s going to make things easier for you to round up that kid of yours.”

Shannon gripped his forearm with so much strength that it tore his attention from what Hallem was saying. Glancing at her, he now saw hope swimming in her eyes, hope and a giddy, unrestrained, too fragile joy.

Before he had to ask Hallem what he was talking about, Kevin’s father continued. “The boys had a fight, all right, and that’s probably why Kevin was so slow to fess up. He didn’t say so, but I know he wanted to see how much trouble Matt could get himself into because no one had a clue where he was. Unfortunately, you’ve got a lot of backtracking to do. Cord, Shannon, if we can believe Kevin, and I believe we can now, your son is determined to climb Copper Mountain.”