Max nodded and turned forward again. For the first time since the ride started, the canyon took a backseat in Karinne’s vision. Max had an air of caring about him that didn’t detract from his masculinity one bit. In fact, she’d always found it one of his most attractive traits. The male athletes she spent her life with were trained to ignore blood and pain, to focus on winning, winning, winning. As the backbone of a multibillion-dollar industry, they were paid exorbitant salaries to do so. No one expected otherwise.
A single sigh would never have signaled such concern from an athlete on the job. Photographers had to suffer the same weather and conditions as the athletes. Even Jeff, her father, had taught her to look after herself, to “be tough” after her mother’s death.
With adult hindsight, Karinne often wished she could take back all the “Mom, stop fussing!” complaints she’d made. The “boring” lessons had been signs of a mother’s love. Other than for Max, only her mother would have responded so quickly to Karinne’s sigh. Strange how one man’s action could strike her so deeply.
In certain ways, Max reminded Karinne of the nineteenth-century explorer, John Wesley Powell, whose life she’d studied in American history courses. His studies of the Grand Canyon were not only his life’s work, but Powell’s personal joy. Powell lived for his expeditions to the Grand Canyon, Green Canyon and the Rocky Mountains.
Karinne studied Max. Of course there were differences, as well. Powell had fought as an army major in the Civil War, losing an arm, which had ended his military career. The Civil War and primitive field medicine had taken its toll on many men, including Powell. The old black-and-white photographs of him hadn’t been kind. They showed a determined, too-thin war survivor. He’d refused to give up his passion for exploration and study, even though his expeditions had taken place in a hostile land.
Max Hunter was a successful native of this wild land. Unlike Powell, Max was healthy without the haggard look of early explorers. He moved with an easy masculine grace that Karinne found a pleasant change from the hurly-burly powerhouses on the sports teams. He didn’t need weights or vitamins to stay in shape. His skin didn’t sport “lucky” tattoos, and his brown hair wasn’t streaked, dyed, spiked or shaved in current men’s trends. Nor did he have facial piercings and diamond-studded earrings.
Max was her perfect match, except for one thing—geographic compatibility. Togetherness would be hard. The Grand Canyon was one of the most photographed areas in the world, but she couldn’t make money there. Nor could she leave her father, not with his heart problem. But lots of people had successful long-distance marriages, including Cory and Anita. Karinne and Max were in love, both committed to making things work, so she’d been happily content…until lately.
Could my mother still be alive? Even the attractive sights and shapes of the canyon around her—including Max Hunter—couldn’t distract her. However, she’d try to stay calm. After all, she thought, I’m on vacation….
FIVE LONG HOURS of riding in intermittent drizzle brought the mules to the Tonto formation. By then, all riders—from first-timers to the more experienced—were ready to dismount and stretch their muscles. The park ranger and wranglers made certain the mules were properly tied to the hitching posts, warned against littering, then checked out the tack while most riders headed for the Porta Potties. Soon after, lunches and drinks were distributed. Karinne and Max both ate their sandwiches standing.
“We’re two-thirds of the way there,” he said as he noticed Karinne rubbing her shapely behind. “Sore?”
“Not too bad.” She dropped her hand and reached into her box lunch for more chips, then fed him one before eating some herself. “Airport lounges and plane seats are worse. At least the sun’s out.”
Max nodded. “Looks like it might rain again. The air has that feel.”
“You’ll have to keep me warm tonight,” Karinne said, passion sparking in her eyes. “Maybe we can zip our sleeping bags together….”
“I think that can be arranged. I’ve missed you. I’m tired of missing you.”
“We’ve been together our whole lives,” Karinne gently reminded him.
“I’m not talking about living on the same street. I’m talking about being husband and wife. We were childhood friends, and we’ve done the lovers routine. It’s time to take that step forward, become marriage partners.”
“I never considered being your lover as routine.”
“Isn’t that what’s it’s become, Karinne? You meet me, or I meet you, we catch up on conversation and sex, and separate until the next time.”
