He made short work of the donut while eyeing a staff of seasonal workers in leather aprons, stocking caps, and gloves, all helping a bevy of customers who milled through the lot, poking through cut fir, pine, and spruce. Most were happy, one couple arguing the merits of a noble fir over a Douglas fir, children laughing, dogs barking, toddlers having their pictures taken on a real sleigh as they waited for Santa.

His stomach soured.

Good Lord, Cahill, get over it!

Just because he’d regained his memory, he didn’t need this come-to-Jesus epiphany about the commercialization of Christmas.

He spied Bobby getting out of the cab of a truck, its bed filled with recently cut trees. Tossing the butt of his cigarette into the snowy gravel of the service area, Bobby headed James’s way, Ralph bounding to greet him.

“I need a phone,” James said when the foreman was in earshot, “and a vehicle.”

“You can get one of those prepaid things down at the shopping mart, I think.” Bobby bent down and scratched the wiggling, tail-wagging shepherd behind his ears. “And there’s a beater of a truck at the shop. The old Dodge?”

“That’ll do. Why don’t you run me down there? I want to check out the office anyway, catch up on paperwork.”

“Okay,” Bobby said, fishing his keys from his pocket. “Uh-oh. Trouble. Two o’clock.”

“What?” James glanced over his left shoulder and spied Sophia heading in his direction. Wearing a black coat that fell to her knees and a silver stocking cap that shimmered with sequins, she was threading her way through the icy potholes and mud of the loading area.

“James!” she said with a happy smile and the wave of a gloved hand. “Wait up!”

“I’ll wait for you in the truck.” Bobby took off just as Sophia reached James.

“Hey.” He didn’t know what to say to her. After finding her in his bed, then remembering his fight with Megan, he decided to tread carefully. Sophia had mentioned that she thought she was the cause of the fight between Megan and him; it turned out she was right on the money.

“How’re you feeling?” She was squinting, one hand tucking a strand of blond hair into her sparkling cap.

“Better.” He considered telling her that his memory had returned, then decided against it. First, he needed to talk to the police.

“Great.” She smiled brightly, her blue eyes warm. She glanced up at the cab of the truck, where Bobby was seated behind the wheel and lighting another cigarette. “So I wanted you to know, the offer’s still on the table.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“I meant about moving in.”

“Uh . . .” He took a sip of coffee.

“Like a couple, James? Like we talked about?”

He nearly choked on the coffee. “We talked about this?”

“You don’t remember.”