Anne Duquette - The Reluctant Bride

Leaning against his car, he eagerly watched the incoming traffic for her. He hadn’t seen Karinne enough recently. Between the time she spent working and Max’s own schedule, they weren’t in physical contact very often. Max missed her so much he ached inside.

Two women climbed out of a just-parked vehicle, but Max only had eyes for Karinne. His pulse quickened at the sight of her. She wore an old pair of denims and a sweatshirt. The childhood blond hair he remembered had long ago deepened to a darker shade, although her green eyes remained the same. Bare toes peeped out from casual summer sandals, and the sweatshirt didn’t hide the sweet curves beneath. But his eyes lingered, as always, on her face.

He didn’t call out her name. He enjoyed anticipating her beautiful smile of recognition. When she finally caught his gaze, that smile rewarded him.

Dear Reader,

Grand Canyon National Park is famous for its beauty and the river that carved it, the Colorado. The word “canyon,” however, is deceptive. Even “Grand” doesn’t adequately describe its abundance of life and land mass, its history and ancient culture.

As a child, I grew up walking the Colorado’s beds and tributaries high in the Rocky Mountains, searching for gold nuggets. That treasured ore is long gone, but the Colorado River now provides new treasure—irrigation and electricity for the Southwest. This means supporting mega-farms, huge crop fields and cities with increasing populations—but modernization has a price.

Sadly, the millennia-old flow into the Gulf of California has disappeared in the past seventy-five years. Long before reaching the sea, the empty riverbed turns to dust. The overconsumption of this now-clear river threatens almost a third of North America’s ecosystems, while water and power rights representing billions of dollars are fought in national international courts. The Colorado has replaced the Nile as the most heavily litigated river in the world.

I have taken certain liberties in my story. My description of flooding in the present-day Grand Canyon National Park is now impossible. I have resurrected the “Rogue” Colorado of fifty years ago, before modern technology “tamed” it.

The Hopi believe the Grand Canyon is a Sipapu—a sacred place where “The People” emerged to enter the beautiful Southwest. My hero and heroine share this deep respect for the outdoors—and each other. Welcome to the grandest canyon in the world!

And be sure to visit my website, www.paperbackgems.com.

Anne Marie Duquette

Anne Marie Duquette

Anne Marie enjoys the Southern California lifestyle with her husband, two grown children and two grandchildren. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s relaxing on the beach—or upping her adrenaline on Disneyland’s roller coasters. Her stories focus on the security and the adventure of romance because she feels every relationship should have both!

My most heartfelt gratitude to Paula E., editor, teacher and friend.

Thank you for everything!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Her mother couldn’t be alive…could she?

In ordinary circumstances, Karinne Cavanaugh should be smiling as she packed for vacation. The Grand Canyon, one of the most spectacular parks in the world, awaited her photographer’s eye. For once she wouldn’t be photographing men in sports uniforms. She’d be lost in the blissful glory of the Southwest’s July landscape. As an added bonus, she’d get to see her fiancé, Max Hunter. Their wedding would be in the fall at the Grand Old Lodge—seventy-five years old—three times her age, and boasting many other weddings in the past. She was driving up to Flagstaff to actually see the place for herself.

Max, a rafting guide, had even promised a longer raft trip instead of their short weekend treks down the Colorado River at Karinne’s urging—a prehoneymoon vacation.

“Since we’re getting married, I should be more familiar with what you do for a living,” she’d coaxed him with a kiss. “It’ll be romantic.”

“I wish you’d said something sooner. I’m already booked, Karinne,” Max warned, although he didn’t resist her kisses. Rafting trips were booked years in advance, rain or shine. “But if I get a cancellation, I’ll call you.”

A cancellation had occurred during rainy weather, and Max had called, as promised. If Karinne could show up in two days, she’d be in luck. Max worked a single craft in the rafting concession with his younger brother, Cory. The brothers had outfitted a private expedition that had canceled, despite the deposit. Her own boss agreed to the short notice. She and Max could check out the wedding and honeymoon accommodations sooner rather than later. The trip down the river would be just the two of them, a few precious days together before their wedding in November. She should consider herself the luckiest woman in the world.

Karinne Cavanaugh, engaged, educated and employed, didn’t know what to think.

Her mother, long thought dead, a woman who’d disappeared during Karinne’s childhood, had seemingly come back to haunt her.

During one of Karinne’s home-game baseball photography sessions, she’d caught a familiar face in the background crowd. This in itself was rare. She clicked off some rapid shots. Seconds later, the woman was gone; whoever the “double” was didn’t return.

On her computer afterward, Karinne ignored her work photos, digitally enlarging the crowd pictures first. They showed a woman who could very well be an older Margot Cavanaugh—except that Margot hadn’t been seen in more than twenty years. She’d parked at the side of an Arizona river, left a suicide note in her car and disappeared.

There hadn’t been a body to bury; recovery efforts had been unproductive. That very afternoon a seasonal monsoon storm of epic proportions had struck with enough precipitation to cause whitecaps on the overflowing Arizona irrigation canals for two full days. Even rescue and recovery personnel couldn’t cover much ground. People died every year during the flash floods, on foot, in cars and the arroyo washes.

Jeff Cavanaugh’s mother, a widow, had moved in to take care of her grieving son and granddaughter. Karinne’s carefree days of childhood were over.

Karinne grew up next door to the Hunters. Max, the older boy, had been her lifeline. Karinne’s parents had hardly ever been home together and, when they were, fought bitterly over whose photographic career and next assignment was more important. Their marriage problems had often driven her to the Hunters’ home. But after her mother’s death, an eerie stillness had replaced the bitter fights at home. Karinne found herself at the Hunters’ more than ever.

Karinne’s father cut back on his work hours, and her grandmother stayed until Karinne’s senior year of high school before moving to Florida. Karinne inherited her mother’s cameras and flair for photography. She’d graduated, gone to college and now had a job she enjoyed. Plus, the boy next door, Max Hunter, loved her as much as she loved him. Nothing could burst Karinne’s joy….

Until that apparent double had showed up at the baseball game just a few weeks ago. Karinne hadn’t told her father, although she’d checked with the police and filed a report. The intake officer had taken the disk with the digital copies, nodded and merely said he’d “keep them on file.” A plainclothes detective in the same office had been kinder. She’d scanned the last photo the family had of Margot and plugged it into the computer simulation software to “age” the image. She’d even agreed there was a likeness.