Vella Munn - The Return of Cord Navarro

If, in spite of the damage caused by the rain, he could locate Pawnee’s prints at the base of Arapaho, he would have a purpose, a plan, a goal. He’d no longer be susceptible to distraction, something that never happened when he was on a search. It had been dark much of the time he’d been here last night, which meant he could have missed his son’s signs. The other possibility, one he hadn’t told Shannon about but she must have considered, was that Matt wasn’t anywhere near Arapaho.

Experience had taught him not to let his mind tangle in the unknown. Still, it wasn’t easy to turn his thoughts from the very personal object of his search to what might happen today. If Matt intended to explore Arapaho, he would have to abandon his horse when the trail got too steep. Although the rain would wash away many of the signs the boy made, if he stepped where the ground was level and the dirt dense, he would leave footprints. If that happened and if Cord was very, very lucky, he might overtake his son before nightfall. He wouldn’t have to go on looking at Shannon, thinking about what they’d once had and shared-and lost. They would go back to their separate lives and he’d find a way to stop thinking about the body of the woman who’d carried his children.

What if Matt was trying to hide?

There was another possibility. One he hadn’t mentioned because he’d wanted to spare Shannon any more burdens. Lost people, especially children, typically zigzagged aimlessly through the woods, making it difficult to separate a path made earlier in the day from a more recent one.

He accepted that Matt might not understand enough about wilderness survival to know how to mark his trail so he would have a guideline in case he had to backtrack. And he wasn’t sure Matt would be aware enough of his surroundings to tell if he was going in circles. From a distance, climbing a mountain seemed like a straightforward objective but, surrounded by trees or rocks, the goal could be easily lost.

He should have taught his son more about how to be at home in the wilderness, how to control his environment, instead of the other way around. He’d planned on doing that this summer. But maybe-no, it wouldn’t be too late!

Straightening, he focused on what lay around him. The trees at this altitude grew in random, healthy clumps. In some areas, the pines were so close together that sunlight never reached the ground. Given the right motivation or camouflage, any animal or human being could blend into the dense shadows and even he might not see them. Still, every fiber and nerve ending in him said that his son wasn’t nearby. His son. How he loved the words.

Classroom learning was important; he knew that. A structured setting, friends, familiar surroundings gave a child a solid foundation. That’s why Cord hadn’t asked Shannon to share custody of Matt, though he wanted his son with all his heart. With his work, he couldn’t offer Matt true stability. How could a child keep up at school if his father constantly dragged him around the country, or left him with baby-sitters?

Shannon was a good mother. A wonderful mother. He had only to look into her eyes and see into her nurturing heart to believe that. She might be able to keep a great deal from him, but not everything.

Somehow he knew there hadn’t been many men in her life since their divorce. Maybe it was in the way she conducted herself, her awareness of, or rather, her disregard for, her physical body. When she spoke of “we” it was always about her and Matt and sometimes her parents. She’d had a single male wrangler last year, a man Matt thought fascinating because he’d once been on the rodeo circuit. Matt said that the man sometimes asked Shannon to go to a movie or dinner with him but she never had. After three or four months, the wrangler had moved on, and according to Matt, Shannon had said she was glad to see him gone.

But someday a new man would walk into Shannon’s life-and into Matt’s, as well.

When that happened…

Like a well-trained tool, Cord’s mind switched to his reason for being here and what he needed to see and hear and smell and sense. He was still aware of Shannon’s presence behind him, but his attention was now fully trained on the ground. Despite the effects of rain, he could tell horses had recently been along the main trail that ringed the base of Arapaho. Whether the prints were made by Matt’s mount or by any number of vacationers, he couldn’t say.

He would put his training and instinct to use when the mountain started giving up its secrets-if it had any-to him.

Because he’d done it before, he easily put himself in the mind of a ten-year-old. At that age he’d already spent more than a week alone in the wilderness, soaking dew from rocks with a handkerchief and wringing the moisture into his mouth to slake his thirst. He’d eaten wild rose hips, the inner bark from pine trees, pigweed, and returned to his grandfather, not full, but not hungry, either.

Gray Cloud had praised his accomplishment and then told him he’d come within a quarter mile of a lynx den. Had Cord seen the signs? He hadn’t, but by the time he slept under an old growth pine a month later, he’d trained himself to be aware of every predator and prey for a mile around.

Matt wouldn’t be, and that worried him. The big cats and few black bears who lived around here wouldn’t bother human beings, but although he’d taught Matt that, the lesson might not have stuck. After all, the boy had sat through a long, dark, wet night with nothing to do except listen and think. Who knew what his young, fertile imagination might have come up with? Somehow he had to give Matt peace.

He straightened, his free hand automatically reaching behind to check the pack that held the two-way radio, waterproof matches, a multitool knife, his sleeping bag and mat, the first-aid kit, food. There was good thinking and bad thinking. He had to stay in his son’s head, not remember some of the things he’d seen in his years of trying to bring people back alive to where they belonged.

It was fully light now although the rain made a lie of the fact that this was June. Fog clung to the ground in a number of deep pockets, and Cord couldn’t see the tops of the tallest trees. From the looks of the clouds, he didn’t expect the drizzle to let up for several hours. By the feel of the air on his cheeks, he gauged the temperature to be about fifty degrees. Most people, if they were dry and wore a light jacket and remained active, could stay out all day in this temperature. Thankfully there wasn’t enough breeze for a wind chill to factor in, but Matt was probably at a higher elevation and maybe wet.

That was why he hadn’t worn a jacket. He wanted to experience the worst of what his son might. He felt a cool bite along the back of his neck and down his shoulders, but he was used to being exposed and had long ago stopped perceiving cold as discomfort. It wouldn’t be the same for his son.

Turning in the saddle, he spoke to Shannon. “It’s going to warm up more. Even with the rain, we’ll get at least another ten degrees. That’ll help.”

She nodded and gave him a quick smile. Still, her eyes telegraphed her concern. He wondered if she knew how transparent she was. “I can’t keep thinking,” she said. “What if his granola bars get wet? I wonder if he’ll eat them anyway.”

“He will.” He leaned forward to make it easier for his horse to climb a short hill and then explained that most people out like this wound up eating anything and everything that was remotely palatable.

“What happens when he runs out of food?”

“Then he gets hungry.”

“Then, hopefully, he’ll get serious about hustling back home.”

It was more complicated than that. Still, he held back from spelling out those complications to her. The tightness around the corners of her mouth made it clear that she knew how serious things were. Yet, she wasn’t making impossible demands on him or allowing fear to have the upper hand. He wanted to thank her for that, to compliment her self-control.