Vella Munn - The Return of Cord Navarro

“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.

She wanted him so badly that she had to fight herself to keep from reaching for him again. She’d gone to stand near him because she hadn’t been able to free herself from the realization that a part of her still loved him. Something about his very essence had found its way to her. Into her. Her mouth went dry and her heart hurt each time it beat. She felt so alive and sexually charged that her body seemed like hot liquid.

He could still do that to her. Melt her down with a look, a touch, soft words.

She tried to turn her attention to the seemingly impossible task of finding enough flat ground under her so that she could sleep. But her mind was too filled with memories of their lovemaking, with worries about her son.

Sleep was a long time in coming.

Risking a call while Shannon was still asleep, Cord learned that the sheriff had spent much of the night trying to discover more about the whereabouts of the suspected poachers but so far had nothing to report. He hoped that would change once people, particularly forest service and ski resort personnel, were up and about. After getting his old friend to repeat his promise that he wouldn’t say anything to Shannon, Cord settled back on his sleeping bag and waited for his ex-wife to wake.

It didn’t take long, and he wondered whether she’d somehow sensed his scrutiny of her or if dreams of their son had gotten between her and her need for sleep.

“You’re up,” she said, no surprise in her voice. “I swear, you can get by on less sleep than anyone I’ve ever known. Either that or-nothing happened, did it?”

“No, nothing did. I’m sorry.”

She sat up and he realized that she’d worn a man’s undershirt to bed. For a moment, uncertainty and a jealousy he’d never admit surged through him; who had given her the white cotton? Then he remembered. They’d been married only a few months when she discovered how comfortable his shirts felt, especially when her growing belly made it impossible for her to wear many of her clothes and they didn’t have the money for a maternity wardrobe. Now, although he was out of her life, she still clung to a piece of the past.

After storing away that piece of information, he asked her how she’d slept. Her answer was noncommittal. She studied him for several seconds until he realized she was trying to decide whether to crawl out of her sleeping bag with him watching. Although he should have done the gentlemanly thing and turned away, he didn’t. Instead he made no secret of his interest in her. With a sigh, she threw back the bag and stood. Beneath the shirt, she wore only underpants, which peeked out from under the hem as she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs were as long, as finely muscled as he remembered them. Those muscles, the way she used them to play him, control him, pleasure him…

She returned his gaze, waiting until he’d taken his attention from her legs. Then, “When are we going to get going?”

“As soon as you’re ready,” he told her, his thoughts torn between memories of things better forgotten and the need, the drive, to run his hands along her legs.

“It’ll just take a few minutes. Cord, I don’t like you looking at me that way. It makes me feel…”

“You’re a beautiful woman.”

She blinked and for a second her mouth sagged. “I’m grungy and stiff, not beautiful.” When he didn’t say anything, she ran her fingers through her hair, a gesture that looked sensual, which he was sure was the last thing she’d intended. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked. “I could kill for some bacon and eggs.”

“When we’re done with this, I’ll make some for you.”

“Will you?” She sounded wistful and still off balance. “I’ll tell you what. You do the frying. I’ll tackle the waffles. Matt loves them-he always has.”

“I know. I made them for him when you were in the hospital after Summer’s birth. They were the only things he’d eat.”

“You did? I neglected Matt so much then. If you hadn’t been there-All I could think about was Summer, pray for a miracle.”

“Don’t,” he warned. “Leave her in the past. She doesn’t belong with us today.”

“Doesn’t she?” Shannon retorted. “Cord, you and I had two children. How can you act as if she never existed?”

Suddenly his anger matched hers and, not thinking, he reached into his rear pocket and pulled out the waterproof wallet that held his identification and a few pictures. Stalking over to her, he held one of the pictures out to her. “Maybe I didn’t carry her inside me the way you did, Shannon, but I held her in the hospital. I fell in love with her. She’ll always be part of me.”

Shaken, Shannon ran her fingertips over the faded picture of their infant daughter. She hated seeing the tubes and needles that had been connected to Summer for the five days of her life, but that wasn’t what kept her staring at the photograph. She had a picture her folks had taken of Summer, which she kept in her room; she’d never known about this one, or that Cord carried it with him. Memories of that time, of the deadly helplessness and despair in the face of overwhelming birth defects, hit her hard, but she fought them off.

“Did you take this?”

“Yes,” he said, and although she wasn’t ready, he closed his wallet and put it back in his pocket. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you did because I accused you of -” Of what? Of acting as if Summer never existed? Teeth clenched against emotions she didn’t understand, she stared up at her ex-husband. “Cord, I…”

“It’s all right if you cry.”

“Cry? I used to,” she whispered as his suggestion, his unbelievably gentle suggestion, rocked her. “So many things would set me off. But, Cord, I’ve learned that tears don’t change anything.”

“No. They don’t. Don’t talk about her. Not here. Not this way.”

“Don’t talk? That won’t stop me from thinking about her. Don’t you know that?”

He said nothing.

“When Summer died, I thought I’d died with her. I know the doctors told us before she was born that she wouldn’t live, but that didn’t stop-I couldn’t stop myself from loving her.”

I fell in love with her. She’ll always be part of me. Those words had come not from her but from her ex-husband. “You never shed a tear. I needed you to cry with me, but you didn’t.”

“Would that have changed anything?”

“I don’t know!”

“She’s in a better place now. With my grandfather.”