The Return of Cord Navarro

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 reservoir 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