(Timeline: This story takes place 7 years before the events of Bargain at Bravebank, book 1 of The Legacy of Lucky Logan series. Rated R for some language and implications of violence.)
Holt Haggerty poked at the campfire with a stick, lookin’ across the cracklin’ flames to the kid, who sat sullen and silent. Van stared blankly into the flames, hardly blinkin’.
He hadn’t been the same since they’d left Two Rivers, Colorado, though Holt didn’t fault him fer that. Learning that any of yer family was dead and gone was hard … but make it a sister you felt you’d abandoned and had been aimin’ to find again fer near on a year, and that was an especially bad pill to swallow.
Even still, over the past several days the kid had seemed to sink even deeper into his melancholy. Ever since their trip into Vatican Springs to resupply on their way back east.
Christmas.
It came unbidden to Holt’s mind, but as soon as he thought it, he knew.
That had to be the reason fer the boy’s increased malaise. Holt had seen the same happen plenty durin’ his years runnin’ with Paul. Had seen many of the men who’d come and gone with the outfit act the same around this time of year. Had felt it himself durin’ his first few years away from home.
Nevermind that his family hadn’t ever celebrated a proper Christmas before he’d run off. He’d still felt it.
A longing. A terrible, yawnin’ longing.
The wish to have what so many other people had about that time of year: a warm house all aglow with lights and a roarin’ hearth. A decorated Christmas tree. Special festive pies and other treats. A gift or two to give and receive. Family—or just someone—to share the season with.
He hadn’t had any of that as a boy growin’ up, of course, and most times he’d convinced himself he didn’t want it. Didn’t need it.
But come Christmastime … that vacancy had often felt like a void that might swallow him whole at any minute if he let it.
It had got a little better after he’d joined up with Paul. After he’d gotten to know some of the other fellas better.
After he’d befriended Logan, especially.
They’d had their own kind of Christmas celebration in Paul’s outfit. Tended to pull off an especially big score about that time of year and then live high off the hog fer a spell till it was all spent. Buyin’ themselves whatever treasures and treats their hearts desired whenever the hell they felt like it. Payin’ fer cozy rooms with fireplaces and Christmas trees and comfy beds … and hearty, voluptuous women to warm those comfy beds, too.
And then at least he hadn’t been alone.
And Van … things musta been even worse fer Van around this time of year now, Holt figured. The kid hadn’t grown up like Holt at all. Hadn’t grown up anything like his pa Logan, neither. He’d grown up already havin’ all those things Holt and Logan and many of the other Johnson Boys had only wished fer. The sturdy house with its Christmas tree and its hearth, warm even durin’ the coldest winter days. A family to share the season with—and a family that had treated him well, of all things. He’d had festive foods and gifts and everything.
Every year from the time he could first remember till the year before last.
Till someone had shown up in the dead of night and murdered his parents, burned his house down and stole all the family’s cattle, leavin’ him with absolutely nothin’.
The fact Van and his sister had escaped that night alive was a miracle in and of itself … but Holt didn’t think the kid was thinkin’ of it that way, so he refrained from mentionin’ it.
He knew what that was like, too. Survivin’ when others you had cared about didn’t.
Most times you didn’t feel lucky at all.
Now the girl was gone, too, and Van was the only Delano left.
The last one in his family to still be livin’, and all those nice things he’d had all his life ripped away. Holt had tried to tell the kid he was gonna have to get used to a whole new kinda life now ever since springin’ him from the Abilene jail … but he got the feelin’ the full truth of that hadn’t quite sunk in yet.
And now here it was, Christmastime again. The time of year that seemed an especially cruel reminder of everything a person didn’t have.
Or an especially cruel reminder of what a person used to have.
Holt sighed heavily, his breath puffin’ out as a great big cloud around his head, and reached fer the whiskey bottle at his feet. He uncorked it with his teeth, took a big swig, and then held it out toward the kid. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Drink it off.”
Van blinked, like he’d just been woken up from sleep, and shifted on the log he was usin’ fer a seat. He took the bottle without comment and chugged a good portion of it straight, hardly pausin’ fer a breath.
