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.”
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.”
“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.
