Anne Duquette - The Reluctant Bride

“If you two weren’t such lovebirds, I’d ask if I could I come along, too. I’ve certainly got the time now,” Anita said, her voice rueful.

Karinne hesitated, not wanting to be rude or to hurt her friend’s feelings. Max and Karinne were rarely together, and she missed him terribly. Their last reunion had been months ago.

Cory and Karinne had attended school together from first grade on. Both of their families still owned the same homes on the same street. Anita and Karinne, on the other hand, met as computer-assigned college roommates. The computer had glitched; Anita had wanted a friend from high school as her roommate, while Karinne had requested a single room. Anita had originally planned to refuse the dorm room, but the two women hit it off instantly. As an added bonus, Anita had met Cory. The two married, despite the warnings of family and friends that a long-distance marriage was gambling with the future.

Karinne worried about that, too. Would her own marriage be at risk? Her parents had both traveled extensively, and it sure hadn’t helped.

The wedding was only a few months away. Max’s job rafting down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon made casual get-togethers geographically difficult, if not impossible, while her job as sports photographer meant she accompanied the teams on out-of-state games.

“If you don’t mind giving me a ride, we could split up when we get there. I could stay with Cory at the guys’ place,” Anita suggested. “Maybe I can do some wedding legwork for you.”

“Of course you’re welcome to ride up with me. And to come rafting, if you want. But you’ve never seemed interested in the water,” Karinne said slowly, her desire to be alone with Max warring with sympathy for her roommate.

“I’m interested in anything that would cheer me up. I can foot the bill,” Anita insisted.

“I’m not concerned. You know that.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” Anita added. “But Cory said if you don’t mind, four would be better than two for the raft trip.”

“When did you talk to him?” Karinne asked, confused.

“A few days ago. I was working at the time, so I said no. He just called me again today, though. They have extra provisions because of the cancellation, and he doesn’t want to waste the perishables.”

“Oh.” Karinne blinked.

“If you’d rather I didn’t come,” Anita backtracked, “I’ll stay topside with Cory and update my résumé. Review the want ads. Do some wedding preparations for you.”

Karinne hated seeing Anita’s disappointment. So far this vacation had been full of surprises, and it hadn’t even started yet. She thought of the pink sweatshirt still in her drawer, and the goose bumps ran down her neck again. If a ghost intended to show up, maybe having reinforcements around wasn’t such a bad idea. And if Cory had invited his wife rafting, it wasn’t Karinne’s place to tell them no.

“Forget the want ads. There’s plenty of time for that later.” Karinne gestured with her chin. “Get packing. We’ll start the drive north early tomorrow morning.”

Topside,

Grand Canyon Village, Arizona

The rain continued its steady downfall. Arizona forecasters didn’t call it the monsoon season for nothing. Moisture-laden air from the Pacific’s California coast hit the Rocky Mountains and rose high to cross the peaks. The moisture moved toward the hotter air above the desert, where its coolness clashed with the heat, mushrooming in purple thunderheads that drenched the area in violent downpours with stick, chain and ball lightning.

Inside the personal quarters provided for park concessionaires topside, Max Hunter stared out the window, fascinated as always by the force of water. Harnessed correctly, it could water the desert and quench the thirst of millions of plants, animals and humans. Left to its elemental nature, water would erode the canyon below, just as it had in prehistoric times.

The Colorado—Spanish for red—was one of the nation’s three ancient, prehistoric rivers, along with Utah’s Green River and the Mississippi. The Colorado continued carving the massive canyons with its abrasive red silt, fed by the rain and snowfall of the Rocky Mountains.

“Tourists want sunshine. If this keeps up, they’ll have to open the spill gates upriver, then who knows what the white-water conditions will be this weekend. We’ll have to do more of the trip on foot,” Cory grumbled.

“If it wasn’t for the weather, we couldn’t have invited Karinne and Anita up,” Max reminded him. “Although I thought it would just be me and Karinne,” he said with a trace of annoyance. A long-distance courtship, preface to what would be a long-distance marriage, made Max cherish whatever time he could spend with his fiancée, especially time alone. Unfortunately, Cory suffered from the same problem. But at least Cory had made faster progress. He’d become engaged, gotten married and was saving for a house with his wife, even though Max and Karinne had been engaged first. Karinne had been dragging her feet, and Max was tired of it. He’d hoped that this long trek down the river would settle things once and for all. Yes, their wedding was planned for November, but it wouldn’t be the first time Karinne had put it off. If it wasn’t her father’s health, it was her job demands. The timing never seemed to be right for her.

Cory sensed Max’s irritation.

“I figured we might as well use up the perishable food, but I told you, I can hang with Anita topside if you want,” he said.

“No, that would be rude, and besides, you’re right. We’re already provisioned for a larger party.”

Max added a few more morose comments about foolish tourists who thought deserts were all cacti and sunshine. But his comments reflected his frustration at having a long-distance fiancée. While Cory tuned his guitar, Max remained at the window, which took in the canyon rim wooded area, log-style smaller cabins and lodge.

Although both brothers were deeply tanned and healthy from outdoor work, there the resemblance ended. Blond and blue-eyed like his father, a cruise-ship captain, Cory looked more like a California surfer. He wore his hair fairly long, and sported the attitude of what he was at heart—a musician who was happy anywhere, provided he had his woman and his guitar at his side.

“At least you two will share the same tent for a few days,” Cory said to Max. He shook his head. “Although how you two expect to have a marriage, let alone kids, while you’re living in opposite ends of the state is beyond me. Karinne doesn’t want to quit her job, and you can’t. There’s no way just one person can run the raft expeditions. Plus there’s Jeff’s bad heart to consider.”

“We’ll manage. You and Anita have.”

“Anita and I are in no hurry for children. You and Karinne are.”

“I used to think Karinne wanted children right away,” he said morosely. “She said she wanted her dad to see his grandchildren before he died. But talk isn’t action. At this rate I’ll be old and gray before we ever get to the altar. And Jeff will be long gone.”

“Would you still marry her if she changed her mind? Didn’t want a family?”

“I don’t know.”

Cory wisely said nothing, and let Max continue to stare out the window.

Even as a child, Max found inner peace in the unique ruggedness of northern Arizona, although there’d been a time when he’d hated the rawness of the land. That time had come after Margot Cavanaugh’s disappearance into the desert.

Margot had showed up at Max’s house on that last day, looking for Karinne. Margot’s manner had been decidedly off-key, and because of that Max had—uncharacteristically—lied. He remembered the incident clearly, even though he’d been only ten years old.