Quinn watched Helen closely. The woman looked drained, her complexion now a pasty white, the circles under her eyes darker.

Carmen went to her and knelt, searching her face as she took her hand. “How do you feel?” she asked her.

“Relieved,” Helen said. “But also afraid. Very afraid.”

“You rest now,” Carmen said. “This is almost over. It’s my turn.”

Helen nodded, then laid her head against the back of the rocker. She didn’t move, seeming too exhausted to even find comfort in rocking back and forth.

Carmen returned to the couch and removed a colorful crocheted coverlet from the back, then took it over and spread it across Helen’s lap.

When she took her seat again, she leaned forward. “I’m the same age as Jules, but my life was as far from her kind of lifestyle as one could be. Jules was born into money, and her family had it scattered in many investments in every direction, while the Crowes’ net worth was and remains tied to the land. We owned a small ranch in Hana, and we paid our bills by raising cattle. We also had horses, goats, and all the things a child loves to grow up around. To me it was the best place on earth.”

So she was just a country girl at heart. That explained the boots, pickup truck, and her scuffed-up jeans, as well as the rough way she carried herself. Quinn couldn’t even imagine her in a dress or wearing a ring the size of the rock that Helen wore.

“When I was about seven or eight, I was given a horse. From the moment we saw each other, we had a bond that transcended explanation. His name was Wiley, and I woke each and every morning hours before school would begin so that I could start the day with him. My other love was for the land our family owned. Wiley and I rode every trail around our ranch and the mountain several times a week, imprinting our presence into the soil. He loved it there as much as I did, this I instinctively knew. Once, Wiley caught some sort of virus that was rare but deadly among the herd. I slept with him every night until he finally recovered. My parents said he should’ve died, but he couldn’t find the will to leave me, so he carried on further than what most animals could’ve done.”

She paused, lost in thought for a moment.

“When I was eleven, our barn was set on fire. It burned for hours before we even woke and sounded the alarm. Wiley died before we could get him out. He would’ve lived another twenty years if it weren’t for the hatred of a reckless human. I knew I had let him down when he needed me the most, and I slipped into a terrible depression that took far too long to overcome.”