Amelia
Chapter Fifteen
Amelia
M orning sunlight streamed through Pine Haven’s historic windows, casting diamond patterns across the marketing materials spread over my desk. The warmth hadn’t yet chased away the mountain chill, and steam rose from my untouched coffee as I studied the press coverage from yesterday’s conference. Our truth had resonated more than Wheeler’s lies—but my eyes kept drifting to Hunter, who stood at the window. His reflection in the antique glass showed the weight of yesterday’s revelation about his mother, tension visible in every line of his body.
I wanted to go to him, but sometimes love means giving space. Instead, I focused on the campaign boards Claire and I had created, each showing Pine Haven’s evolution: sepia photos of the original lodge, candid shots of families making memories through the decades, and architectural drawings of our planned renovations. Beneath each image lay a story of resilience and renewal.
A fresh coffee cup appeared at my elbow, Hunter’s familiar scent—pine and spice and something uniquely him—wrapping around me as he leaned close.
“You haven’t stopped working since dawn,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. A hint of exhaustion in his voice betrayed his sleepless night.
“Neither have you,” I pointed out, but accepted the coffee, letting my fingers brush his. The simple contact sent warmth through me that had nothing to do with the hot drink.
His hand settled on my shoulder, thumb tracing small circles that sent shivers down my spine. “What’s all this?”
“Our new story.” I gestured to the boards, each carefully chosen to show Pine Haven’s heart. “Not just about scandal and survival, but about legacy. Family. Future.”
The weight of those words hung between us. Family. Future. Everything that had been complicated by yesterday’s revelations. A photo of Hunter’s father at the original lodge opening caught the light. His smile mirrored his son’s so perfectly that it sent a pang through me.
Hunter’s hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. Then he did something that made my heart stop—he pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, lingering there like he was drawing strength from the contact. The scent of his coffee mingled with the mountain air drifting through the slightly open window.
“Show me,” he whispered against my hair.
I spread the campaign images, watching his face as he took in each carefully curated moment: the Wilsons’ fortieth-anniversary celebration, Rosie Blair teaching her first ski class, Marie’s grandmother’s ribbon-cutting for the original bakery. The final board showed Pine Haven at sunset, golden light catching the newly restored windows, with the tagline “Where Traditions Begin.”
“It’s perfect,” Hunter whispered. His arms slipped around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. The solid warmth of him steadied me. “Just like you.”
“I’m far from perfect.” I turned in his embrace, needing to see his face. The morning light caught the gold flecks in his eyes, though shadows of worry still lingered. “Hunter, about your mother...”
“Shh.” He pressed his forehead to mine, and I felt a slight tremor in his hands. “Right now, I just need...”
“What?”
“You.”
The simple word held volumes. I raised my hand to his cheek, feeling the slight stubble there. His eyes closed at my touch, the tension easing from his shoulders like snow melting in sunlight.
Claire’s arrival made us step apart, though Hunter’s hand found mine, maintaining contact. The familiar click of her heels on hardwood echoed in the morning quiet.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she smiled knowingly, tablet tucked under her arm, “but you need to see these responses to the campaign preview.”
She showed us messages from local businesses, each wanting to be part of Pine Haven’s rebirth. The Parkers sharing how three generations had learned to ski here. Marie’s story about her grandmother teaching her to bake in the resort kitchen. The local photographer who’d captured thousands of family moments over decades.
“This is more than marketing,” Hunter realized, studying a photo of his father teaching a children’s ski class. “It’s...”
“Healing,” I finished, watching him trace his father’s smile. “For all of us.”
He pulled me closer, dropping a kiss on my temple. The casual intimacy of it made my heart flutter, even as his hand trembled slightly against my back.
We worked through the morning, professional planning interspersed with moments that took my breath away—Hunter’s steady presence as we reviewed layouts, his proud smile when I presented ideas to the staff, the way he somehow anticipated when I needed coffee or encouragement, or just his quiet strength.
“You two are ridiculous,” Claire announced after catching another lingering look between us. Her voice held the fondness of someone who’d watched our story unfold from the beginning. “I’m going to lunch. Try to get some actual work done while I’m gone.”
