Even hours after the end of the day's work the huge furnace in the corner of the room was still hot enough to make the air inside stifling. The embers within glowed a faint red in the dim lamplight. In the dead of winter it was a nice way to stave off the bitter cold, but as the days grew longer and the evenings warmer the sweltering heat and acrid fumes of the smithy proved unbearable by day and just barely tolerable in the evening. Metal shavings clung to every surface like the shedding of some unseen ferrous feline while the detritus of a dozen half-finished projects cluttered the workshop, along with all the usual mess that accompanies a living space. Amidst it all there sat a small wooden table surrounded by four seated men.

"Three of a kind," Thomas announced proudly as he place his cards face-up for the others to see.

Lighter cursed under his breath and he tossed his cards in the pile.

"Looks like you win this one," Bronson conceded. "Better watch yourself, neighbor. Too many more hand like that and we might start to think you're cheating us."

"Nonsense!" Thomas guffawed as he scooped the small pile of wooden poker chips toward himself. "You know I'm not good enough to cheat."

"You got that right," Lighter nodded, his pride stinging over the loss. "Well c'mon. Let's go again."

"This'll be my last hand for tonight," Flint said as he gathered up the cards from the table and started shuffling them, his fingers sliding easily over the worn set of playing cards.

"Bowing out already, huh?" Bronson asked. "Can't blame you with your luck."

"What's the rush?" Lighter inquired. "It's barely even been an hour. Who knows when we'll have another chance to get together like this?"

"Gotta get home," Flint shrugged as he tapped the cards into place and began to deal.

Lighter cocked an eyebrow at his old friend's excuse as he tossed his ante into the center. "Have a little faith in Hinawa, Flint. I'm sure she can hold down the fort for one evening without you."

"Yeah, stick around," Thomas urged him. "I know looking at our ugly mugs might not be your favorite thing in the world, but you've gotta let yourself have some fun now and then. I know I get a little stir-crazy when it's just myself and the missus and the kids stuck inside over a long winter."

"I'm here, ain't I?" Flint pointed out. "Can't stay out until the crack of dawn anymore, though. I'm no spring chicken."

"No more than the rest of us," Bronson nodded, "but a few more hands won't kill you."

"I reckon it's because you're losing," Lighter said with a smirk. "Back in the day you'd keep the rest of us up to all hours whenever you were on a hot-streak."

"Mm-hmm," Flint grunted. "And how long ago was 'back in the day'?"

Lighter waved his hand dismissively. "I don't like to put a number on it."

Flint smiled, giving a soft snort at his friend's thinly-disguised vanity. "Must've been a good fifteen years since we had a game like that."

Lighter cringed to himself. He didn't want to think about it, but it really had been that long. Time had slipped by him with hardly a thought, its passage only caught in the peripheral vision of his mind's eye. "Hard to believe," he sighed.

"Sure is," Bronson grumbled. "Used to have a weekly game going. Then you lot went and started sowin' your seeds every which way you could."

"Yeah, we did kinda leave you all by your lonesome, Bronson," Lighter affirmed regretfully. "But it was no picnic for any of us, either. Lots of sleepless nights I'd like back."

"The joys of fatherhood . . ." Thomas mused as he smoothed his moustache. "You spend your youth figuring out how to get the things you need and then you have to learn which ones you can live without."

"Y'know you just might be the smartest sonofagun here, Bronson," Lighter continued. "What I wouldn't give to be a dumb twenty-something with no responsibilities again. Gimme three." He tossed a few of his cards in the pile and motioned to Flint.

"You're better off as a dumb forty-something," Thomas assured him.

"Thirty-something," Lighter corrected his friend tersely. "At least for now."

"Careful, Lighter," Bronson cautioned him with a chortle. "'For now' can become 'back in the day' in the blink of an eye. Two for me, Flint."

"You got it," Flint nodded, dealing two fresh cards to the blacksmith.

"C'mon, I can't be alone in this," Lighter persisted. "Flint, you of all people must miss the good ol' days, back when you had a full head of hair and nerves of steel. Always going on about how you were gonna be the sheriff around these parts someday, never mind that we've never had any need of one and our jail's sat empty since it was built. You'd strut around town with that old Courage Badge of yours like the cock of the walk, chasing off whatever stray dogs or garden snakes were making trouble."

A wry smile cracked through Flint's rugged exterior. "Well, maybe I do miss it a bit. How about you?" he wondered. "You ever miss the days when you tried to one-up me at every turn?"

"Can't say I remember that," Lighter scoffed. Sure, he'd been competitive like any boy that age, but Flint was blowing things out of proportion.

"Mm-hmm," Flint nodded, his smile getting wider. "Whatever you say. Not like I took to swinging a stick so you had to lug around a log to prove a point."

The guffaws from Bronson and Thomas rattled Lighter's cool demeanor. "You playing or not, Thomas?" he asked.

Thomas wrinkled his nose. "Gimme a minute. I'm thinking. There's a lot riding on this hand, you know."

Bronson rolled his eyes at that. "Just take some cards already. Staring at 'em won't turn the bupkis you've got into something worth playing."

"See, that's your problem," Thomas said slyly. "You're in too much of a hurry for this game. Poker's all about strategy. You've gotta outthink the other guy. If you rush you'll lose your shirt."

"I like a game plan as much as the next guy," Flint assured him, "but if you don't take some cards this really will turn into one of those all-night games we used to have."

"Fine! Gimme four," Thomas said in a huff.

"Four!" Bronson cackled, slapping his table and kicking up his feet. "I knew you didn't have squat. 'Strategy' my eye."

"Four it is," Flint said impatiently as he dealt the cards to the shopkeeper. "And two for me, while I'm at it."

Lighter shook his head. "Settle down, Flint," he said. "The wife and kids aren't going anywhere."

