instructions to her parent’s home.
She introduced him, but Karl and Monica were so intent on their daughter they barely glanced at him. He stayed long enough to see her settled, then excused himself. As he closed the door, his last sight was of June, eyes shut, head on her father’s shoulder, her mother rubbing her back.
****
The sun was shining with unseasonable heat as Alex and June stepped out of his Jeep in the otherwise empty parking lot at the head of the trail to Fort George Canyon.
Their hiking trip had been delayed by a day, but June refused to let him cancel it all together. She was also refusing to make other concessions. Her parents had wanted her to stay with them, yet she had returned to her own home the next morning. She’d even gone into the RiverForce office for a couple of hours. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or proud at her stubbornness.
During the drive out, she updated him on the investigation. The police believed the shooter had fired from a small, disused gravel pit overlooking the stretch of road where she had pulled to a stop. A person belly-down on the bank would have had a good view. An examination of the tire revealed a tear, but the tread was so old and worn it was possible it had simply ripped open under stress. Coupled with the motorcycle assault, however, the investigators were decidedly skeptical when June insisted she had no idea who might be making her a target.
“Anyway, enough of that.” She pulled her small day pack from the rear seat, and he slung his own over his shoulder. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves.” She threaded her long ponytail through the back of a bright yellow ball cap. A large bumblebee decorated the crown.
Alex eyed it warily. “Nice hat.”
“My nephew gave it to me,” she said, slightly defensive. “His name is Brian, and I call him Bee. He’s three.”
“Ah. That explains it.” He snapped the brim down over those sparkling eyes, and set off on the five kilometre hike to the canyon.
Alex let June set the pace, following behind her on the well-trod path. A comfortable silence descended. The sun dappled through the fresh new poplar and birch leaves, and squirrels chittered constantly. They crossed tiny rivulets and ducked under shadowy spruce. Alex inhaled the scent of rising sap and the dampness of spring thaw lingering in the shadows.
He swung over a winter deadfall blocking the path. June was waiting for him, and he took her hand. They strolled along, linked together, until the trail narrowed and they had to go single file again.
It took about an hour to reach the plateau above the canyon. This section of the Fraser River was a traditional place for First Nations people to fish for salmon. European explorers soon learned the canyon was a treacherous place, with rushing currents, foaming whirlpools and rocky dangers lurking below the surface of the silty brown water. In the early 1900’s, when stern wheelers were still in regular use, passengers would have to disembark and portage around, while the boat itself was winched through the narrow rapids.
They paused at the top of the long drop down. A stout wooden staircase clung to the side of the cliff wall, leading to the worn pinnacles of volcanic rock jutting out of the river. The flow was relatively high, with spring runoff swelling its volume.
“It’s quite the sight, isn’t it.” Alex deliberately shifted closer, letting his shoulder skim hers, feeling the flushed dampness of her skin. “Wild. Amazing that anybody ever managed to get a boat through it...talk about determination.”
“It’s fantastic,” she agreed, surveying the chaos below. “I haven’t been here for ages. I’m glad we came.”
She shot him a sideways look and a jolt of desire sizzled through him. “Always happy to oblige.” He gestured to the stairs. “Ready for the last haul?”
She wiped sweat off her forehead before heading down the treads ahead of him. “I can’t believe it’s this hot
She introduced him, but Karl and Monica were so intent on their daughter they barely glanced at him. He stayed long enough to see her settled, then excused himself. As he closed the door, his last sight was of June, eyes shut, head on her father’s shoulder, her mother rubbing her back.
****
The sun was shining with unseasonable heat as Alex and June stepped out of his Jeep in the otherwise empty parking lot at the head of the trail to Fort George Canyon.
Their hiking trip had been delayed by a day, but June refused to let him cancel it all together. She was also refusing to make other concessions. Her parents had wanted her to stay with them, yet she had returned to her own home the next morning. She’d even gone into the RiverForce office for a couple of hours. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or proud at her stubbornness.
During the drive out, she updated him on the investigation. The police believed the shooter had fired from a small, disused gravel pit overlooking the stretch of road where she had pulled to a stop. A person belly-down on the bank would have had a good view. An examination of the tire revealed a tear, but the tread was so old and worn it was possible it had simply ripped open under stress. Coupled with the motorcycle assault, however, the investigators were decidedly skeptical when June insisted she had no idea who might be making her a target.
“Anyway, enough of that.” She pulled her small day pack from the rear seat, and he slung his own over his shoulder. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves.” She threaded her long ponytail through the back of a bright yellow ball cap. A large bumblebee decorated the crown.
Alex eyed it warily. “Nice hat.”
“My nephew gave it to me,” she said, slightly defensive. “His name is Brian, and I call him Bee. He’s three.”
“Ah. That explains it.” He snapped the brim down over those sparkling eyes, and set off on the five kilometre hike to the canyon.
Alex let June set the pace, following behind her on the well-trod path. A comfortable silence descended. The sun dappled through the fresh new poplar and birch leaves, and squirrels chittered constantly. They crossed tiny rivulets and ducked under shadowy spruce. Alex inhaled the scent of rising sap and the dampness of spring thaw lingering in the shadows.
He swung over a winter deadfall blocking the path. June was waiting for him, and he took her hand. They strolled along, linked together, until the trail narrowed and they had to go single file again.
It took about an hour to reach the plateau above the canyon. This section of the Fraser River was a traditional place for First Nations people to fish for salmon. European explorers soon learned the canyon was a treacherous place, with rushing currents, foaming whirlpools and rocky dangers lurking below the surface of the silty brown water. In the early 1900’s, when stern wheelers were still in regular use, passengers would have to disembark and portage around, while the boat itself was winched through the narrow rapids.
They paused at the top of the long drop down. A stout wooden staircase clung to the side of the cliff wall, leading to the worn pinnacles of volcanic rock jutting out of the river. The flow was relatively high, with spring runoff swelling its volume.
“It’s quite the sight, isn’t it.” Alex deliberately shifted closer, letting his shoulder skim hers, feeling the flushed dampness of her skin. “Wild. Amazing that anybody ever managed to get a boat through it...talk about determination.”
“It’s fantastic,” she agreed, surveying the chaos below. “I haven’t been here for ages. I’m glad we came.”
She shot him a sideways look and a jolt of desire sizzled through him. “Always happy to oblige.” He gestured to the stairs. “Ready for the last haul?”
She wiped sweat off her forehead before heading down the treads ahead of him. “I can’t believe it’s this hot
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