Alone again, Hunter pulled me away from the desk where morning light had warmed the wood to honey-gold. “Dance with me?”
“There’s no music.”
He pulled out his phone, and soft notes filled the office—the same song that played the first night we’d worked late together. Taking my hand, he drew me into a slow sway.
“I love watching you work,” he said, one hand warm against my back. “How your mind never stops, how you turn problems into opportunities.”
“Even when the problems involve your long-lost mother?”
He stilled for a moment, his heart beating strong against my cheek, then resumed our dance. “Especially then. You make me believe everything will be okay.”
I laid my head on his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. “It will be. We’ll find her, Hunter.”
“I know.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “Because I have you.”
A commotion in the lobby broke our moment—a baby’s happy gurgle echoing off pine walls, a woman’s laugh I’d know anywhere and sound of rolling luggage on hardwood, familiar footsteps.
Hunter’s face lit up, hope replacing shadows. “Is that...?”
We hurried to the lobby where Taylor stood with baby Chad in her arms, his tiny hands reaching for the dancing light through the stained glass windows. Van beside her carried enough baby gear for a small army, looking exactly like a devoted father should.
“Surprise!” Taylor beamed, though her eyes were already filling with tears.
The sight of my best friend, Hunter’s sister, made my own eyes sting. But it was the look on Hunter’s face—joy warring with vulnerability, love, and loss all tangled together—that broke my heart.
“Taylor...” His voice cracked as she rushed to hug him, somehow including me in the embrace. Baby Chad cooed between us, his small warmth a reminder of life continuing.
“We came as soon as we saw the news,” she said, pulling back to study her brother’s face. The family resemblance was striking in the morning light. “About Mom...”
Van stepped forward, clapping Hunter on the shoulder while giving me a warm smile. “We thought you could use family right now.”
Family. The word echoed in my heart as Hunter pulled me closer, his arm steady around my waist. Baby Chad reached for his uncle with tiny hands, and Taylor’s eyes filled with fresh tears as Hunter gently took him.
“Actually,” Taylor said quietly, watching her brother cradle her son, “there’s something else. The evidence Mom gathered about Crystal Ridge—she made sure some of it would be safe with trusted friends. People who could testify when the time was right.”
Hunter’s hand found mine, squeezing tight as hope and fear warred in his eyes. Baby Chad snuggled against his chest, completely trusting.
***
The afternoon sun warmed Pine Haven’s conference room as Taylor settled in to share what she knew. Van cradled their now-dozing son while Hunter paced, his nervous energy drawing me like a magnet. Without thinking, I moved to his side, my fingers lightly brushing his arm. He stilled at my touch like a stormy sea finding its shore.
“Mom made connections with people she trusted,” Taylor said, twisting her wedding ring—a gesture so like her brother’s nervous habits. “Store owners, local environmentalists, people who kept records. She’d visit them during our shopping trips, sharing copies of evidence, making sure everything was documented.”
Hunter stilled beside me, tension thrumming through him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“She made me promise.” Taylor’s eyes filled with tears, the same green-gold as Hunter’s sometimes. “Said someday you might need to know, but only when it was safe. After yesterday’s press conference...”
“It’s safe now,” Van finished, gently rocking Chad. His protective stance over his family spoke volumes.
The tenderness in his movement caught my eye—here was a man who adored his family, who’d built his world around them. The same way Hunter looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching like I was the answer to questions he’d never known to ask.
As if reading my thoughts, Hunter’s thumb traced circles on my palm, the small gesture grounding us both. Afternoon light caught his mother’s photo on the wall behind him, her smile holding secrets we were only beginning to understand.
“All these people Mom trusted,” Taylor continued. “They’ve kept evidence about Crystal Ridge, about everyone involved. Records and testimonies that could expose everything.”
“And they’re still protecting it?” Hunter’s voice was rough.
“Protecting it for us.” Taylor stood, moving to her brother. “Mom knew someday we’d need to face Crystal Ridge. She made sure we’d have help when that day came.”