Holt frowned and ran a hand over his beard, tuggin’ at it absently. The boy had never been much of a drinker. Apparently his ma had forbade it or somethin’. And it seemed Logan had considerably cut back on his own drinkin’ after gettin’ married and havin’ kids, at least if Van’s tales about his parents were to be believed.
Seemed the kid was even more upset than he looked.
Holt cleared his throat. “Hey, uh … maybe slow down a bit though, yeah? Don’t want you gettin’ sick on Christmas.”
Van lowered the bottle, glowerin’ across the fire, and swiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Fuck Christmas,” he spat.
Holt blinked and lifted his brows, surprised by the profanity. The kid weren’t usually much fer swearin’, neither. But damn did he look like his pa when he was angry. Had those same blazin’ dark eyes and characteristic snarl. ‘Cept his hair had come from his ma, ‘cause it was a lot lighter than Logan’s and had a slight wave to it.
Holt opened his mouth to tell the kid he didn’t really mean that, surely, but Van stood abruptly and started to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, his boots crunchin’ along the snow they’d packed down around their campfire, one hand still wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle.
“If I hadn’t … if we hadn’t spent so much time fucking around on the way to Aunt Emma’s house, I could have got there before Ethelyn ran off!” he finally growled.
Holt snorted, rockin’ back on the seat of his collapsible stool. “Fuckin’ around? Kid, I’d hardly call any of what we did along this journey fuckin’ around. That was a lot of distance to cover, and it wouldn’ta done yer sister any good at all if you’d up and died along the way. We weren’t fuckin’ around, we were survivin’. Most people wouldn’ta even tried this trip after October. They woulda told you to wait till next spring. Woulda called it suicide to start off so late in the year. But here we are, and doin’ pretty damn well fer ourselves, too. And that’s only ‘cause of all that stuff yer callin’ fuckin’ around.”
Van kept pacin’, shakin’ his head, and sent Holt a cuttin’ glare across the fire again. “I don’t remember surviving requiring so much running from the law.”
Holt stood from his stool, the kid gettin’ a rise out of him despite his best efforts at stayin’ calm. Irritation welled hot in his chest, followed close by disbelief. Disbelief over the fact the young man couldn’t seem to see the forest fer the trees even still. Even after goin’ on almost a year travelin’ together now, he still didn’t get it. “Oh, so you’d rather have yer neck stretched then, is that it? Hate to tell ya, kid, but that would still end with you dead.”
Van spun to face him, the firelight reflectin’ in those dark angry eyes, and Holt felt a sudden pang of grief.
Grief fer the loss of his friend … his brother more like, and a sharp regret they hadn’t got to reconcile before Logan had been murdered.
Goddamnit, Logan. You shoulda known. You shoulda known…
“We could have gotten there sooner,” Van hissed. “Faster. If we hadn’t had to watch our backs so much. If we hadn’t had to confuse our trail so much. If we hadn’t robbed all those people you wanted to rob.”
Holt took in a deep, slow breath of the frigid air through his nose, willin’ the calm to come back. He leveled a flat stare at the kid and hooked his gloved thumbs into his belt. “Are you tryin’ to blame me fer what happened to yer sister? Really? Are you forgettin’ who kept you from gettin’ hanged back in Abilene? ‘Cause that was me, Van. You woulda never even got the chance to come out here after yer sister if not fer me. And you think we coulda got away with not robbin’ those folks along the way? How would we have gotten the supplies we needed, or the money to buy room and board and yer goddamn horse and tack? Eh? You think you coulda walked all that way? Fuck off. You think you coulda found some honest job and worked fer that money?” Holt granted him a nod. “You coulda, sure. Just like you did all last winter in Abilene. And how did that work out for ya, huh? You spent a lot of time workin’ fer barely enough pay to live, and then got beat and thrown out in the snow as soon as someone decided they didn’t like ya.”
Van’s expression darkened, but Holt bullied on ahead.
