Free The Reluctant Bride by Anne Marie Duquette Page B

her, which would’ve been no help at all. The look on his face…” Cory shuddered. “Anyway, don’t let this scare you out of the raft. Max and I know what we’re doing. We don’t risk the really nasty rapids.”
    â€œThat wasn’t the worst?” Anita asked in a shaky voice.
    â€œNot the deluxe thrill package. And you wanted to be a river guide,” Cory teased.
    â€œMaybe I’ll find an accountant’s job topside,” Anita said.
    â€œEither way, we can relax for the rest of the day,” Cory assured her. “Let everyone catch their breath.”
    â€œShouldn’t we go check on Karinne?”
    â€œWait for the coffee to heat first.”
    Anita watched Cory finish with the wood. “Where are we, anyway?”
    â€œMile 32—well, 31.9, to be exact. George Vasey’s Paradise.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œCome on, mop your face, and ask me who he was,” Cory coaxed.
    Anita wiped her cheeks with the bandanna. “Who was Vasey?”
    â€œA botanist. He and Powell were together for the 1868 expedition to the Colorado River. Nice place, isn’t it? Karinne could’ve picked a worse spot to fall out,” Cory said.
    The maidenhair fern blended with the flowers in a fantastic array no florist could ever duplicate. Moss gently hugged the springs, creating emerald surfaces on rock and below the waterline.
    â€œThe snails must love it here,” Cory said. “They’re supposedly descendants from the Late Pleistocene species. Still got your camera?”
    Anita pulled out her digital camera, took it out of the zippered plastic bag and snapped a few photos.
    After a moment Cory said, “I should finish the fire and get the coffee going. You wanna stay here?”
    â€œNo, I’ll help.”
    Cory extended his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Back to the real world, then.”
    The four of them reunited at the campsite.
    â€œWhy don’t we set up the tents and you ladies start dinner?” Max suggested, his voice cold. Cory gave his brother a questioning look, but Max didn’t respond.
    â€œKarinne, you up to it?” Anita asked.
    â€œOf course.” Karinne’s voice shook slightly. “I just took a dunking. I didn’t get hurt.”
    The women unpacked the cooking gear, then set up water to boil for pasta—a light-to-carry food stock.
    â€œWant to hear a ghost story before dinner?” she asked Anita quietly. “I’ve got one.”
    â€œYou don’t want to wait for the guys?”
    â€œTrust me— this story they’ve already heard.”
    Karinne soon related her tale, as Anita marveled at the turn of events. She didn’t mention the part about Max wanting to end their relationship. He couldn’t be serious. Perhaps it was just the stress of the moment.
    â€œHow can you stand it? Either your mother’s alive or some creep is stalking you. No wonder you fell out of the raft. I’d be a wreck.”
    â€œI am,” Karinne admitted. “I don’t need to wait for dark to feel nervous.”
    â€œAnd I thought you had a rough day falling out of the boat,” Anita exclaimed, stirring in uncooked spaghetti.
    â€œNow I’ll have to find a new roommate. Once you move out here…life won’t be the same,” Karinne said sadly.
    â€œWe’ll see each other.”
    â€œNot often enough. You’ll be with Cory, and I’ll be stuck with some new roommate who leaves dishes in the sink and pays her rent late. Are you serious about joining Max and Cory?” Karinne asked.
    Anita shrugged. “I don’t know enough to be a guide, but I’m tired of not being with my husband. Why are things so complicated?”
    Â 
    L ATER, IN THE TENT with Max, Anita’s words echoed in her head. Instead of the double sleeping bag with Max, they each lay alone in their single bags. Karinne broke the silence first.
    â€œAnita