“But all this time... all these people knew?”
“Not about the whole picture. Each person only knew their small part—Mom was clever that way. She protected them too.”
Hunter swayed slightly. I stepped closer, letting him lean on me, offering silent support.
“Where is she?” he whispered.
Before Taylor could answer, Claire burst in. “Sorry to interrupt, but the local news crew is here for the marketing campaign launch. They’re setting up in the lobby.”
Reality crashed back. We had a resort to run, a future to protect.
“Go,” Taylor said firmly. “Do the interview. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Hunter hesitated. I touched his cheek, turning him to face me. “Hey. One thing at a time, remember?”
The love in his eyes made my heart skip. He covered my hand with his, turning to press a kiss to my palm. “What would I do without you?”
“Let’s never find out,” I whispered.
Van cleared his throat, grinning. “You two are worse than Taylor and me in the beginning.”
“Are not,” Taylor protested, but she was smiling as she took Chad back from him.
The baby’s soft snuffle broke the tension. Hunter straightened, but his hand stayed linked with mine.
“The campaign,” he nodded. “You ready?”
“Together?” I asked.
His response was a big smile.
The interview went perfectly—our message of tradition meeting the future resonated just as we’d hoped. Between questions, Hunter’s proud smile warmed me when I spoke about the community, his hand at the small of my back steadying me, our eyes meeting in silent conversations that spoke volumes.
As the crew packed up their equipment, the cables snaking across our restored hardwood floors, Taylor appeared with coffee for everyone. Steam rose in the afternoon light, carrying the scent of Marie’s special mountain blend.
“That was amazing,” she said, hugging me tight. Chad’s baby powder scent clung to her clothes. “You two are incredible together.”
“They are,” Claire agreed, joining us with her tablet tucked under her arm. “Even if their googly eyes make working impossible sometimes.”
“We do not make googly eyes,” I protested, as Hunter wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my head, his warmth seeping through my jacket.
“We absolutely do,” he murmured, making me laugh.
The moment of joy shattered as Wheeler appeared in the lobby, his expensive shoes clicking against the floor like ice cracking. His face was thunderous, but something else lurked in his expression—desperation.
“How touching,” he sneered, his voice echoing off the pine walls. “The whole family together. Makes what comes next even better.”
“Get out,” Hunter’s voice turned to steel as he moved protectively in front of me, though his hand trembled slightly where it gripped mine.
“Oh, I’m going.” Wheeler’s smile reminded me of a snake about to strike. “But first—Taylor, isn’t it? Your mother says hello.”
The coffee cup slipped from Taylor’s hands, shattering on the floor. The sound seemed to freeze time as Wheeler tossed a phone onto the reception desk. The scent of spilled coffee mixed with tension in the air.
“Go ahead,” he sneered. “Answer it.”
The phone’s ringtone echoed through the lobby, each chime making Taylor flinch. Van moved to her side, taking Chad while Hunter stood frozen, his face pale beneath his tan. Coffee spread across the floor in a dark pool, reflecting the afternoon light.
“It’s not her,” I said firmly, squeezing his hand. The familiar weight of Mom’s bracelet pressed between our palms. “They’re trying to manipulate us.”
“Only one way to find out,” Wheeler smirked, though sweat beaded at his temples.
I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, but years of hospitality training kept my voice steady. “Agent Blake? Now would be good.”
Wheeler’s smile faltered as FBI agents emerged from the restaurant and gift shop, their movements precise and practiced. The click of their shoes against hardwood measured each step as they surrounded him.
“James Wheeler,” Agent Blake approached, badge catching the light. “We need to discuss some interesting banking transactions.”
“This is harassment,” he blustered, color rising in his face. “I have proof that—”
The phone kept ringing, its tone cutting through his protests like a knife.
“Take the call,” Agent Blake nodded to Hunter. “On speaker.”
Hunter moved to the desk, his hand finding mine again as he pressed the speaker button. His pulse raced against my fingers. “Hello?”
