Christmas At Cedarwood Lodge: Celebrations and Confetti at Cedarwood Lodge / Brides and Bouquets at Cedarwood Lodge / Midnight and Mistletoe at Cedarwood Lodge. Rebecca Raisin

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Christmas At Cedarwood Lodge: Celebrations and Confetti at Cedarwood Lodge / Brides and Bouquets at Cedarwood Lodge / Midnight and Mistletoe at Cedarwood Lodge - Rebecca  Raisin

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would be a lonely job without you.

       For Marie Webdale whose friendship spans the oceans that separate us

       Contents

       Cover

       Blurb

       Title Page

       Author Bio

       Acknowledgements

       Dedication

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Chapter Thirty-One

       Chapter Thirty-Two

       Chapter Thirty-Three

       Chapter Thirty-Four

       Chapter Thirty-Five

       Chapter Thirty-Six

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

       Chapter Thirty-Eight

       Epilogue

       Christmas at Cedarwood Lodge: Five Years Later

      Staring up at the imposing structure with its weathered façade, I had a terrible premonition that I’d made a mistake. A huge one. But, I reasoned, clawing back rising panic, I had always wanted to buy the hundred-year-old abandoned lodge. It had been put up for sale recently, and I’d jumped at the chance. The old place had good sturdy bones; it was solid, despite the desertion of its caretakers eons ago.

      Even though I’d always dreamed about owning Cedarwood Lodge I hadn’t expected for it to happen so soon. But it had, and I’d fallen madly in love with the place as it stood, shutters broken, doors in need of paint, ivy creeping through broken panes of glass, and cascading roses growing wild and free around the porch balustrades. Here was a place untouched for decades and I had a chance to bring it back to its former glory.

      The September sky shifted from foggy wisps of gray to country blue as dawn arrived in the small New Hampshire town of Evergreen. A sputtering car swung into the long, winding driveway and I turned to watch my oldest friend, Micah, leap from his battered hatchback.

      We’d been best friends since childhood

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