Meant-To-Be Marriage. Rebecca Winters

mother passed her the bowl of salad. “After we eat, Lydia wants us to come over for dessert.”

      “Sounds good.” It had been a while since Sydney had seen her aunt and uncle. “How’s Jenny?” Her cousin was about ready to have her first baby. Sydney had bought her a present while she’d been in California.

      “Blossoming.”

      “Have they thought of a name yet?”

      “Joe.” Her father said with a smile.

      Sydney nodded. “Can’t go wrong with a name like that.” Jenny’s husband was named Joe. Obviously she’d gone along with the decision. Whatever Joe wanted was fine with her. They had a good marriage. So did Sydney’s parents.

      On the whole, her mother went along with her dad, but there’d been moments in the past when she’d put her foot down. Very few of them however.

      “Did I tell you our ladies group gave Jenny a new car seat and a stroller at her baby shower?”

      “That’s nice, Mom.”

      “Some of them are still working on a quilt for her.”

      “What a lucky baby.”

      While her parents enjoyed a second cup of coffee, Sydney got up and started clearing the table.

      Her mother brought their empty coffee mugs to the sink. “Someday you’ll be married and have a husband and children of your own, too.”

      Sydney had to tamp down her frustration. After taking several deep breaths, she swung around. “Maybe I won’t, Mom. Don’t count on it.”

      Don’t count on my ever falling in love with anyone else.

      Her father joined them at the sink. “Tell us what happened with that fellow Chip from Idaho. We thought he was the one.”

      “I was never in love with him. That’s why it didn’t work.”

      “All along there’s been someone else, hasn’t there?”

      She couldn’t lie to her parents. “Yes.”

      “Is he still in Cannon?” her mother questioned.

      Sydney’s heart plunged to the floor. Her emotions were in too much chaos after driving there. Anything that involved Father Kendall made her almost physically ill. That’s how she felt right now. Especially not knowing how serious his condition was.

      How many more years had to pass before the mere thought of him held no power over her? What if his illness was fatal?

      Dear God.

      “Honey?”

      Sydney bowed her head. “Can we please change the subject?”

      “You’ll feel better if you talk about it,” her father persisted. “Until you started teaching in Cannon, you were our happy girl.”

      Her mother eyed her with concern. “Since you can’t discuss it with us, I think you ought to call Pastor Gregson and have a chat with him while you’re here.”

      Sydney let out a frustrated cry. “I’m twenty-six, Mom, hardly a little girl anymore. Pastor Gregson is a stranger to me. In any event, he’d be the last person to understand.” Sydney could just imagine their conversation.

      I’m in love with a priest, Pastor Gregson.

      Then you must do everything to put that devil out of your mind, Sydney.

      “Now, Sydney—”

      “You know how I feel about church.” As far as Sydney was concerned, organized religion seemed to cause a lot more pain than it alleviated. But for it, she and Father Kendall—

      No! She’d promised herself she wouldn’t go there.

      Taking another deep breath, she turned to her mother. “I realize church helps you two deal with the crises in your lives. That’s fine. But I have to handle my problems in my own way.”

      “The pastor has a wonderful reputation.” Her father kept it up.

      Once her parents dug in their heels, that was it. The church community was their answer for everything.

      “If I feel the need for help, I’ll arrange to see a psychiatrist.”

      Sydney had just said the wrong thing again. Her parents didn’t believe in psychiatry.

      “Is this man already married?”

      Yes, he’s married. But not in the way you mean.

      “No!” Sydney cried in agony. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll change into something dressier to wear over to Aunt Lydia’s.”

      Before driving into Yellowstone National Park from the North Entrance at Gardiner, Jarod bought a map at a convenience store and ate breakfast in the rental car while he studied it.

      His eye traced the 140-mile Grand Loop that formed a figure eight through the Park. From here he could travel south to Madison, then Old Faithful, West Thumb, Fishing Bridge, Tower Falls, Mammoth and the Norris Geyser area.

      There were roads leading to other portions of the Park, too. His plan was to look around at each major stopping-off point in the hope of spotting Sydney on the job. He preferred not to query anyone about her. They might alert her that someone was asking questions.

      If she was anywhere around, her gilt hair would attract his attention. Whether in her ranger uniform or not, with her long legs and slender curves, she’d be impossible to miss. In the event he had no success, then he’d be forced to make inquiries.

      After living at an elevation of 800 feet in Cannon for the last ten years, Jarod could blame his accelerated heart rate on the six-thousand-foot change which made the air thinner. But he knew his vital organ was getting the greatest portion of its workout for an entirely different reason.

      Exhilarated in a way he hadn’t been in ages because he knew this was Sydney’s world, Jarod couldn’t help but contrast the beautiful subalpine terrain dotted with lodgepole pines and spruce trees to the windswept plains along the Cannonball River.

      The dry heat today might be in the eighties, but it didn’t wilt him. As soon as the fast-moving cumulus clouds covered the sun, he felt an immediate drop in temperature.

      With each curve in the road he noticed places where forest fires had burned patches of vegetation. Remarkably he could see flowers sprouting from those blackened areas, evidence of new life.

      New life.

      His hands tightened on the wheel.

      Like the other tourists, he kept an eye out for bison and moose. The Saturday traffic moved slowly. At this rate it would take all day to make a superficial sweep of the Park in his effort to locate her.

      By the time he’d reached the Upper Geyser Basin, his patience had worn thin. It shouldn’t have surprised him that the Old Faithful area looked like a gigantic parking lot. End-of-summer vacationers had gathered to watch the famous geyser blow.

      According to the brochure he’d been given when he’d paid his entry fee, each eruption lasted a different length of time and went off in intervals from thirty to a hundred and twenty minutes. Judging by the mass of people seated on the benches and standing around, a new eruption was imminent.

      Once he’d found a place to park, he looped his powerful binoculars around his neck and got out of the car. Everyone had their cameras trained on the scene. While serious photographers set up their tripods in the hope of capturing something unusual and spectacular on film, Jarod started walking around with a different target in mind.

      Putting the lens to his eyes, he swept the sea of tourists. So far he’d only picked out a handful of male rangers in uniform, one of whom was speaking to the huge crowd assembled. Convinced Sydney wasn’t on duty here, Jarod walked the short distance to the Old Faithful Visitors Center.