The Reluctant Bride by Anne Marie Duquette Page B

with supplies, bobbed on the surface of the Colorado. These calmer waters were noisily pitted by rain that made conversation harder, but not impossible. Sound was amplified by the sides of Marble Canyon, a pseudo-marble section of the Grand Canyon with smooth, polished walls of rock.
    Max rode in the back, using the engine tiller but no power to navigate, while Karinne and Anita sat on the sides and simply watched, letting the current take the raft downstream. Dangerous rapids were nonexistent in this part of the canyon. Cory sat in the bow, looking out for boulders. She and Anita also practiced with the paddles in this slower area. So far, the women had done well as paddlers, despite the poor visibility. The raft carried four oars.
    â€œThis is such a beautiful place,” Karinne said. “If only there wasn’t so much traffic.” Far ahead of them other craft floated, while behind them a large pontoon boat with more than a dozen tourists carefully negotiated the bends.
    The canyon walls loomed upward, their colors distorted by the rain, the color bands merging up toward the rims with a shimmering fluidity. It never presented the same vista twice, yet each different panorama provided a magnificent, raw beauty as timeless as the waters that ran beneath their raft.
    â€œThe canyon has as many moods as days of the year,” Max remarked. “You should’ve brought your cameras.”
    â€œI don’t think my cameras could do justice to this,” Karinne said. “They couldn’t capture it, not even with a wide-angle lens.” She gestured to the towering splendor, her head craned back as she gazed up at the riot of colors. “And certainly not in one trip.”
    â€œOr in one season,” Max added. “Which is why we get a lot of repeat business. People who come once can’t wait to see it again.”
    â€œIt has a wild uniqueness all its own,” Karinne agreed. “I can see why you never tire of it.”
    â€œMax can really wax poetic,” Cory said, “but he’s right. And here comes more rain…”
    â€œI hate monsoon season.” Anita huddled into the yellow rain slicker.
    Karinne, on the other hand, had thrown back her head, pulled her rain-spotted sunglasses off and continued to take in the beauty on either side of the river. She caught Max’s eye, and smiled.
    By midmorning the rain had stopped, and conversation became easier. The party of four had traveled through limestone and sandstone walls.
    â€œBreak time—Mile 4.5,” Max announced.
    â€œHow can you tell?” Karinne asked. She’d seen only a few mile markers.
    Max pointed upward. “The Navajo bridges—old and new.”
    Above them spanned the old 1929 Navajo bridge and, at its side, the new bridge, connecting North Rim to South Rim.
    â€œAnd here I thought you had some clever trick up your sleeve,” Karinne said, grinning as Max and Cory pulled the raft ashore.
    â€œWho’s ready for coffee?” Cory asked, helping the women out as Max unloaded a portable gas burner.
    â€œCan we do a real fire?” Anita shivered. Her clothes, especially her jeans, were wet below the slicker.
    â€œMy sneakers are sloshing,” Karinne seconded.
    â€œWe won’t have a fire until tonight. We have to prestack fuel for fires,” Max said. “Change clothes if you want. Hopefully the sun will be out soon.”
    â€œI’m glad this isn’t a photo session,” Karinne said happily. “I can just enjoy it.” She let Max pull her close and hugged him back. They kissed gently, mindful of the others.
    He brushed the hair from her forehead. “Where are we?” she murmured.
    â€œStill in Marble Canyon,” Max said.
    â€œFeels good to stand.” The riverbed pebbles crunched under their wet shoes as they stretched their legs.
    â€œLet’s see if you feel the same later on. We have rapids coming up.”
    â€œSo