“So yeah. You coulda tried to earn that money honest, and bought all yer supplies honest, too. But it woulda taken you even longer to save up what you needed than it took us to rob and steal and skirt the law, and you know it. And kid … you murdered that fella. There ain’t no goin’ back now. Yer a murderer who was supposed to hang and didn’t. No matter where you go or what you do now, you’ll always be a fugitive. You might be able to live honest fer awhile. in some other place where no one knows ya yet … but you’ll always be lookin’ over yer shoulder. And eventually, someday, whether sooner or later, there’s a good chance that’ll catch up with ya.”
Holt closed his mouth quick on what he was about to say next, swallowin’ the words before he could blurt them out. Just like it did with yer pa.
He didn’t need to say that. Van still didn’t know about most of what his pa had done, and Holt still weren’t sure he would ever tell him. And anyway, the kid didn’t need any more reminders of what had happened to his parents right now.
Van growled somethin’ incoherent and started pacin’ again, takin’ a few more long gulps of the whiskey as he did so.
“We got to yer aunt’s house as quick as we could given the circumstances, and you know that as well as I do. And ain’t neither of us to blame fer what happened to yer sister. There was no reason at all fer her or yer cousin to leave like that … they shoulda known better.”
“She’s only eleven,” Van hissed, and he swiped angrily at his eyes.
Holt shrugged. “Yeah, but yer cousin was what, fourteen? She shoulda known better, at least.”
“If I would have been there, I could have told her that was a stupid idea,” Van insisted. “I could have kept both of them from going. I could have strung up those lying maggots who convinced them to leave.”
Holt exhaled a long breath. “Van. You can’t blame yerself fer that. Yer sister was in the care of your aunt, fer God’s sake. Her own goddamned family already. And havin’ met yer aunt, trust me, yer sister was livin’ the good life. And yer aunt don’t seem like the type to let children wander away willy nilly. But look, if yer sister is anything like yer pa, or you fer that matter, than even at eleven years old I’d dare say there wouldn’ta been anyone who coulda convinced her to stay if she had her mind set on goin’. Not even you, if you’d been there.”
More grumblin’ and pacin’ and gulpin’ whiskey, and Holt sighed again. The kid was gonna regret hittin’ the bottle so hard later, he was sure of it. But he said nothin’. Waited fer Van to realize he was right.
Instead, the kid finished off the drink and whipped around, hurlin’ the empty bottle off into the darkness.
Holt heard the muffled thump as it landed in the thick carpet of snow some distance away.
The horses lifted their heads and pricked their ears from where they were tied on the picket line between two tall pines, Holt’s gelding givin’ a soft nicker.
Holt agreed. Van had a more volatile temper than his father, it seemed.
Well, he was gonna have to learn to manage that, or he’d end up as bad as Kill ‘Em All Paul.
Holt crossed his arms and fixed the kid with a disapprovin’ look as Van swung back around his way. He decided to try a different tactic. “Why didn’t you stay with yer aunt?”
“What?”
“Why,” Holt repeated, slow and deliberate this time, “didn’t you stay with your aunt? Just now when we were back at her place? She invited you to stay just like she’d done fer yer sister. But you declined. Decided to leave with me, instead. Why?”
Van stood there fer a long, silent minute just glarin’, his fists balled at his sides and hard, furious pantin’ cloudin’ out around his head in the frosty air.
Holt lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Because,” Van growled.
“That ain’t no kinda reason.”
“Because … because of what you said,” the kid finally spat. He went back to pacin’, throwin’ out his arms to gesture angrily as he spoke. “’Cause of … ‘cause of the fugitive thing. The people in Abilene knew who I was. They knew my family. Someday, maybe, I don’t know … maybe they’d go looking for me at Aunt Emma’s house. If they did … I wouldn’t want them to find me there. Wouldn’t want Aunt Emma to know … wouldn’t want her to know I killed that fella.”
He rounded to face Holt again and jammed his hands down deep inside the pockets of his woolen, fleece-lined coat. Another thing they’d stolen along their journey north. He glared down into the fire. Angry. Angry like he’d been when he’d killed that man back in Kansas.
Of course, if a man had done to Holt what that man had done to Van, Holt knew he would have done the same.
