Read Online Home Another Way by Christa Parrish - Free Book Online

said, setting the photo gingerly on the desk, “before it burned down.”
    I winced. Smooth, Sarah. Still, curious, I asked, “Is that what happened to—”
    “Yes.” Jack bit his lip. “Almost four years ago, Christmas Eve. Beth and her friend Danielle were in the basement with a few kindergarteners, getting on costumes for the annual pageant. We’re still not sure what happened, but the old church lit up like kindling. They were trapped downstairs.
    “By some miracle, Beth survived. But no one else.” He swiped at his eyes, sniffled, now his turn to redirect the conversation. “So, what do you think? You like my place?”
    “You don’t live here, do you?”
    “Is it that awful? Admittedly, it’s a bachelor’s pad, but I’m not using empty pizza boxes for a coffee table, or anything like that. The pastor’s residence was attached to the church building. After the fire, Mom wanted me to move back into the inn, but people come looking for me at all sorts of crazy hours. I didn’t want her to deal with that. Anyway, we hold services here at the Grange now, so it’s convenient. Roll out of bed and onto the pulpit.”
    “Do you even have a bed?”
    “The couch pulls out,” Jack said. “Zip your coat. You can’t come to Jonah’s fall fun night without trying a traditional lumberjack delicacy. After that, you’re free to go.”
    He led me from the room, hand pressed lightly against the small of my back. Heads turned toward us in unison, people elbowed each other and whispered behind their plastic punch cups. Jack seemed unfazed by the rubbernecking, stopping every few steps to chat and introduce me. I kept my eyes on the slush-streaked floor.
    Outside, the rimy wind wove its fingers through my hair, stretching it into the night, a fiery tempest. I flicked up my hood and slumped deep into my parka. Children—gloveless, hatless, and rosy-cheeked—shouted playfully and threw snow at one another.
    I followed Jack to a man standing at a gas grill, ice cream scoop in his hand. “How’d ya do, Reverend?” he asked.
    “I’m wonderful tonight, Tom. And you’re doing well?”
    “Can’t complain. Except Karen is in there dancing with that Reynolds boy. What ya think of that?”
    “Charlie Reynolds is a good kid. So is Karen. I wouldn’t worry,” Jack said.
    “That’s what the wife said. ’Course, I reminded her that her mama told her daddy the same thing, right before me and her ran off and got ourselves married.”
    Jack laughed. “Tom, this is Sarah Graham.”
    Tom touched the brim of his baseball cap. “Tom Hardy. Sure do miss your dad.”
    My head twitched in acknowledgment. “Yeah.”
    “Two, please,” Jack said.
    “No problem,” Tom replied, scooping packed snow into paper cups. He put on an oven mitt and grabbed one of the metal tins from the grill, dumping some brown liquid onto the snow.
    Jack handed me one of the cups, and a spoon. “This is jack’s wax.”
    “Your what?”
    “No, jack as in lumberjack. Hot maple syrup over snow, the perfect dessert for poor loggers deep in the mountains. Let it cool for a minute.”
    I took a bite of the now-chewy syrup, mouth puckering at the sweetness. “It needs a shot of something stronger.”
    “I’m sure it’s been done,” Jack said. “Are you cold?”
    “Very.”
    “Let’s go in.”
    The warm Grange air promptly thawed my nose, and it started dripping, tickling my upper lip. I sniffled.
    “There you are,” Maggie said, rushing over to us. When Jack turned to speak with her, I wiped my nose with my glove and stuck it in my pocket. I’d wash it later.
    “Iris Finn is going crazy. You haven’t returned your votes for the bake-off.” She paused. “Where have you been all night?”
    There was something in her voice—the question chafed with motherly vigilance. Jack seemed to notice, too. He removed a handful of paper strips from his pocket. “I was mingling,” he said, his tone deliberate, his eyes steady on his mother.