“That sounds so clinical,” she said, uneasy at the tone of his voice.
“You know what I mean,” Max said impatiently. “And the worst part is, marriage isn’t going to change much. We’ll still be stuck in the same rut, unless one of us wants to become unemployed.”
“That’s the problem with the girl next door. She doesn’t always stay there.”
Max made no comment. After an uneasy pause, Karinne spoke. “I hope the rain lets up tomorrow. I want to do some hiking.”
“Where?”
“Oh, just some of the areas where Powell’s expedition took photos. Too bad so many of those pictures didn’t survive.”
“Some of them did. You should be able to pick up a book in the gift store later.” To Karinne’s relief, Max sounded like his normal self again. “I’ve seen them there.”
“I planned on it. I especially want to see C. C. Spaulding’s work,” Karinne said.
“Sorry—I’m not familiar with the name.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s a mystery man. All that’s known of him are his photos. Anyway, Spaulding took a photo in 1906 of an unidentified skeleton. His caption reads ‘The Toll.’ Supposedly Spaulding found him a few miles below this trail. The person—a white male—had a newspaper dated 1900.”
“I know photographers have been shooting the canyon since the 1870s,” Max said.
“Yes, but this photo is special. Compositionally, it’s a piece of art—and it’s an Old West mystery. No one’s ever discovered who the man was.”
“Are you going to try?”
“No. I have my own mystery to solve.” Karinne shook her head, then lifted her chin. No time like the present. “Max…the other day, I got a package in the mail. There was a Grand Canyon sweatshirt—pink—inside.”
“Pink, huh? That was your favorite color when you were small,” he remembered. “You don’t wear it much now.”
“So you didn’t send it?” she asked, not surprised, thinking of the note inside the package. Even so, she wanted Max’s opinion on the subject.
“No. You have a secret admirer I don’t know about?”
“Hardly.” There’d never been anyone for Karinne but Max. As a child, she’d adored the older brother of Cory, her playmate. As a teen, she’d had a crush on the man. As a woman, she loved him and gloried in the knowledge that he loved her back.
“Maybe Cory sent it,” Max suggested.
“I doubt it.”
Max peered at her. He could always read her moods. “What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I just wondered who it was really from.”
“Wasn’t there a card?”
“Yes, but there was no name.”
Max frowned. Karinne hesitated to ruin his good mood. This was their first reunion in months. “I’ll show it to you later, okay? When I unpack. Right now I’d rather talk about Spaulding.”
“Ah.” Max seemed satisfied, and Karinne breathed a sigh of relief. She changed the subject to something safer.
“I read about C. C. Spaulding in Dellenbaugh’s book, A Canyon Voyage. In 1871, when Frederick Dellenbaugh was seventeen, he joined Powell’s second canyon expedition. He painted the area.”
“Oil paintings, right?”
“Yeah. There was no color film, of course, just black-and-white,” Karinne said, warming to her subject. “Oil landscapes were the accepted travel fliers of the day. He traveled all over the worl
d to paint.”
“I’ve seen the book, but I haven’t read it,” Max said.
“Some editions of his book are illustrated with black-and-white photographs from that same period. Powell had a knack for picking the best men for his expeditions. Perhaps we can retrace some of their footsteps together.”
“That’s a lot of footsteps.” Max smiled. He opened his mouth as she fed him another potato chip.
“I didn’t mean today. We’ll have the rest of our lives to do that.”
“I want more time with you than the fits and spurts we get now.” Max took her hand and pulled her close for a hug. “I haven’t said anything to him yet, but I’d like to make Cory a full partner. Maybe we can hire more workers in a few summers, too. It’ll give you and me more time together.”
“I’d like that, Max.”
“With just the two of us, we can’t really take extended breaks. But if we can afford more help, Cory and I could both take more time off. If we can swing it financially, I intend to make it happen,” Max said.
Further discussion was curtailed as the park ranger blew his whistle, the prearranged signal for everyone to finish eating and remount.
