Page 22 of Christmas at Pine Ridge Inn
“What I wouldn’t give to go skiing again,” Sophie said wistfully. “Get out there and ‘shred some powder,’ as you kids say, while you’re still young enough to do it.”
“I could still ski,” Miles said. “I saw a guy in the paper the other day who was still skiing at eighty.”
“Not with your two titanium knees and that hip replacement,” Sophie said, shaking her head.
“That’s precisely why I could do it,” he argued. “Nothing left to break.”
“I’m sure you could find something.” She laughed, looping her arm in his. “Come with me, and I’ll buy you one of those cinnamon rolls.”
Brady came to stand beside Lila as Sophie and Miles continued to tease each other. “Everything okay? You’re quiet this morning.”
“Just excited about the festival,” she said. Anxious was more like it. She planned to spend as much time as possible today with Carol to see what she could uncover.
He furrowed his brows, clearly not buying her explanation. She was relieved when he didn’t push it any further, and then Tom pulled him away to help load some things they were taking down to the festival.
Twenty minutes later, Lila made her way with the rest of the group down Main Street toward the heart of the festival. Thetransformation was remarkable—as if they’d gone to sleep last night in quiet Pine Ridge and awoke this morning at the North Pole. Booths lined both sides of the street, their red and green banners fluttering in the light breeze. The scent of cinnamon and hot apple cider drifted from food vendors, mixing with the crisp mountain air and the ever-present smell of pine.
“It’s magical,” Lila breathed, taking in the scene. Families with small children moved between booths, couples walked hand in hand, and elderly residents sat on benches watching the activity with obvious contentment as they warmed their hands on paper cups filled with steaming refreshments.
“Wait until you see it tonight,” Sarah said as she came up beside Lila. “They light up the whole street for the tree ceremony, and it looks like something from a storybook.”
They walked slowly, stopping to admire displays of handcrafted goods. At a woodworking booth, an elderly man demonstrated carving techniques while his wife arranged ornate jewelry boxes and cutting boards. A few booths down, a woman in her thirties sold homemade soaps and candles with seasonal scents like balsam and gingerbread.
“Sarah! Lila!” Carol’s voice called from across the street. She was standing with Tom beside a booth displaying quilts and other textile crafts—Cynthia’s booth, Lila realized with a start.
They made their way over, weaving through clusters of festivalgoers. Cynthia looked up from arranging a display of baby quilts and smiled warmly when she saw Lila.
“How lovely to see you again,” Cynthia said. “What do you think of our little festival?”
“It’s wonderful,” Lila replied, acutely aware of Carol and Sarah listening to their exchange and hoping Cynthia wouldn’t mention the quilt. “The whole town really comes together for this.”
“It’s been a tradition for over fifty years,” Carol said proudly. “Tom’s grandfather actually started it as a way to bring the community together during the holidays. Back then it was much smaller, just a few families selling crafts and sharing food.”
“How long have you lived here, Carol?” Lila asked, seizing the opportunity. “You seem to know so much about the town’s history.”
“Oh, most of my adult life. I came here in my early twenties and never left.” Carol’s expression grew fond as she looked around at the bustling street. “This place has a way of getting into your heart.”
“Did you grow up in Colorado?”
“Born and raised in Denver, but I needed a change of scenery after high school, so I came out to work at the ski resort over in Breckenridge. Small-town life suited me much better than the city.” Carol fingered a quilt on Cynthia’s display, her touch gentle. “Though I’ll admit, my first few years here were a bit challenging. I was young and made some poor choices in the romance department.”
Cynthia and Carol exchanged a glance Lila couldn’t read, and it occurred to Lila that Cynthia would have known if Carol had given up a child. Had she purposely not given Lila more details? Only told Lila about the delivery to the inn so Lila would question Carol? Had Cynthia warned Carol? Maybe Carol was assessing Lila the same way Lila was assessing her. Would she measure up enough for Carol to tell her the truth?
Lila was spiraling. She fingered her mother’s sapphire ring she wore on her right hand, trying to conjure the quiet sense of calm her mother had always embodied.
She needed to keep this conversation going. It was the only way she was going to get to the truth.
“Poor choices how?” Lila asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
“Oh, you know how it is when you’re young. You fall for the wrong type of guy—the one your parents warn you about.” Carol’s laugh was rueful. “He was charming and exciting, but not exactly the settling-down type. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
Lila’s heart began to race. This sounded exactly like the backstory she’d imagined for her birth mother. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was, at the time. But it led me to Tom eventually, so I can’t regret it completely.” Carol’s expression softened as she looked toward her husband, who was examining a hand-carved nativity set at the next booth. “Sometimes the hardest experiences teach us what we really want.”
Lila wracked her brain for a tactful way to ask Carol something that might lead to the story behind the silver baby rattle hanging on the tree back at the inn. Then she spotted a baby quilt in Cynthia’s display, not unlike hers.
“Isn’t this just precious,” Lila said, leaning over to observe it more closely. She glanced toward Cynthia, worried about the connection to her own quilt, but thankfully Cynthia was busy attending to another customer who’d walked up to the side of the booth.
