Vella Munn - The Return of Cord Navarro

Copyright © 1996 by Vella Munn

Dear Reader,

Our lead title this month hardly needs an introduction, nor does the author. Nora Roberts is a multiple New York Times bestseller, and Megan’s Mate follows her extremely popular cross-line miniseries THE CALHOUN WOMEN. Megan O’Riley isn’t a Calhoun by birth, but they consider her and her young son family just the same. And who better to teach her how to love again than longtime family friend Nate Fury?

Our newest cross-line miniseries is DADDY KNOWS LAST, and this month it reaches its irresistible climax right here in Intimate Moments. In Discovered: Daddy , bestselling author Marilyn Pappano finally lets everyone know who’s the father of Faith Harper’s baby. Everyone, that is, except dad-to-be Nick Russo. Seems there’s something Nick doesn’t remember about that night nine months ago!

The rest of the month is terrific, too, with new books by Marion Smith Collins, Elane Osborn, Vella Munn and Margaret Watson. You’ll want to read them all, then come back next month for more of the best books in the business-right here at Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Enjoy!

“He isn’t here.”

Cord Navarro stood without moving, his work-hardened chest rising and falling in a smooth rhythm that nearly tore Shannon loose from her surroundings, and flinging her back to a time when that chest, that well-honed body, was hers to touch and caress. When she cared.

“Where is he?” her ex-husband asked in response to her short and obviously not satisfying explanation.

“With a friend.” Willing herself to return his gaze, she concentrated on her own breathing; brought it back under control. He meant nothing to her and hadn’t for more than seven years. It shouldn’t be so hard to remember that. “Cord, we-he-had no idea when you’d be back. We certainly didn’t think it would be this soon. If you’d called-”

“I left a message.”

“You did?” Freeing herself from his obsidian eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at the house behind her. “When?”

“About an hour ago.”

“An hour?” She pointed to the weathered barn to the left of the house. “I’ve been with the horses. I keep thinking I need an extension out there. As soon as I can afford-” She stopped herself. “Matt will be delighted to see you. It’ll just take a little time to round our son up, that’s all.”

Cord nodded, then pressed his hand against the back of his neck. From experience she knew he wouldn’t admit he was tired even if he was in danger of collapsing. She hoped he wouldn’t, because if he did, she’d be forced to touch him, and she didn‘t-wouldn’t-ever want to do that again. Still, he looked somehow vulnerable today, and that was getting in the way of her objectivity.

“You aren’t out with a group?” he asked when she wondered if his silence would run on forever. “I thought you might be.”

“No need, at least most of the time. My horses are plodders.” Experience had taught her that she would have to supply the bulk of the conversation. “Most of them know exactly where they’re supposed to go and how long they’ll have to put up with the strangers on their backs, which is fortunate since sometimes, I swear, I have clients who’ve never been where there aren’t gutters and sidewalks. If I had high-strung horses, it would be a disaster.”

His gaze swept over her house/office, barn, three corrals, even the small flower garden that flourished only because she religiously covered it at night during Colorado’s frequent spring freezes. “You’ve done well,” he said.

He’d told her that last winter, and she’d spent too long wondering if he was surprised that she’d succeed at running her own horse rental business in a part of the state that lived for ski season. But her barn housed all number of horse-drawn conveyances, and there was nothing like a sleigh ride to cap off a day of skiing. In fact, she did more business in the winter than summer. She’d told him that the last time she’d seen him; she saw no point in repeating herself. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She wished she’d put on makeup. More than that, she wished it didn’t matter to her what she looked like.

He was here. Facing her. Cord. Cord Navarro . Despite the years and distance between them, the name, the reality of him, wouldn’t stop. But she should be used to that, shouldn’t she?

Once, a lifetime ago, his body had taught hers what it meant to be a woman, to want and need-and be fulfilled. Now, Cord, with his courage and competence and a mind filled with knowledge passed down through generations of people who existed in harmony with the land, stood only a few feet away and she hadn’t had time to prepare herself.

He wore a thin chambray shirt and jeans that had to be at least five years old. His boots were faded yet soft, the result of regular rubbing with saddle soap. Funny that she would recall his devotion to his footwear. When they’d first married, she hadn’t understood his concern with the way his boots fit. That was before she realized that next to his keen eyesight, the most important skill he brought to his work was his ability to cover vast distances as quickly as possible.

She couldn’t say how long it had been since he’d had his hair cut, several months at least. Deeply black, the coarse hairs slanted across his forehead and bunched over his collar. Once she’d loved to bury her fingers in the thick mass. Once she’d… He needed a shave. His eyes were half closed against the swirling wind that had kicked up this afternoon, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling their impact.

Lordy, but he could see, and absorb. At seventeen she’d thought his eyes the most compelling things she’d ever seen-them and his hard, compact, already deeply muscled body. Well, she wasn’t seventeen any longer. It had been years since she’d felt anything simply because he looked at or touched her.

Years.

Although she should be saying something about the whereabouts of their ten-year-old son, her thoughts caught on the passage of time and what it had done to Cord. The elements had etched his features, furrowing lines around his eyes and mouth, darkening his flesh until it was impossible to know where his Ute grandfather’s heritage left off and the power of the sun, wind, rain, and sometimes snow began. If she got any closer, she might catch his scent, but even with necessary distance between them, she remembered. He smelled like the wilderness, always. Except when they’d just made love and then her nostrils would pull in something primitive and basic.

How many mountains had he climbed? Maybe a thousand, each of them adding to the strength in his legs and the breadth of his shoulders. One reporter had called him magnificent. Another wrote that he was a cross between an oak and a bear, an odd poetry of words that must have embarrassed him. If he asked her, she would be forced to tell him that both reporters were right.

As a man, he was exactly that-a man. So rawly alive that it was impossible for her to know where muscle and strength and physical competence left off and what else he was began. Unfortunately, an undeniably masculine body wasn’t enough. There had to be emotion, as well, that essential, missing element in Cord Navarro’s makeup. Or if it existed in him, he kept it too deeply buried for her to tap. And she was tired of trying.