“There’s a trash can right there,” Reggie said helpfully.

Dena managed a slight smile. “Thank you. So thoughtful.”

“I try.”

She continued breathing deeply for a few seconds, then relaxed. “Okay, I’m better.”

Reggie studied her, not sure she was telling the truth.

“Are you doing all right with the pregnancy and all?”

Dena’s mouth twisted. “If you’re asking if I’m having second thoughts, then no. But I will admit being pregnant is harder than I anticipated. I thought I’d come up with the perfect plan.”

“You know what they say about God and having plans. They make Him laugh.”

“I’ve always thought God would be happy about my planning. It means less work for Him.”

Reggie laughed. “Okay, good point. How can I help?”

“There’s nothing much to do while I gestate. Oh, but I do appreciate you taking over the charity knitting project for Mom. If you hadn’t agreed, I would have had to—”

“Holy crap!” Reggie sprang to her feet. “Harrison’s in your class. I’m going to be working with Toby’s son.”

Dena cleared her throat. “Yes, well, more than that. Toby’s one of the parents who is, you know, helping out.”

No, Reggie thought firmly. “Not happening.”

“Why not? According to you, he’s just some guy you used to go out with.”

“Don’t use my own words against me, please.”

Dena grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?” Her smile faded, and her tone grew cajoling. “Come on, you’ll be making hats, and they’re for homeless children, by the way. Children who don’t get enough to eat and are cold.”

“Don’t try guilting me into not wanting to throw a little hissy fit here.”

Reggie took several sweaters out of the suitcase and crossed to the closet, where she put them on a shelf. When she turned back to her sister, she said, “I’ll work with Toby. I’m sure it will be fine. What’s the big deal? We’re both grown-ups. I barely remember what he looks like.”

Dena gave a slightly wicked laugh. “Oh, you’ll recognize him. And for the record? He looks good.”

“It’s Christmas trees,” Micah Ruiz said, staring out at the rolling hills covered with trees. Hundreds of trees. No, he corrected. Thousands. Tens of thousands.

“Yup,” his friend Steve Burdick said with a grin. “That’s what they call ’em. We have grand firs, blue spruce and Fraser firs.”

“You know the difference?”

Steve’s grin widened. “I do now.”

Micah chuckled. “How long did that take you to learn which was which?”

“A couple of months.”

“You really own a Christmas tree farm.”

“I do.”

“In a town called Wishing Tree.”

Steve looked at him. “You seem a little slow on the uptake. Should I worry about you?”