As the mule train started down the canyon a few minutes later, Karinne found herself smiling. She hated being apart from Max so much.
And she hated being in the dark about the mysterious pink top. Max hadn’t sent it. She’d known it all along but wanted to ask, just in case. And she knew he would never have played a trick like that on her. Besides, Max was alert to all her preferences, and pink wasn’t a color she wore much. Like Max, she doubted Cory had bought the top, but she’d ask him tonight at dinner. She didn’t want to address any other possibilities until then. For now, she was on vacation and would continue to enjoy it. It didn’t matter that a little rain was falling.
THE MULES CONTINUED down to the bottom of the canyon, crossed the suspension bridge across the Colorado and headed for their corral at the Bright Angel Campground. Sunlight faded quickly in the bottoms, although the mile-deep rock sides usually held the day’s heat long after the sunlight left. The floor of the Grand Canyon remained a desert environment, even with the monsoon rains far above.
Max turned in his saddle every so often to check on Karinne. She’d seemed a little stressed, but she had an open, welcoming manner about her, so much so that he’d revealed future business plans that he hadn’t even discussed with his brother yet. Nor did he feel the need to say, “Please don’t tell Cory I want to make him a partner.” He knew Karinne possessed sense and tact. She hadn’t succeeded in a high-paying, competitive job solely on her father’s coattails.
Her knowledge of the area and obvious delight with it impressed him more than he’d let on. As a canyon regular, he was used to the usual moans and groans of tourists. “It’s too hot, too cold, too wet” were among the complaints canyon workers had to hear. But like other weekends she’d spent here, Karinne hadn’t complained about the men’s and women’s dorms, where sexes were separated, or the lack of modern restrooms, the cloudy weather, the hard saddles, the no-frills lunch or the normal bodily functions of mules on a trail. Other tourists wrinkled their noses and groaned, finding “outdoor reality” a bit overwhelming. Instead, Karinne accepted the behavior of the mules much as she accepted the behavior of people—with a healthy tolerance that spoke of maturity.
She hadn’t had any choice but to grow up after her mother’s death. Mr. C had spent more time at home and, when school was out, brought her along on the job and taught her what he knew. A wildlife-photographer father who traveled frequently must have provided a strange upbringing for an only child. With just her widowed father and elderly grandmother, her experience of family was pretty limited.
Max thought uneasily about the last day he’d seen Margot Cavanaugh—and told her he didn’t know where her daughter was.
Karinne wasn’t the morbid type; she’d accepted her mother’s disappearance as the years passed. Max resisted the urge to turn around and check on her once more. A protective, totally male attitude washed over him, and Max gave in to the impulse and glanced at Karinne. Her head tipped back, she took in the brilliant colors directly above her, most of the canyon walls now looming over them. A satisfied smile curved her lips—and his at the sight. He almost felt as if he was on vacation himself. Max looked forward to her first expedition down into the Grand Canyon with more than his usual enthusiasm. They should’ve made this trip a lot sooner.
The mule train crossed the bridge over the Colorado, the river’s surface catching and reflecting the riot of color rising before them. Upriver, the Glen Canyon Dam had slowed much of the river’s speed; during heavy rainfall when the dam spill gates were opened, the Colorado was never as untamed as in Powell’s days. Max didn’t ride the river for cheap white-water thrills. The beauty of the canyon, the wildlife, the old pueblos and cliff dwellings, thousands of archeological sites and the simple pleasure of silently floating down the calmer side tributaries of the river made a far deeper impression than white water could ever provide.
As the mules finished crossing the bridge and headed toward the waiting corrals, Max took one last glance at Karinne to remind himself how lucky he was….
And how glad that there were no phones, no cell service. He didn’t have to worry about crank calls here.
MAX AND KARINNE MET up with Cory and Anita in the dining area at Phantom Ranch. Thanks to the brothers’ familiarity with the place, the four of them easily secured seats and dinner trays from the buffet.
“How was your chopper ride, Anita?” Karinne immediately asked.
