The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek Read Online Free PDF

Widow?”
    “ If we were to invite her, what would she do? What skills does she have?” Birdie asked, then answered herself. “She couldn’t plan a sympathy dinner. She’s always had a cook.”
    “Don’t need her to plan meals. Pansy has that well in hand. She’s always done that. Pansy’s a good worker even though she’s not a Widow.”
    “Blossom’s always had servants. She wouldn’t like to clean the thrift shop.”
    “We don’t know that. We could give her a chance,” Mercedes said in the pleasant voice that fooled so many people into thinking she was so very sweet and so completely unlike Birdie. “Make it sort of like a test. If she can’t do it, we could train her, you and I. You’re a great trainer.”
    “Pfutt.”
    “We could make her a provisional member, like we did with Winnie. It wouldn’t hurt. With the bazaar and dinner coming up, she could help. More hands would lighten the load.” Mercedes glanced at her old friend. “Not that we need the load lightened.”
    Birdie pondered Mercedes’s words for nearly a minute. “All right. We should probably do this. It’ll make the preacher happy.”
    “If he’s happy, he’ll be less suspicious of our efforts to get him married.” Mercedes broke off another piece of banana bread. “Why don’t we invite Blossom to go with us next time we visit the preacher or ask her to join us for coffee some afternoon. Get to know her a little better.”
    Good idea. As much as she’d like to punish Mercedes a little bit for suggesting she allow Farley Masterson to court her, not even at her most difficult—which could be pretty darned difficult—could Birdie turn down a sensible proposal. She nodded. “You ask her. She’s more likely to come if you call. I scare her. Winnie probably does, too.”

C HAPTER T HREE
    A dam ran his finger around the collar of his shirt, attempting to loosen it. He wore one of his three dress shirts to the office every day but seldom buttoned it or wore a tie. He’d noticed last Sunday that the shirt collar seemed tight around the neck. He’d solved that by using the neck expander—a button and an elastic loop—he’d found in his desk, left, he guessed, by a previous minister with a similar problem.
    Because he’d planned to preach at the retreat Sunday morning in a shirt and tie, he tried on another. Also tight, and not only around his neck but in the shoulders. The next one felt snug as well.
    Could he have put on a little weight? Maybe some muscle? He couldn’t weigh himself because he didn’t have a scale. The total always depressed him because as much as he ate, he never gained a pound.
    Maybe he had. Could be all those meals Miss Birdie forced on him, the food the congregation dropped off, and Ouida’s treats had begun to work. He studied himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked less skinny. He’d either have to buy new shirts or invest in a few more neck expanders. Fortunately, the knit shirts still fit. He’d preach in one of those. He tossed a few in his duffel bag and left it open to finish packing in the morning.
     
    * * *
    The next day, on the drive to the retreat, Mac sat next to Adam in the front seat of the borrowed van. Bree lay on the bench seat at the far back because Hector and Bobby had taken the comfortable swiveling seats in the middle. “Long legs,” the guys had explained.
    As they pulled into the campground, the sun was heading toward the horizon. They got out of the van and stretched. Adam noticed the sound of crickets at the same time the smell of wood smoke from the lodge greeted them.
    The setting didn’t impress the guys.
    “This is really…” Hector paused to think of a word.
    “Rustic?” Adam suggested as he popped the back of the vehicle.
    “No, primitive.”
    “Yeah.” Bobby nodded. “Do they have running water?”
    “Haven’t you been to camp before?” Mac pulled two small bags from the vehicle.
    “Basketball camp, but that’s in dorms on a college campus. I