It was a long-standing tradition, dating back to before Mitch was born, that any Moose Creek male who was so inclined met for breakfast at The Baked Potato on Wednesday mornings. They pulled chairs up to the big round table in the middle of the diner and chewed the fat over bacon and eggs. Mitch’s dad used to be a regular—enjoyed listening to all the latest news, though he rarely participated in the chatter—but he hadn’t made an appearance in over a month.

Mitch lifted his mug for the waitress to refill with coffee and grunted. Two more days until the neurologist appointment.

“I hear your son-in-law’s riding the bench.” Willy Batson peered at Mitch from across the table, his wiry gray eyebrows sticking out like antennae.

Mitch cringed inwardly. How did Jeremy know enough about anything for anyone to consult him about it? “He works from home right now, I guess. Technically. I don’t really understand it.”

Travis Kent peeled off his camo jacket and joined in. “He lookin’ for something to do?”

Mitch straightened up. “You got something in mind?”

Maybe he could hook Jeremy up with a real job. Give him a chance to man up.

“You know the Duncans?” Travis looped his thumbs behind the fraying straps of his denim overalls. “Down past my place?”

Mitch nodded.

“One brother is down with a busted shoulder, and the other’s got shingles.”

“Is that right.”

“All the way down to his hairy butt.”

“So they’re shorthanded?”

“As a three-legged dog.” Travis bobbed his head, sweeping toast through the egg yolk on his plate. “They’re pretty desperate for folks to put on the belt.”

This was news to Mitch. He tapped a boot thoughtfully against a chair leg. The Duncan place was only thirty minutes away. And Jeremy hadn’t done a thing all week, far as he could tell.

“I’ll send him out.” Mitch rubbed his chin. Bea wasn’t going to work at the Food Farm while Jeremy sat around the house, not if Mitch could help it. “It’ll be good for him.”

Travis nodded, satisfied, and shoved the last bite of toast into his mouth.

Willy, who had been following their conversation, fixed an eye on Mitch. “Haven’t seen your pop in a while.” When Mitch hesitated, Willy added, “How are things up at the ranch?”

His dad wouldn’t want anyone to know about Mom’s troubles. A man kept his worries to himself. That was what Dad would say. “Fine.” Mitch spun to look for the waitress so he could signal for his check. “Everything’s just fine.”

Mitch watched with amusement as Jeremy’s eyes widened. He’d been holding on to this information all day, eager to share it with Bea and Jeremy at dinner. What he wouldn’t give to hear the thoughts swirling around in his son-in-law’s head.