Page 150 of Jack

Doyle set down his plate. “So, Declan Stone offered me a job.”

A beat, during which Stein walked back into the house, dragging the night and cold with him. He stamped off his boots. “The stars are out. It’s a beautiful night for broomball.”

Everyone looked at him, then back at Doyle.

“What kind of job?” Jack asked.

“His foundation runs an orphanage down on the island of Mariposa, in the Caribbean. He needs a director, and I need a change.”

More silence.

“But I can’t leave Mom and Dad with this place, alone.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, then pointedly looked at Jack.

What?“Oh . . . bro.”

“You should stay.” This from Harper. She was nodding, something alight in her eyes. “You don’t have a home, and maybe in the meantime you could buy a new bus, fix it up?—”

“What are you talking about?” Austen said. “Jack’s loaded. He’s got a home in Florida, near the beach, a boat, vintage cars?—”

Jack held up a hand. Too late—Harper’s eyes widened.

“And here I was worried you were homeless.”

“This is my home.” The words just sort of slipped out.

More silence, and then Austen smiled at him. “Yeah, it is. Like that needlepoint Mom has, right? Near or far, wherever we are, all roads lead to home.”

His gaze held Harper’s as he nodded.Stay here, with me, build a home. The thought pulsed inside him. But how could he ask her to give up her life in Nashville?

But . . . maybe he didn’t have to have the answers. Maybe, just like his dad had said, he should stop trying to figure out what he was supposed to do and simply let God work in him to do whatever came next.“Then, and only then, will you truly stop searching.”

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze still on Harper’s. “I could stay for a while.”

Harper smiled, warmth in her eyes. So, he’d said something right.

“Thanks, bro,” Doyle said. “I have a few weeks before I’m going to fly out, so I’ll teach you the ropes.”

“I think I can figure out how to stack firewood and shovel the driveway,” Jack said. “Since I’m the one who taught it to you.”

Laughter, and Doyle rolled his eyes.

Conrad’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, thumbed it open. Made a face of approval.

“Aw, now you have to tell us who is texting you that has put that grin on your face,” Doyle said.

Conrad slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Penelope. Wants to talk to me about something.” His phone buzzed again, and again he pulled it out, swiped it open.

This time his face fell. “Oh no.”

“What’soh no?” Stein asked.

Conrad flashed the group a picture. Him carrying Penelope into the wedding reception. Someone had snapped it, put it up on Instagram with the caption?—

Has the center for the Blue Ox finally found a woman to focus on?

“So, maybe not a date,” Austen said. “Sorry, Con.”

He dropped the phone back into his pocket, his mouth pinched.