Page 16 of Christmas at Pine Ridge Inn
Lila walked around the tree, studying it from all angles. It was beautiful, but more than that, it felt right. Standing there in the clearing with a few snowflakes beginning to fall softly around them and the group gathered in anticipation, she finally understood what Brady had been trying to tell her. It was about the journey, not the destination, as the old saying went.
“I think it’s perfect,” she said, and meant it.
“Excellent,” said Brady, pulling the saw from his pack.
Lila found herself watching the strong line of Brady’s jaw as he concentrated on each motion. When a piece of dark hairslipped from beneath his hat to brush his forehead, she had the unexpected urge to reach out and push it back. She wasn’t interested in any kind of holiday fling, but it didn’t hurt to just look.
When the tree finally fell with a soft whoosh into the snow, the group cheered.
“Now comes the fun part,” Brady said, producing a length of rope. “Getting it back to the inn.”
They worked as a team to secure the tree for transport, with different people taking turns carrying the trunk end while others guided the branches. Lila found herself walking beside Brady again, both of them holding the rope that kept the tree stable.
“This was great,” she said as they made their way back through the woods. “You were right about the search being half the fun.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised that my way turned out to be the best way.” He gave her a teasing smile. “You might give hotels advice for a living, but I run one for a living.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “Touché.”
As they emerged from the woods with their prize, Lila felt something she hadn’t experienced in months: a sense of belonging somewhere. The tree selection had been about more than finding decoration for the inn’s lobby. It had been about connecting with others and creating a small moment of magic together.
Back at the inn, they maneuvered the tree through the front door and into the lobby, where it would wait until the evening’s decorating party. The group dispersed to warm up and change clothes, their cheeks red from the cold and their spirits high from the morning’s success.
Lila was heading upstairs when Carol called her name from the front desk.
“You have a message, dear,” Carol said as she hung up the phone. “Cynthia from the yarn shop called about twenty minutesago. She asked if you could stop by this afternoon when you have a chance.”
Lila’s heart began to race. After the peaceful morning in the woods, she’d almost forgotten about the real reason she’d come to Pine Ridge. But now, Cynthia’s message had all her anxiety rushing back.
She thought she’d wanted Cynthia to find something, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her birth mother had never unsealed the records. So why was Lila trying to find someone who clearly didn’t want to be found? Suddenly, she didn’t feel ready for what might come next.
Seven
Lila stood at her bedroom window, watching snowflakes drift past the glass as she wrestled with her decision. Cynthia’s simple request for Lila to come by the store felt loaded with possibility. After the morning tree hunt, when she’d felt genuinely happy for the first time in months, the weight of her real purpose in Pine Ridge pressed on her chest like a stone.
What if the yarn shop owner had found nothing? What if she’d found something Lila wasn’t ready to hear?
Finally, she grabbed her coat. Lila had come to Pine Ridge for answers, and hiding in her room wouldn’t get her any closer to them.
The walk to Emily’s Yarn & Quilts took only a few minutes, and part of her wished it had taken longer so she had more time to weigh the possibilities. Through the shop’s front window, she could see Cynthia arranging a display of yarn. When the bell chimed above the door, Cynthia looked up with a warm smile.
“Lila! I’m so glad you came by.” Cynthia set down the skein of red wool she’d been holding and moved toward the counter. “I found something in my mother’s journals.”
Lila’s heart began to race. “You did?”
“It wasn’t much, but it was something.” Cynthia pulled a worn leather journal from beneath the counter, its pages yellowed with age. “My mother was very methodical about recording her commissioned pieces.”
She opened the journal to a page marked with a ribbon bookmark, her finger tracing down entries written in faded blue ink. “Here it is. ‘December 15th, 1991. Baby quilt, red, green, and white squares with patterned accents. Rush order, completed December 24th. Delivered to Pine Ridge Inn.’”
The words hit Lila like a physical blow. “Pine Ridge Inn? You mean where I’m staying?”
“That’s what it says.” Cynthia’s expression was gentle but curious. “I have to admit, I was surprised. Most of my mother’s baby quilts were picked up by the customers themselves or occasionally delivered to homes. But this one went to the inn.”
Lila stared at the journal entry, her mind racing. Did that mean her birth mother didn’t live in Pine Ridge and was only passing through when she’d gone into labor?
“There’s no name or other information?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not. My mother didn’t include those details on this one, just what was made and where it went.” Cynthia studied Lila’s face with concern. “Are you all right, dear? You look a bit pale.”
