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On this winter it was cold enough to split stone. The three of them had nothing but an abandoned shack at the edge of the woods for shelter. Winter wind slipped through the cracks, making the old boards groan and snap like the place might come apart at any moment.
Elias kept the fire alive in the ancient fireplace, patient as ever.
Elisabeth pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Micah stood by the window, staring out at the night sky.
— I don't like Christmas.
Elisabeth arched a brow.
— You don't like anything.
— That ain't true. I like money, fast horses, and myself.
Without looking up, Elias added,
— The order's telling.
Micah tossed a chunk of firewood at him. Elias caught it easily.
Truth was, they had nothing, and they were bored.
No tree.
No presents.
Not even a decent bottle.
Elisabeth sighed.
— We could at least pretend. It's Christmas Eve guys !
Micah barked a laugh.
— Pretend what? That we're some sweet little family singing around a tree?
She held his gaze.
— We could just… mark the occasion.
Elias thought for a moment, then stood and stepped outside. A few minutes later he came back carrying a mostly straight branch. He grabbed a dented pot off the battered table and stuck the branch inside it.
— There.
Micah stared at it.
— That supposed to be something?
— Our Christmas tree, Elias said, a touch too cheerful.
— That's a stick.
— Have a little imagination, sweetheart.
Elisabeth smiled. She pulled out a piece of string and tied an empty revolver casing to the branch. It caught the firelight and gleamed.
— There. Now we even have a decoration.
Micah shook his head.
— We've hit rock bottom.
But he watched the little scene a second too long to be indifferent.
Elisabeth stepped closer.
— Alright. Now it's time for presents.
Micah laughed in disbelief.
— With what?
— With what we've got.
Elias nodded. Micah looked at them like they'd just suggested going honest.
— Fine. But if I get a rock, I'm shooting.
Elias approached Elisabeth first and handed her a small silver lighter.
— I know you lost yours on that last job.
She went quiet for a moment, thumb brushing over the metal.
— Thank you, Elias.
It was simple, sincere. Micah looked away, swallowing something that might've been jealousy.
Elisabeth reached into her pocket and pulled out a small green scarf.
— Yours is about worn to threads.
Elias looked genuinely touched.
— You noticed. My favorite color, too.
— I notice everything.
A faint smile crossed his face. Micah sighed loudly.
— This is the sappiest nonsense I ever seen.
They both turned to him. He raised his hands.
— I ain't got nothing.
Elisabeth narrowed her eyes.
— Really?
Micah grumbled, then dug into his coat. He pulled out two things:
A small flask of decent liquor.
And a carefully engraved cartridge.
He tossed the cartridge to Elias.
— For when you gotta save my life.
Then he handed the flask to Elisabeth.
— For when I get on your nerves.
She looked at him.
— That happens a lot.
— Exactly.
Silence settled between them. Elias studied the engraving and read softly,
"Still standing."
Micah shrugged.
— Got bored one night.
Elisabeth took the flask. Their fingers brushed and Micah immediately looked away.
— Alright, that's enough of this sentimental nonsense. We drinking or what?
Christmas supper amounted to a questionable stew Elisabeth had thrown together.
Micah took a bite.
— We can still kill it before it kills us. You ain't tryin' to poison us, are you, darlin'?
Micah sarcastically emphasized the last words while Elias ate without complaining.
Elisabeth rolled her eyes.
— You're incapable of appreciating anything, Micah.
He looked at her. The firelight cut across his face, and his blue eyes seemed even paler in the night.
He answered more quietly:
— I can.
Elias cleared his throat on purpose.
— Eat instead of grumblin'.
Micah chewed his stew with that look of a man pretending he doesn't feel a damn thing.
— So. What're we doin' now?
Elisabeth exchanged a glance with Elias. The kind that says it's time.
Micah narrowed his eyes.
— Why you lookin' at each other like that?
Elisabeth stood and stepped out of the cabin without a word. Elias rose too and, taking the stew bowl from Micah's hands, motioned for him to follow. Micah muttered something under his breath but went anyway.
Out in the snow and bitter cold, the cabin door still half open behind them, Elisabeth appeared slowly, leading a horse by the reins. It was tall, broad-chested, dark-coated, with a white face and white stockings. Its eyes were a blue as cold as Micah's. There was nothing gentle about it. It looked like a warning more than a gift.
Elisabeth held the reins, her fingers red from the cold.
— Here's your present, Micah. From the both of us.
Micah didn't move.
— Is this a joke?
Elias answered calmly:
— You didn't like your old horse. Said he was too soft. We took the liberty of sellin' him this afternoon.
Micah understood then, Elias being gone earlier, the hushed whispers with Elisabeth.
— That why you've both been actin' strange all day? And why you said you had to ride into town this afternoon? he shot back, pointing an accusing finger at Elias.
The horse snorted into the frozen air. It didn't seem bothered by these new people. It watched Micah like it was sizing him up.
Micah turned back to the animal and took a step forward. Then another.
— He got a name?
A faint smile touched Elisabeth's lips.
— Yeah. His name's Baylock.
Silence settled heavy as Micah slowly laid a hand on the horse's neck.
The animal didn't shy away. If anything, he leaned into the young man's palm, solid, steady, present.
Micah ran a hand through the dark mane.
— You picked the meanest bastard in the territory.
Elias folded his arms.
— We asked for the most untamable one they had.
Elisabeth watched Micah closely.
— Figured it'd suit you.
A breath slipped out of him, not a laugh. Something else.
He circled the horse, studying him like a rare weapon.
— He bite?
— Yep, Elias said.
— He kick?
— Yep.
— He obey?
Elias shrugged.
— Depends who's askin'.
Silence again. Then Micah rested his forehead briefly against the horse's. Just for a fraction of a second. Barely there.
— I'll take him.
Elisabeth arched a brow.
— You could say thank you.
He didn't answer. He took the reins and mounted in one smooth motion.
Baylock tested him immediately.
A sharp movement.
A jolt of tension.
Micah answered with a precise pressure of his legs, no spurs, no cruelty. Just firmness. The horse yielded. Not completely. But enough.
Elias watched with quiet satisfaction.
— He chose you.
Micah guided the horse back toward them at a slow walk, the cabin firelight painting his face in gold and shadow.
He looked less mocking now. More… present.
— He's a good horse.
Elisabeth crossed her arms.
— That all?
Micah hesitated, a long time.
Then, lower:
— Thank you.
Elias nodded. Elisabeth stepped closer, resting a hand against Micah's boot.
— We wanted you to have somethin' that matched you.
He looked at her then, his pale eyes catching the firelight.
Silence stretched between them. Then Micah's mouth curved slightly at the corner.
— If either of you go around sayin' I looked touched… I'll deny it.
Baylock blew out a powerful breath.
Elisabeth murmured:
— Too late. Merry Christmas, Micah.