“Hunter?” A woman’s voice, trembling with emotion. “Baby, is that you?”
I felt him tense and saw the play of hope and doubt across his face. But something in the voice struck a wrong note, like an instrument slightly out of tune.
Taylor stepped forward, tears tracking down her cheeks. “That’s not Mom’s voice. Close, but... Mom had a slight lisp. Remember? From where she bit her tongue in that skiing accident?”
The line went dead, leaving only the sound of Wheeler’s ragged breathing.
Wheeler’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple as Agent Blake nodded to her team. Mountain sunlight caught their badges as they moved forward. “Mr. Wheeler, let’s continue this discussion downtown.”
As they led him away, Hunter sagged slightly. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his heart race against my chest. The scent of spilled coffee still hung in the air, mingling with the pine-scented breeze from the open door.
“I really thought...” he whispered against my hair, vulnerability raw in his voice.
“I know.” I held him tighter, feeling Taylor move close to join our embrace. “But we’re closer. They wouldn’t try this if we weren’t getting close.”
“She’s right,” Van said softly, bouncing a fussy Chad, whose small sounds echoed in the tense quiet. “They’re getting desperate.”
Taylor wiped her eyes, straightening her shoulders in that way she shared with her brother. “We need to find Mom.”
“Not yet,” Claire interrupted, her tablet casting a blue glow on her concerned face. “Look at this.”
She showed us Wheeler’s phone records—the call had come from a local number. The evidence of their deception laid bare in simple data.
“Someone nearby was playing Mrs. Miller,” Agent Blake said, returning from dealing with Wheeler. Her boots left faint marks on the spilled coffee. “Someone who knows her well enough to almost sound like her.”
A terrible suspicion formed in my mind, clicking into place like puzzle pieces. “Hunter... didn’t you say Wheeler’s wife used to be a voice actor?”
His eyes widened, hope replaced by understanding. “Before she married him. She did radio commercials...”
“And she’s been at every town event,” I continued, remembering her constant presence. “Hearing your mother mentioned, studying old recordings...”
“Getting ready to play her part,” Taylor finished, unconsciously holding Chad closer.
Agent Blake was already moving. “I’ll get a team to their house.”
But Hunter was looking at something behind me, his face draining of color. I turned to see what had caught his attention, the afternoon light suddenly seeming brighter.
Through the lobby windows, an elegant older woman stood watching us. Her hair was silver in the sunlight, but her eyes—Hunter’s eyes—were unmistakable. She raised one finger to her lips in a gesture so familiar it made my heart ache, then slipped a cream-colored envelope into the mailbox before disappearing around the corner like morning mist.
“Mom,” Hunter breathed, the word carrying years of loss and love.
By the time we reached the mailbox, the mountain breeze had erased any trace of her perfume, but the letter remained. The envelope was heavy cream stationery—the same kind Hunter’s father had always used for important correspondence. His hands trembled as he opened it:
“My darlings,
Not time for a reunion yet. Soon, but not yet. Mrs. Wheeler knows too much. Let the FBI do its job first.
Hunter, Taylor—I’ve missed you every day. But I’m so proud of who you’ve become.
Soon.
All my love,
Mom”
I held Hunter as he read the letter again and again, his fingers tracing each word as if touching them could bring her closer. Taylor cried softly beside us while Van rocked their sleeping son. Chad’s peaceful breathing was a counterpoint to the emotional tension.
Claire appeared in the doorway, her heels silent on the thick runner. “Guys? It’s breaking news that Mrs. Wheeler has just turned herself in. I think she’s ready to talk.”
Hope bloomed in Hunter’s eyes as he looked down at me, turning them the color of pine needles in sunlight. “Together?”
“Together,” I agreed, feeling the weight of his mother’s letter in my hand, the strength of Taylor beside us, the promise of tomorrow in every breath.
The afternoon light illuminated Pine Haven’s lobby in shades of gold, catching the diamond patterns in the stained glass windows his father had designed so long ago. Outside, snow began to fall softly, each flake a promise that even the deepest winters eventually yield to spring.