Still, if the kid had taken just a little time to plan better, think things through instead of simply reactin’ in blind fury, he coulda gotten away with it, surely. Instead of havin’ committed murder in plain daylight and with plenty of witnesses around, to boot.
Holt let out a slow, even breath. “That’s right. You know you can’t stay with yer aunt no more. There ain’t nothin’ left fer you in that town, anyway. Not with yer sister gone. And if you stay put in one place anywhere too awful long, sooner or later yer past deeds are like to catch up with ya.” Holt stepped around the side of the fire and dropped his voice. “Look, kid. What you’ve been through is rough. Ain’t no one should have to live through what you have. But it happened. And yer still here. And things may not be ideal fer you right now, sure, but … but, well … you got me now. I’ve done a lot worse than you in my life and the law ain’t caught up to me yet. You stick with me and you can still have a pretty decent life. Might be a little rougher than what yer used to, but it really ain’t so bad. You’ll stay mostly warm and mostly fed, at least. And you’ll be freer than you’ve ever been before, I can guarantee ya that.” Holt glanced upward to the fat clouds that drifted in over the half-moon above. He cleared his throat. “And yer pa … he was like a brother to me once. Makes me almost like yer uncle, don’t it? Makes us almost like family, too.” He brought his gaze back down to the surly young man standin’ before him, but Van stayed silent, glowerin’ at the flames.
Holt waited another long minute, then huffed a sigh when the kid still said nothin’ and went to his tent. He retrieved the box wrapped in burlap and tied with twine—the one he’d been cartin’ around fer the last many days. Since they’d resupplied at Vatican Springs.
He ducked back through his tent flap and went to Van, holdin’ the package outward.
The young man had crossed his arms while Holt had been diggin’ around in his tent, but now uncrossed them to take the box. The hard, angry lines of his face eased somewhat, replaced by surprise and confusion.
“I was gonna give you this tomorrow,” Holt said, noddin’ toward the package. “Ya know, fer Christmas and all. But seein’ as yer in a mood … well, maybe this’ll make ya feel better.”
Frownin’, Van resumed his seat on the fallen log and put the box in his lap, workin’ at the twine until he managed to unknot it and pull it off. Then he unfolded the burlap to reveal the polished walnut box beneath. He glanced sideways to Holt standin’ beside him, questions written all over his face.
But Holt only gave him another nod, promptin’ him to open the damn thing already.
Van lifted the box’s lid … and inhaled sharply at the sight of what lay inside.
A shiny new .38 pistol, blue steel with mahogany grip, nestled inside a red velvet interior. He stared down at it long and hard.
“You need to get rid of that one you’ve got,” Holt said. “It’s a piece of junk. Can’t believe you managed to shoot straight with it at all. Or managed to keep yer hand from blowin’ off.”
“It’s … all I could afford,” Van murmured.
“Well, now you’ve got yerself a nice new one.” He clapped the kid on the shoulder. “That one’ll do ya right. Just take care of it properly and all, ya hear?”
“I…” Van lifted the weapon from the velvet and turned it over in his hands, and it nearly glowed as the firelight reflected in the polished surface. His eyes were round as saucers now as he gaped at it.
Holt grunted in amusement.
“I…,” Van tried again, and then he shook his head. “Mama and Pa never let us shoot pistols,” he finally managed. “And certainly they would have never gifted one to us.”
Holt lifted his brows. He’d wondered more than once how the son of Lucky Logan Delano wasn’t a better shot. The kid was learnin’ fast, though. Outwardly, he only shrugged. “I ain’t them, Van. And like I told ya, things are different now. Yer gonna have to get used to things bein’ different.”
“Pa always said pistols were for murderers.”
He said it so quietly Holt almost didn’t catch it, even in the near dead silence of a winter night.
“He always said we weren’t no murderers.”
The snort came out before Holt could stop it, and he only barely refrained from blurtin’ out just how many men Lucky Logan Delano had murdered—that Holt knew of. He swallowed that back though at the last minute, and instead cleared his throat again, takin’ a seat next to Van on the log.
