* * * * *
Twenty minutes after Sophie had driven away, a pickup truck pulled into the parking lot, its headlights moving slow across he empty barroom. Darryl was still downstairs. He’d decided on an ice cold, long-necked nightcap, because he knew he wasn’t going to sleep. The notion of “hanging out” with Sophie McIntyre had him stirred up in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. And when she’d said what she had, about it being better than being alone for the holidays, he’d had a moment of revelation.
As much as he’d always denied it, as much as he’d always hated to hear his friends pointing it out to him with pity in their voices, it did stink being alone during the holidays. It really did.
This was going to be the most pleasant Christmas he’d spent in a long, long time. Maybe he’d try to stop being a humbug and embrace it.
As he was thinking all that, the person who’d pulled in started tapping on the front door.
Surprised, Darryl got up, taking his beer with him. He’d assumed it was one of the McIntyres coming by to make sure the place was all buttoned up for the night. But they’d have had a key.
He went to the door, and looked out just to be safe. A smiling face sporting a full, snow-white beard looked back at him. He had eyes that crinkled at the corners, and plump rosy cheeks. He wore lined flannel jacket, red plaid. Just looking at him made Darryl smile, and then when he noticed a couple of snowflakes landing on the old man’s shoulders, he smiled even more, and opened up the door. “We’re closed, but if I can help you with something….”
“I’m making a habit of showing up here outside of business hours,” he said, and he chuckled softly. “I actually have something for Sophie. Do you suppose you could give it to her for me?”
“Sure. I’ll see her first thing in the morning.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. Just tell her it’s to thank her for the cocoa. She’ll understand.” He tugged a plain white envelope, business sized, from his pocket and handed it over. “Thank you very much, young man.”
“It’s Darryl.”
“I know. Merry Christmas,” he said. “If you’re lucky, she’ll share.” He gave a wink, then he turned and headed back to his rusty old pickup truck, got in, and drove away.
Darryl closed the door and eyed the envelope, curious as hell.
Oklahoma Christmas Blues Page 9
