The Reluctant Bride Read Online Free PDF

nature’s most famous colors. Most canyons were dark holes, with scattered green vegetation to break up the browns. Not this one—it was a brilliant rainbow that glistened from top to bottom and side to side.
    Karinne listened as the park ranger went into more safety details; the mules took the same trail day after day, year after year, making them safe for nonriders and children.
    â€œDoes Cory still ride?” Karinne whispered. She and Cory had learned together one summer.
    Max shook his head. “No. The day he got his driver’s license was the day he quit using a saddle.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” Karinne said. “He was always good with animals.”
    As an only child, Karinne had riding lessons, ballet lessons, singing lessons and had participated in scouting. Karinne’s lack of pitch made music lessons difficult, and she’d quit scouting when her best friend, Cory, couldn’t come camping with “the girls.” And although a gracefulchild, she’d found dance boring. However, the riding lessons for her and Cory had been a huge success, even though her present lifestyle—and extensive traveling—prevented her from indulging in a pastime she still enjoyed.
    The head wrangler continued his talk as Max asked, “You’ve never ridden mules, have you?”
    â€œNo, but I guess the principle’s the same, isn’t it?”
    â€œThe gait’s a bit different. And since they’re sterile, they’re more docile.”
    Karinne knew mules were the product of a male donkey and a female horse. Owners claimed mules were more intelligent than either donkeys or horses. Even the ancient Romans and Greeks had bred and valued them for transport, while Old Mexico preferred mules to horses for cavalry soldiers.
    â€œMules can see all four feet. Horses can’t. That’s why the early miners used them,” Max explained.
    â€œI just thought the mules would be…larger. These seem…small.”
    â€œNot that small,” Max contradicted, “but the park mules are deliberately bred from the smaller quarter-horse mares. Anything larger wouldn’t be able to handle the narrowness of the trail,” he said.
    Just then, the second park ranger, a woman, asked, “Anyone here afraid of heights?”
    Karinne and Max ignored the wranglers’ sharp appraisal of the crowd. She’d never been afraid of heights or horses. She doubted she’d be afraid on a mule.
    â€œIf you are, now’s the time to admit it. There’s no shame in being honest, people, and no place for rider panic attacks. There’s only one stopping point on the way down—the Tonto formation,” the male ranger said.
    There was some murmuring in the crowd, but no one spoke up.
    â€œWe’ll be on the trail nonstop around four hours before lunch,” he went on, “and we’ll reach Phantom Ranch a couple hours later.” The ranger tipped back his hat and studied the cloudy sky for a moment. “You need to remember two things.”
    â€œDrink lots of water,” Max mouthed to Karinne.
    â€œOne, keep hydrated. It may seem cool right now, but the deeper we descend, the higher the temperatures. There’s a twenty-degree difference between the rim and the bottom, even in winter. Use your hats, sunglasses, sunblock, and drink often. This is July, our hottest month. In clear weather it can be more than one hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit on the canyon floor.”
    The other mule wrangler, an attractive woman with long braided hair, spoke next. “That creates another problem. Our mules don’t—can’t—stop. There are no bathroom facilities for a long time. In ten minutes we mount up. Last chance for you all to make a pit stop. Remember your mule assignment.”
    â€œIt’s single file for humans and mules,” the other ranger said. “Mules have the right of way over