Spot Conlon angrily pushed his shoulder blades into a wall, forcing his spine to unwillingly straighten out and bringing his legs in closer to his torso. The young man was fighting to remain in the short cast shadow of the ranch house, trying without success to avoid the beating rays of the sun.

"Stupid short buildings, never had to find shade in Brooklyn…" Spot grumbled as he kicked against the dirt and felt his hip bear the grunt of his frustration as it pressed into the wall with enough force to elicit his own small yelp. He immediately glanced around making sure no one heard his moment of weakness. Satisfied that the closest living soul was far enough away to look like a child, Spot lit a cigarette.

The man inhaled the smoke slowly, appreciating the scent of something that was not dessert heat or sweet flowers. A peace settled as he closed his eyes and focused only on breathing in the warm cottony smoke and slowly releasing it. Conlon might have fallen asleep there if it hadn't been for the faint whistle. He jerked forward, dropping his cigarette into his reflexively open palm. The sun had moved higher into the sky and was beating down relentlessly on Spot's head. One glance at the vast open field in front of him and the man knew the whistle had been imagined, dreamed in a moment of peace.

"Imagining things?" Jack chuckled as he stepped around the corner.

"If it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick." Spot muttered murderously from the ground.

"Maybe I will duck into the kitchen and pick up a piece of coal for you, you bum." Jack clicked the heel of his shoes in irritation, before dropping a package onto Spot's lap.

The man glared at the object with a hint of aggravation but a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He tilted his head back and squinted his eyes as he studied Jack Kelly's grinning face. Spot slowly pressed his eyes shut and inhaled from his cigarette as he controlled his urge to unwrap the parcel in his lap. Jack chuckled recognizing the twitching in his old friend's hands.

Christmas was passing rather uneventfully for the young men with an aching absence of snow and evergreens. But the holiday, at least the one afternoon, was a welcomed break from constructing flower floats on wagons. Spot was sure if he never saw a carnation again it might be too soon, but the pay was more than decent and the work was only bothersome because of the blasted heat.

Neither Kelly nor Conlon had mustered enough sentimentally to purchase gifts for each other the first year they had ever had enough pocket change to do so. It had been ages since either man had truly received a gift, that it was hardly even a thought that had crossed their minds. But David Jacobs only managed to restrain himself to purchasing a pack of cigarettes and some spearmint for his friends given on Christmas Eve in the name of holiday cheer. Jack and Spot had succeeded in grumbling their thanks and David had later found two new dime novels on his mattress. On their first and only time off since arriving in Pasadena, Jack had gone to the post office in search of mail.

"Did you get one?" Spot questioned as he reached out tugging forcefully at one of the strings holding his package together.

"Did. So did Davey." Jack leaned comfortably against the wall watching Spot's fingernails scrape at the heavy parchment paper.

"Who's it from?" Spot demanded. The patience and uncaring attitude finally dissolving as he bent forward and ripped open the package.

"The whole of New York it looks like." Jack rolled his eyes as he kicked off from the wall. Spot stole a glance up at Kelly, only to see the retreating soles of his shoes. A faint whistle started just as Jack escaped around a corner, the building saving the cowboy from the wrath of Conlon's near perfect aim. The half finished cigarette landed still slightly smoking between two rocks and in Spot's opinion an unrealistically lush bush. Squinting at the brightness of the inescapable sunlight and roughly smearing beads of sweat across his forehead, Spot begrudgingly got to his feet tucking his unopened package against his chest.

He knew Jack and David had retreated to whatever shade and quiet they could find to open their gifts and he intended to do the same. It was only a matter of retrieving his perfectly good smoke he had foolishly aimed at Kelly and finding the mythical shade.

"Any respectable bush would be bare in the middle of winter." Spot muttered as he swatted away a branch to collect his cigarette.

Rolling it between his fingers carefully, the man cast a sweeping glance at his surroundings looking for the longest cast shadow. The woods would be cool, but Spot knew that Jack would have wandered down there to lounge in the tall trees protective cover. It wasn't often these days that the three traveling companions weren't together, and it wasn't that they minded or were even unaccustomed to the company, but on this Christmas day each man wanted to be alone.

It was their first Christmas outside of New York and there had been no snow and no newspaper party but there had hardly been time to notice. The Rose Parade council had given them their first afternoon off in weeks in the name of Christmas with an apologetic warning it would be their only holiday until after the parade was done. The hired hands had scattered, each seeking their own peace and rest, so he steered away from the boarding house preferring isolation.

With an annoyed huff the young man pulled his gray cap over his sweat dampen hair, casting a sufficient shade over his eyes as his hands carefully pulled parchment to reveal the contents of his package. He had never had much time to just sit still in Brooklyn, so he was an expert at doing most things at a brisk walking pace.

A couple of cigarettes, half a dozen matches, a pair of dice, and several marbles – the real good shooters – rolled around over a copy of the New York Sun and a bundle of letters. A brand new gray cap, almost identical to the one he still sported, was rolled up among the new treasures. Spot frowned at the new cap, trying to decipher who among them had enough to spare on such an extravagant gift.

He ducked into the barn and jumped into an empty wagon, glad for the unexpected holiday afternoon that had scattered all the men and settled a quiet over the ranch. Barrels of flowers and cut stems littered the ground and the now familiar sweetness in the air was easy to ignore as Spot blew a stream of smoke over his own nose. Resting his package on his lap, Spot reached for the cap first unrolling it to find a letter.

I hope you haven't taken to wearing a cowboy hat. You would look ridiculous in them.

He read the words before he recognized the handwriting and instantly heard the snickering tone of Laces in his ear.

"Would not." He growled at the letter. Though he himself had stubbornly refused to wear the absurd hats that Jack had taken to wearing these days, no matter how they protected the back of Kelly's neck from the burning sun. He set aside the letter from Laces, not wanting to know of her first. He knew she would be teasing and jovial in her letter, but there would be the hint of anger that had plagued all her letters and the uncontainable sadness he couldn't quite bear in the daylight. Her letter was tucked back into the new cap, he now recognized as her usual defiant behavior. She bought the cap because she was now the ward of a rich family, and that was why they had left her behind and she refuse to let them forget it.

His callous hands sorted through his bundle. Finding a piece of toffee attached to one letter. Only Critter O'Connell had ever bribed Spot Conlon with sweets, so it was easy to recognize who had written this particular letter. Spot popped the candy greedily into his mouth and stretched out on the bed of the wagon to read news of the city.

She's figured it out. The letter started without preamble and Spot actually smiled. Critter always did get right down to business and some things refused to change.