The kid was lookin’ at him now, suspicious and wary, like he knew Holt was holdin’ back on tellin’ some secret.
Holt rubbed his gloved palms over his knees and let out a long breath, keepin’ his gaze fixed on the fire. He thought of all the tally marks Logan had etched into his twin silver-plated pistols, one of which Holt had recovered from the Delano homestead himself. He’d thought he’d give it to Logan’s son if he ever found him, but then once he had found Van, he’d realized with a shock the kid was completely oblivious to who his father had once been.
Didn’t seem right to dump somethin’ so heavy on him right off. So Holt had just kept Logan’s pistol safe fer now, instead.
Maybe someday the kid could have it. When he was ready fer it.
“Uh … right,” Holt said. “Sure. Well. There ain’t no gentle way to put this, kid, so I’m just gonna say it. Yer pa was fer sure a murderer. Durin’ the time I knew him, at least. So forgive me if I find the fact he told you kids that nonsense rather amusin’.”
“He never killed anyone while I was growing up,” Van muttered sullenly.
“That you know of,” Holt added. Then shook his head. “But no, I suspect he probably didn’t murder no one durin’ that time. He really was tryin’ to live honest, bless him. Doin’ it fer the good of you and yer sister and yer ma, I imagine.”
Van nodded, tracin’ his fingertips over the new pistol’s barrel and cylinder. “Guess I’m a murderer now, too, though. Guess this is a real fitting gift, ain’t it?” He curled his fingers around the grip and hefted the weapon.
Holt hissed through his teeth. “It’s a real fittin’ gift regardless. Especially with what you’ve got ahead of you now. Especially if yer gonna keep travelin’ with me.”
Van eyed him sideways.
“You are gonna keep travelin’ with me, yeah?”
A corner of the kid’s mouth twitched, and his gaze slid back to stare into the fire. But he nodded, and then sobered. “Yeah. Guess I don’t have nowhere else to go now, anyway.”
Holt put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You ain’t got anything holdin’ you back now, you mean. You can do whatever you want now, Van. Go wherever you want, do whatever you want, take whatever you want, and do it all whenever you want, too.”
The kid seemed to mull that over fer awhile too, then another silent nod.
It was the same speech Kill ‘Em All Paul used to give to the young men he recruited.
Holt patted Van’s shoulder and stood. “It’ll get better over time,” he said quietly. “Easier. Just hang in there kid, all right?”
Another nod.
Holt started to move away, thinkin’ about hittin’ the sack. To be honest, Van wore him out sometimes. He weren’t so used to ridin’ with other folks no more. And it was nearly midnight now, anyway, it musta been.
“Holt?”
He stopped and turned to face the kid.
“Thank you.” He lifted the pistol. “This is … this is real nice. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Havin’ you properly armed benefits me, too, ya know.”
“I … I, uh … I don’t have anything for you.”
Holt straightened, hookin’ his thumbs in his belt. “Don’t you fret that none, kid. I’ve got everything I need or want already. Think I’m gonna hit the hay now, though. It’s gettin’ late.”
“Yeah, sure. See you in the morning.”
“Sure thing. G’night.”
“Good night.”
Holt turned and headed fer his tent once more, but then drew up short just as he reached it and turned back around. “Actually … actually I did think of somethin’ I’d like fer Christmas.”
Van glanced his way, in the middle of emptyin’ the cylinder of his junk pistol and loadin’ up the cylinder of his new one. “Oh yeah? Well it’d better be cheap, because I’m awful low on—”
“Turns out its free.”
Now Van frowned, hardly lookin’ as he finished fillin’ the new sixshooter and snapped its cylinder closed. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
Holt rested his hands atop the grips of his own twin pistols, lettin’ a sly smile slide over his face. “I wanna steal every last one of Mr. Fisher’s cattle.”
Van looked stricken, only blinkin’ up at him.
“But I can’t do that alone. I’m gonna need help. You up fer helpin’ me do that?”
