Chapter 13
Thirteen
When Lila and Brady returned from the barn, the inn was quieter than she’d expected. The lobby glowed softly from the dying embers in the fireplace, but there was no sign of the other guests.
“Where is everyone?” Lila asked, unwinding her scarf.
“I guess everyone turned in already,” Brady said, hanging up his coat. “After all, Santa can’t come until we’re all in bed.” He winked at her.
Carol appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She’d changed from her dinner dress into comfortable jeans and a forest green sweater, her hair pulled back.
“How was the sleigh ride?” she asked, but Lila noticed how her eyes didn’t quite meet hers directly.
“Magical,” Lila said. “The whole town looked like a Christmas card.”
“I’m glad.” Carol’s smile was warm but brief. “I was just setting up the breakfast casseroles to go in the oven first thing in the morning. Christmas breakfast is always a production.”
Brady glanced between Lila and Carol, seeming to sense the undercurrent of tension. “I should go check on the horses, make sure they’re settled for the night.” He caught Lila’s eye. “Take your time.”
The pointed comment wasn’t lost on either woman.
Brady was giving them space to speak alone.
Lila’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She hadn’t planned to have this conversation tonight.
She’d planned to lie awake most of the night rehearsing what she wanted to say tomorrow, but this seemed like as good a time as any.
“Can I help with anything?” Lila offered as Brady disappeared out the back door.
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m nearly finished.” Carol moved toward the kitchen, and Lila followed. “Just need to get these covered and refrigerated now that they’ve had time to cool.”
The kitchen was warm and cozy, fragrant with the scent of bacon and cheese from the casseroles.
Carol moved efficiently between the counter and refrigerator, covering glass baking dishes with foil and making space on the shelves.
Lila watched her hands—the same long fingers she’d noticed before that looked like her own.
“Carol,” Lila began, then stopped. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
“Yes, dear?” Carol’s voice was gentle, but she kept her attention focused on the casseroles.
Lila took a breath. There was no graceful way to ease into this. “I need to ask you something.”
Carol’s hands stilled on the foil she was smoothing over a dish. “All right.”
“When I mentioned at dinner that I was looking for information about my birth mother, you seemed . . .” Lila paused, struggling for the right words. “You seemed upset.”
“Did I?” Carol’s voice was carefully neutral, but she still wasn’t looking at Lila directly.
“You left the table so quickly.” Lila moved closer, her voice growing softer. “Carol, I found out that the quilt my birth mother sent with me was delivered here. To Pine Ridge Inn on Christmas Eve, 1991.”
Carol’s shoulders tensed, and she turned slowly to face Lila. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“The night before I was born,” Lila continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Carol, I have to ask—are you my mother?”
For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator. Carol’s face crumpled with emotion, and she pressed a hand to her chest.
“Oh, Lila.” Carol’s voice was thick with tears. “Sweetheart, no. I’m not your birth mother.”
The words hit Lila like a physical blow. She’d been so certain, had built up the possibility in her mind until it felt like reality. “You’re not?”
“No, honey.” Carol reached for her hands, gripping them tightly. “But I would have been so lucky, so incredibly blessed, to have a daughter like you.”
Lila felt tears spill over, disappointment and confusion mixing together. “But the way you reacted, and the baby ornament, and—”
“I know.” Carol’s own tears were falling freely now. “I know how it must have looked. But Lila, the reason I got emotional wasn’t because you’re my daughter. It’s because—” She stopped, seeming to wrestle with something.
“Because what?”
Carol was quiet for a long moment, her thumb rubbing gently over Lila’s knuckles. “Because I do know who your mother is, dear.”
Lila’s breath caught. “What?”
“I know you want answers, but Lila, it’s not my story to tell.”
“Please.” Lila gripped Carol’s hands tighter. “I’ve come so far to find answers. I can’t get this close and not find out.”
“The person involved deserves to make her own choice about whether to share her story with you.” Carol’s expression was gentle but firm as she gave Lila’s hands a final squeeze before letting them go. “She knows you’re here now, and I have to leave it up to her whether she wants to come forward.”
“You’ve spoken with her?” Lila asked, her voice frantic. “You know how to get in touch with her?”
Carol nodded. “I have. Please be patient and give her time to digest the news. You’ve had some time to think on it, but this was very unexpected for her.”
Lila’s mind was racing. What had Carol told this woman about Lila? Sure, Carol liked her, and they seemed to have a connection, but had she talked Lila up? Told the woman she had enjoyed her time with her so much that she wished Lila was her own daughter?
“I was so certain it was you,” Lila said, leaning back against the counter for support as her legs began to feel shaky underneath her.
Carol wiped at the tears remaining on her face. “You were right that the baby ornament and some of the things I’ve said pointed to me having given up a child. But the truth is, Tom and I lost a baby. Early in our marriage, I miscarried at about four months along.”
Lila’s chest tightened with sympathy. “Carol, I’m so sorry.”
“It was devastating at the time. We’d been trying for so long, and then when we finally got pregnant .
. .” Fresh tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
“We never got pregnant again after that. So when I see baby things, when I talk about the children we might have had, I’m thinking about the baby we lost, not one I gave away. ”
The explanation made perfect sense, and Lila felt foolish for not considering it. Of course, Carol’s emotional reactions could stem from loss rather than a secret she’d kept hidden.
“That’s why your story tonight hit me so hard,” Carol continued.
“Here you are, this wonderful young woman looking for her birth mother, and it just made me think about what might have been. What our baby might have grown up to be like. It took me a few minutes before I put the pieces together and realized who you really are.”
Lila wanted to push for more about her birth mother, but something in the older woman’s expression warned her not to press further tonight.
“I understand,” Lila said finally. “And I’m sorry for assuming—”
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Your instincts weren’t completely wrong. I would love nothing more than to claim you as my daughter.” Carol gave her a loving smile.
As Lila reached out to hug her, she couldn’t help wishing Carol was her mother. Not just so the mystery would be solved but because she’d genuinely grown to love her.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow is Christmas and your birthday. Let’s make it a day worth celebrating.” Carol squeezed her shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’ve found a family here who loves you. I hope you know that.”
As Lila made her way upstairs, disappointment weighed heavy in her chest. She’d been so certain Carol was her birth mother, had built up the possibility until it felt real.
Now, not only was she back to square one, but it was largely out of her control.
She would have to wait for her mother to come to her.
In her room, Lila sat on the edge of the bed and stared out at the snow-covered town. Somewhere out there was the woman who’d given her life, and now she knew Lila was looking for her. But in a way, Lila felt no closer to finding her than she had when she’d first arrived in Pine Ridge.