Mirage of Trust, Chapter Zero

This is not the beginning, but the first whisper of what’s to come.

Chapter Zero

Quinn stood on Riley’s porch, coffee cooling in her hand, the early sun painting streaks of gold across the desert floor. Inside, her best friend moved about with the rhythm of someone who trusted mornings.

Quinn used to move like that too—certain, decisive. These days, she wasn’t so sure.

She’d told Riley everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

The truth was, she didn’t know why she’d rushed back to Robbie. Or maybe she did—but knowing wasn’t the same as trusting it.

As I begin the second book in the Women of the Canyon series, I found myself wondering: should I begin this one with Chapter Zero, as I did in Whispers of Echo Canyon?

I do like doing things my way—and Chapter Zero is certainly unconventional. So yes, I’ve already made my decision.

Let me take you back for a moment. Here’s what I wrote in Chapter Zero of Whispers of Echo Canyon:

“This is not the beginning, but the first whisper of what’s to come. It’s a nod to the quiet beginnings of change—how a story starts before you even realize you are living it. Before the action, there’s always a whisper, soft yet persistent, calling you to pay attention.”

This is Quinn’s story—or at least, a part of it.

You may remember her from Riley’s Garden Oasis, or as Riley’s best friend in Whispers of Echo Canyon. Her role in those stories was small. It’s time to bring Quinn fully into the light.

Quinn’s Journey

Growing up as an Air Force brat, Quinn lived all over—from the dry deserts of Arizona to snowy landscapes in Germany, and from the lush tropics of Hawaii to the four-season beauty of Vermont. Her life was shaped by movement, but also by observation—each place left an imprint.

She spent her early childhood in military housing in southern Arizona. Gardening wasn’t exactly encouraged, but her fascination with plants started young. She begged her parents for a little space to grow something—anything. They compromised with window boxes on the stoop. She planted marigolds from seed, saved up for geraniums, and when the heat grew too much, she carted the planters in her red wagon to the shade of a mesquite tree, carefully managing their water by hand.

Eventually, she landed in New Hampshire for college, studying political science at Dartmouth. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted to do—but she knew what she didn’t want: a military career. Public service seemed like a path where she could make a difference, even if the details were still fuzzy.

Years later, that path led to Homeland Security, where Quinn built a long and respected career. Her specialty? Risk analysis and emergency preparedness. She assessed threats, devised mitigation strategies, and helped communities prepare for and respond to emergencies—from natural disasters to security risks.

Her analytical mind, steady leadership, and calm under pressure earned her a reputation. Colleagues respected her precision. Her early retirement surprised many.

What they didn’t know: gardening had become her quiet sanctuary. Not showy. Not formal. Just hers. The long Vermont winters nudged her indoors, where she tended to plants with the same care she once gave to crisis response—only now, the stakes felt more personal.

Robbie

Quinn met Robbie more than twenty years ago while stationed in Hawaii. From their first conversation, something just clicked—like a door opening neither of them knew existed. Within months, they were living together in Robbie’s elegant Big Island home, barefoot and sun-warmed, dreaming of a future that stretched endlessly ahead.

But five years in, life intervened.

Quinn was offered a critical post in Vermont. She had only a month to relocate. Robbie, at the same time, was being transferred to Japan to oversee a major resort development. Their timelines split like tectonic plates.

They tried to imagine a long-distance relationship, but the reality was too sharp. With aching hearts, they parted.

Years passed. Quinn rose through the ranks. Robbie did too. Their lives diverged—but the memory of that time never fully faded.

When Riley came to Quinn’s retirement party in Vermont, she didn’t expect a bombshell. But that night, Quinn told her: she was going back to Robbie.

The conversation didn’t go well.

Riley questioned the timing. The rush. The reasoning. Quinn shut her down with a look—but inside, the doubts were already starting to whisper.

Later, when she visited Echo Canyon, Quinn said all the right things. Smiled at the views. Admired Riley’s life. But something in her eyes betrayed her. A flicker of unrest. A shadow she didn’t name.

She told no one—not even Riley—what she was beginning to suspect.

And that’s where we begin.

Book Two of the Women of the Canyon series

Mirage of Trust

Chapters released every Friday on Substack