Holt already knew the kid would say yes. Mr. Fisher had been the one to beat him and throw him out in the snow last winter, leavin’ him to freeze, or starve, or both. And Van was still angry about that, too, Holt knew. Hell, stealin’ that man’s herd was just as much a Christmas present fer Van as much as the money they’d get fer resellin’ that beef would be a Christmas present fer Holt.
Van stood from the log quick, shovin’ that shiny new pistol down hard into his holster. “Yes,” he hissed. “Fuck yes I am.”
Holt grinned. In the dark of night, half-lit and half-silhouetted by the fire, the kid was a spittin’ image of his father about the time Holt had first met Logan: tall, skinny, long-legged and fulla fight. All he was missin’ was that jet-black hair. “I thought so. Well then, that’ll be plenty of a present fer me. We’ll make a plan fer how to go about it on our way back into Kansas, all right?”
Now Van was noddin’ vigorously, much more enthusiastic than he had been before. “Yeah. Yeah, all right.”
“Great. Then I’m goin’ to bed.” Holt touched the brim of his hat. “Merry Christmas, kid.”
“Merry Christmas, Holt.”
Holt ducked inside his tent before the swell of memories could overtake him. Memories of so many Christmases spent with the Johnson Boys, all of ‘em gathered around a campfire swappin’ tall tales, hearty stew, bawdy songs and raucous laughter. Memories of one particular Christmas when Logan had saved his life at the expense of their take.
Paul had been real, real sore about that.
But Logan had seemed to always consider it a well-made trade.
Holt sighed as he tied his tent flap closed, notin’ just before he did so that big, fat flakes of snow had started to drift down from the heavens. He grunted and tied up the flap extra snug, then crawled to his layered woolen bedroll and flopped down onto it.
Well, the new snow may have been pretty, but it would slow up their return journey to Kansas even more so. He supposed it was a good thing they weren’t in any real hurry no more.
Good thing they didn’t really have any certain place to be by any certain time.
He pulled off his hat and set it in one corner.
Well, Logan … I managed to save one of yer kids. Got one of ‘em, at least. That’s better than nothin’, ain’t it? And I’ll keep him safe. I’ll take care of him, don’t you worry.
Holt closed his eyes, listenin’ to the crunch of Van’s boots in the snow outside as he moved around. Sounded like he was addin’ more wood to the fire.
It was nice to have company to ride with these days.
Nice to have someone almost like a friend now to travel with.
Someone almost like family.
Nice to not be alone on Christmas no more…
Holt drifted off into an easy sleep.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: And here’s the Christmas short story for 2022! I managed to complete it after all, which makes my very happy! ^_^
This story was in part inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special, of all things, because readers have said before that the relationship between Van and Holt reminds them of the relationship between Peter and Yondu.
And that holiday special was a nice little showcase of Peter and Yondu’s relationship, which I personally love… and it made me think… “What if this year’s Christmas short story was about Van and Holt, and one of the Christmases they spent together?”
Once I started thinking down that path, I realized it would be fun and super interesting to be able to see things from HOLT’S point of view for once, since we’ve not gotten inside his head at all yet during this series or any of its shorts.
And I really loved how this little story turned out, because I really, really enjoyed getting into Holt’s head. As the author, I always know what he’s thinking, of course. But since he doesn’t always express it (or sometimes expresses it badly, heh), many things are often lost or overlooked by Van.
HOPEFULLY those things are not missed by the reader, but you never know! So whether or not you already suspected Holt felt this way toward his once-best-friend’s son or not… now you DO know. 😉 I think it adds even more fun flavor to their relationship in later years, too. You can see how over time, Holt’s patience with Van starts wearing thin, lol.
Or that’s the idea, anyway. Hope you enjoyed this little tale! There are many more coming in the future… including one which details exactly what happened with Mr. Fisher, what exactly happened in Abilene, and probably the stealing of Mr. Fisher’s cattle someday, too.
But until then… Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and have a wonderful, warm and safe holiday season!
If you want to catch up on past years’ Christmas shorts, just go here! (Some of those events are referenced in this story!) And subscribe to the blog or join my newsletter to be sure you don’t miss all the upcoming developments!
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