“I loved it! I took some great photos. Nothing like yours, of course.” She grinned, patting the pocket where she kept her camera. “But enough to wow my friends at work when I go back to visit.”
Karinne gave Anita a thumbs-up. “That’s the spirit.”
“Make ’em all jealous,” Cory said between mouthfuls of roasted chicken.
“I love it here,” Anita said.
“You both could stay longer,” Cory offered, surprising them all. “We have the provisions.”
“I can stay as long as I want. I’m ready to look for work here,” Anita said happily as she kissed Cory on the cheek. “I’m free as a bird, except for Karinne and Max’s wedding. Hard to believe it’s only a few months away.”
“I know,” Karinne said, seated next to Max. She leaned her head on his shoulder for a second. “I’m the bride, remember?”
Anita scanned the crowd. “Good thing we got a table.”
“I’ve seen worse.” Max buttered his corn on the cob. “Summer holidays are always horrendous.”
“Especially the Fourth of July weekend,” Cory agreed. “Now that’s a mob.”
“No,” Karinne said. “For terrible crowds, try Super Bowl Sunday. I remember one game when I couldn’t hear out of my headphones, and I had them on full blast. I’ve had it with noise and chaos. That’s why I wanted a small, quiet wedding. As long as everyone we’ve invited shows up, we’ll be happy.”
“I’ll be there,” Anita said.
Soon afterward, their plates cleared, Anita rose to go to her room.
“I’ll walk you there,” Max volunteered.
Cory and Karinne stayed behind to finish their coffee.
“Want dessert?” Cory asked.
“No, thanks. I’m full.”
“Same here. Wanna go?”
“Just a second. I’ve got a quick question,” she said. “Did you send me a Grand Canyon sweatshirt last week?”
“A sweatshirt?”
“In the mail—a hooded pink one.”
“Not me.”
“I wish I knew who did,” Karinne muttered. “It’s been bugging me.”
“Was there a note?” Cory asked.
“Y-yes.”
“And?”
Karinne hesitated, then decided to tell him. She and Cory were close, and Max had unexpectedly left with Anita.
“It was signed ‘Mom.’”
“Dammit!” Cory swore. “That’s not funny, Karinne.”
“No, it isn’t. It all started when I took this photo of someone who looked like my mother.” She went on to explain, Cory’s eyes serious as he listened to her story.
“And you went to the police when the sweatshirt came in the mail?”
“I did after I took the picture.” Karinne shrugged. “Max doesn’t know.”
“You’d better tell him,” Cory said.
“I plan on it. But he’s already upset enough. He’s worried that we won’t be able to spend any more time together when we’re married than we do now.”
“I can believe it,” Cory said. “What do you expect? It takes both me and Max to run the expeditions. I’m in the same boat with Anita when she’s working.”
“Yes, but this was the first time he didn’t act excited about the wedding. He wasn’t…himself. I didn’t want to say anything about Mom to him.”
“Does Anita know about this? The note? The sweatshirt?”
Karinne shook her head. “No. She has enough to worry about, losing her job and all.”
“I don’t think she’s that upset about losing her job anymore. And if she is, I’ll make it up to her,” Cory said with a sexy smirk. “Long-distance marriages are for the birds. I don’t know how military wives or husbands stand it.”
“They don’t have a choice. Like me.”
“You’re wrong. You do have a choice, Karinne. You just refuse to see it.”
Karinne shifted uneasily in her seat and decided not to comment on Cory’s observation. She steered the conversation back to the earlier topic.
“You don’t believe my mother’s alive, do you?” she asked.
“No way.”
“Dad didn’t, either. But I have a feeling—”
“Wishful thinking.”
“We’ve always been straight with each other, Cory. If you were me, what would you do?”
“I wouldn’t take any chances with a deranged stalker,” he said.
“Why would anyone stalk me? I’m no celebrity.”
“Still, you shouldn’t set yourself up as target for some creepy con artist.”
The Reluctant Bride Page 4
