Page 2 of Let It Snow

She looked closer at the man. He had wet graying hair and dark eyes. Maybe they were kind eyes, but right now they were noncommittal. Intelligent and searching like he was looking into her soul and sizing her up.

“I’m Shana. Have a seat. I’m about to put the final touches on the eggnog.”

“Do you have anything hot?”

“Of course—you must be frozen.” He had no coat and his sweater was wet.

Cap took off his coat and glanced around. She knew he was looking for Dane.

As if by thinking about him they had some cosmic pull, Dane’s door banged opened and a second later he appeared on the threshold of the kitchen. Shana was surprised he wasn’t aiming his old Glock at them, but the look he leveled was threatening enough.

“Dane—” Shana said.

“Who the hell are you?”

Father Pedro stepped around her and his face transformed to warm saintliness. He went to Dane with his arms extended. The man had to be nuts.

Dane put his arms out too—to stop the man in his tracks.

“Whoa there, fellow—answer my question. Who the f-ing hell are you?”

The padre stopped a yard away as Shana went to Dane’s side—or as close to his side as his porcupine mood would allow.

“Dane—” Cap began.

Dane glared at Cap to silence him. The padre stood and took his time studying Dane—brave for a man with Dane the Demon expecting an answer. All the while Shana figured what kept the padre safe was the new expression on his face. It was as if seeing Dane made his heart weep. In fact he looked like he was about to cry when he spoke in a sad but deeply ominous voice.

“I came from South America. Oscar sent me.”

Chapter 2

“Damn Oscar.” Dane felt like punching the man in front of him, but Pedro looked too much like a vagabond who’d misplaced his Santa Claus costume. “What’s Oscar’s real name?”

“Antonio.”

“He checks out, Dane. I wouldn’t bring—” Cap said.

Dane gave Cap a silencing look and then went back to studying the would-be Santa. “So what’s your story? Who are you?”

“Pedro. Father Pedro. I came here to help you—”

Dane snorted. “Far too late for that, Padre Pedro. My soul was consigned to hell long ago. I don’t need any of your f—”

“Never mind,” Shana said. She stepped in between them and handed the man a cup of what smelled like hot cocoa. Dane breathed in the scent and it brought him back too many years. It brought him back to a time with his mother. And his father. To the last time he’d celebrated Christmas with any real joy.

A flash of last year’s Christmas with Shana steamed the memory in his mind and replaced it. He looked at her.

“Let’s do this right. Hot cocoa for everyone, girlie.” The smile she gave him was over the top and disproportionate for the circumstances. The lead still weighed in his gut. The darkness still surrounded his sightlines, threatening to close in. “Don’t get excited,” he said. “It’s not like I was getting any sleep with a stranger in the house.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit,” Cap said. He escorted the would-be Santa friend of Oscar to the dining table. Shana must have scrounged some decorations from somewhere. A small poinsettia, which looked real, sat in the middle and red and green doilies littered the table at intervals like place settings.

The old man held his mug with two hands and took a sip of the steaming drink before he sat. Dane was surprised he didn’t yelp at the liquid burning his throat. Either he was used to pain or was made of stern stuff or he was numb. He didn’t look numb. If Dane looked in the mirror, he’d see what numb looked like. Dane was desensitized to all pain. All joy. For the moment. He knew the pain would return. He didn’t ever expect a return of anything like joy.

Shana stepped past him as she handed him a mug. Her scent wafted, mingling with the cocoa and he took a deep breath. He remembered taking pleasure in her scent, but the memory only caused a twitch of pain like a pinprick to his dying heart. Her gaze met his eyes and she looked miserable. A reflection of what she saw inside him, he presumed. The pinprick deepened. He tensed and banished her from his soul. He couldn’t care. Didn’t want to care. Had no care left in him.

Dane sat at the table with the others while they watched him because there was nothing else to do. Feeling like a granite statue of himself going through the motions, as he scraped the chair around and plunked his mug on the table.

“What trouble has Oscar got himself into this time?” It seemed like the right question to ask.