"Yeah, yeah," Flint nodded. "That's the hope, at least."

"Heh. Yeah . . ." Lighter gave a half-hearted chuckle, realizing his faux pas too late.

Bronson and Thomas likewise shied away from the sudden tension in the air. They did their best to move past it, clearing their throats or sniffling, but none of them actually spoke. They were all familiar with the close call Flint's sons had in the river a few months earlier, but Lighter felt the sting more keenly than the others. He hadn't always been a single father.

Painfully aware of the discomfort all around him, Flint finally spoke up. "Besides, if I stay out too late Hinawa'll give me an earful."

"Lisa's the same," Thomas added, thankful for the change of topic. "You two are lucky you don't have to deal with that. A woman would throw a fit if she saw the way you keep this place, Bronson."

"I keep this place just fine," Bronson sneered. "Besides, I wouldn't talk if I was you. We've all seen the state of the bazaar."

"You can find whatever you're looking for, can't you?" Thomas retorted. "It's all those kids of mine anyway. I break my back running things and bringing in fresh merchandise all the time; you'd think the least they could do to earn the roof I put over their heads is sweep up."

"Those're kids for you," Lighter grumbled. "Fuel's the same way. I swear that boy was built lazy."

"Were you any different at that age?" Flint asked.

"Of course I was," Lighter snorted. "I worked my fingers to the bone."

"Sure you did," Flint chuckled. "How many times did I catch you fast asleep under some tree when you were supposed to be chopping wood?"

Thinking back, Lighter realized that he may not have recalled those halcyon days with crystal clarity. Not to say he didn't put in hard work – in fact he still had the scars and calluses to prove as much – but goofing off was something he got very good at in his youth. "I don't want that boy picking up any bad habits," he explained. "The last thing I need is for him to take after me. Here I was hoping those boys of yours might rub off on him, Flint, but I don't know anymore. Whatever you've got going doesn't seem to be contagious."

Flint couldn't keep from laughing at that; as proud a papa as he was, he never considered his boys to be especially hard workers. "You sure you're not thinking of somebody else's kids?"

"No, he's telling the truth," Thomas backed up Lighter's account. "You must be doing something right with those two. Claus is up and about before the rooster half the time. And as for Lucas, we can all tell he's Hinawa's son. Respectful, y'know? Mike even says he hears from Lucas more than Nichol and Richie."

"Mike says a lot of things," Flint noted with a cockeyed smirk.

"True, but I'd still believe it," Bronson nodded. "That boy used to be so shy. I reckon he got that from you, Flint, but he's started to take after that brother of his. Even ol' 'beanstalk' Leder seems to've taken a shine to him."

Lighter clicked his tongue. "I don't know how you do it, Flint. One good kid I could call a fluke, but you're two for two. What's your secret?"

As intoxicating as his friends' praise was, Flint knew it was undeserved. He liked to think of himself as a devoted father, but in the eyes of his sons he'd failed spectacularly. Lucas had practically raised himself for years. Claus had it far worse. For all the good things his friends had to say, none of them knew about the troubles hidden from public scrutiny, the things that only family ever saw in one another. Still, recent experience with both of his sons had taught Flint one lesson that he wanted to pass on. "I just do what I can and hope it works out. Sometimes it does, other times not, but if there's one thing that'll help, it's knowing how to shut up and listen."

Bronson chuckled to himself. "Figures your advice would be to keep your trap shut, Flint."

"Probably better if nobody takes my advice to heart," Flint acknowledged. "To be honest, I don't have a clue what I'm doing most of the time."

"Same here," Lighter agreed. "You get into a routine easy enough, but I'm still making it up as I go along."

"No kidding," Bronson laughed. "And here I thought kids came with an instruction manual."

"No such luck," Thomas huffed. "And don't you think I didn't check around for one."

"Sounds pretty rough," Bronson nodded. "I gotta say, you're not making me jealous. At least being a blacksmith I can say I know what I'm doing and I'm damn good at it."

"Not to mention even if you do screw something up you can always fix it," Lighter pointed out. "That's a lot harder to do with a kid."

Flint sighed. "You said it."

"Kids are pretty good at bouncing back, though," Thomas noted. "There's not much you can't fix with a little elbow grease."

"You think?" Lighter wondered.

"We've made it this far, haven't we?" Thomas asked. "A bunch of little mistakes – or even a few big ones – aren't the end of the world."

"You're right about that," Flint agreed thoughtfully. "You haven't failed 'til you stop trying."

"Alright, enough flapping your gums," Bronson interrupted. "We're here to play cards. Who's in?"

Thomas tossed his hand down unceremoniously. "Fold," he announced in annoyance.

"Anyone else?" Flint asked, pausing for a few seconds while the other men stared back at him. "Well alright then. Show 'em."

Lighter went first. "Pair of eights," he announced, holding his cards up for the others to see.

"Damn," Bronson growled, dropping his cards in front of himself to reveal a pair of sixes.

"Good hand, Lighter," Flint nodded approvingly. "That'd beat my pair of twos."

Lighter laughed and reached for the pot. "Bad luck, eh?"

". . . But not these fives," Flint finished his thought with a soft snicker, placing his cards down in front of him to show off his two pair.

Lighter withdrew his hand, shaking his head and grimacing at his friend's trickery. "And you say I had to one-up you."

"There's always next time," Flint said as he stood up, stretching and grunting under the strain of a long day and a lot of years. Even if nights like this one were fewer and farther between, the cowboy was grateful for them all the same. This was one of the few chances he had to remember what it was like to be young and catch up with old friends.

"You know I'll be here if you will," Lighter assured him. "Whenever that might be."

Flint smiled and tipped his hat. "Wouldn't miss it."