A Match Made in Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad Page A

protested.
    Mrs. Hargrove cleared her throat.
    â€œAlthough we do still need help with those pansy baskets.” Mrs. Hargrove said quickly as she gave Charley a look. To make her words even more convincing, Mrs. Hargrove took a moment to lean against the car.
    Doris June grinned at them as she picked up thebasket. She’d figured out by now, of course, that the two of them had wanted her to come home for reasons other than to lift some baskets around for Mother’s Day, but it wouldn’t hurt to use their lifting request to force them to take it a little easier. Even if they were both healthy, they really shouldn’t be lifting heavy things.
    Curt was in the barn when he heard the honking from the horn on his dad’s car. The honking meant Mrs. Hargrove and Doris June were here and that he was invited to come to breakfast. He’d told his dad that if there was any hesitancy at all from either of the women, he would just skip breakfast and get to his plowing. He quickly finished throwing hay to the horses; he was glad he was being welcomed in for the meal.
    Curt scraped his boots while he was on the porch. He could see through the open door that Ben was already deep in the midst of cooking with Mrs. Hargrove. She was instructing him on how to dip a bread slice into the egg mixture and the look of concentration on Ben’s face told Curt his son was committing every step of the process to memory.
    The water in the sink just off the porch always ran a little cool, but Curt liked to wash up there rather than in the main part of the house. He kept a bar of green farmer’s soap there that would wash away everything from axle grease to pine pitch. Fortunately, it also smelled fresh. He lathered his hands and forearms with soap and then dried them on the towel on the nearby rack.
    Curt was rolling down his shirt sleeves as he stepped into the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
    â€œIt’s my French toast,” Ben said proudly. “Well, mine and Mrs. Hargrove’s French toast.”
    â€œYou’re doing all the work,” Mrs. Hargrove said with an encouraging nod. “Half of making good French toast is knowing when to turn it and you’ve got that down just right.”
    â€œGrandpa’s going to make some scrambled eggs,” Ben added.
    â€œI already put them on, the minute I heard your dad’s boots on the porch,” Charley said as he stood over a skillet.
    Curt had to swallow for a moment. He’d forgotten what a difference it made to have a woman in the kitchen here. It was almost like his mother was still alive. He looked around. He had expected Doris June to be here, but she wasn’t.
    He almost asked where she was, but he figured he knew. She’d stayed back in Dry Creek. He could feel his appetite leave him. But he wouldn’t let it ruin the breakfast for everyone else. He forced himself to smile. “It looks like a feast.”
    â€œAnd we’ve got cinnamon to sprinkle on the French toast,” Ben said as he stepped over to the stove and scooped up the French toast that was on the skillet. He put it on the platter with the rest of the food. “And Mrs. Hargrove said we could sprinkle a little powdered sugar on it, too.”
    â€œIt’s a regular party,” Curt said.
    â€œThat’s what Doris June said,” Charley said as he walked toward the table with his scrambled eggs. “She’s bringing in the potted plant from the living room to put in the middle of the table for a centerpiece.”
    Curt couldn’t remember the last time they’d worried about having a centerpiece—or a tablecloth, for that matter. The fact that they were having both for this meal cheered him up real fast though. “You know I’ve been forgetting to water that plant.”
    â€œYou can say that again,” Doris June said as she brought the plant into the kitchen and took it over to the sink. “I’ve