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to kiss her, he walked out to the garage.
    He paused by his truck. Propped up on the handle sat a garage door opener. Roxi had given him access to her house—he shook his head in wonderment, pressing it. Washington’s morning light penetrated the garage.
    After climbing into his truck, he backed out and touched the button to close the door. To the left he spied Dean Jr, out smoking on Laila’s porch, glaring in his direction. He growled low in his throat. There was something about that man he just plain didn’t like. After ensuring the garage door had completely shut, he drove off to do what he needed to.
     
    * * * *
     
    Second Chances had caused a knot in his chest even before he’d hopped out in front of the two-storey building. There was a fenced area off to the side and he could see boys and girls out there despite the cold, windy weather. With a deep breath, he clenched his hands into fists. Beneath the leather of his gloves he could feel the sweat on his palms.
    Damn it. I have no reason to be afraid. Yet he couldn’t control the memories.
    He strode up the steps then knocked briskly on the front door. An older man opened it, a smile on his lips.
    “Can I help you?”
    In a flash, he was transported back to being a little boy, terrified and unsure as to why he had been separated from his family. Would they ever come for him? Would he make it if they didn’t?
    “Are you okay, son?”
    Sam blinked and cleared his throat. The man before him had pale skin and a head of bright red hair.
    “Yes, sir. I’m Gunnery Sergeant Sam Hoch. Here to help out for Master Gunnery Sergeant Dean Richardson.”
    The smile broadened. “Of course. I thought you looked familiar. Come on in. I’m Father Dylan O’Toole. How is Dean doing? We are all praying for him.”
    They stepped inside and Sam gazed about the warm room. “He was awake yesterday. I’m going back this afternoon.”
    Children played here as well, the ones too young to be out in the cold for very long. He heard some cries from even younger ones coming from nearby.
    “What was he doing? I’ll pick up where he left off.” Sam knew it wasn’t the nicest behaviour but being here had hit him harder than he’d expected it to.
    Father O’Toole nodded, understanding in his gaze. “Right this way. Do you know anything about plumbing? Painting?”
    Sam remained silent as they went towards the back. Father O’Toole opened a door, which led to another room. Lights were powered on and illuminated the partially painted walls of the large space.
    “He was finishing this up to be the playroom once winter gets here full force. There are two bathrooms in the back which also need some work. Forgive me for asking, son, but how long are you here?”
    “At least until Christmas.”
    Father O’Toole smiled. “Wonderful. We’ll get the Santa suit out and alter it a bit for you. You’re a bit broader than Dean.”
    “Santa suit?” His heart stopped for a few beats.
    “Dean is our Santa Claus. I assumed you’d be taking his place in that as well. I mean, he can’t have kids climbing all over him when he gets out. We even have a Mrs Claus to help. And some elves.” Father O’Toole reached towards him, stopping shy of actual contact. “Can we count on you?”
    “Yes, Father.”
    A huge grin and the man left him. Alone. Sam sighed heavily and went to the paint. He also checked the bathroom and made a mental list of what he’d need. What did he know about being Santa? Didn’t matter, he’d do it. Letting down Master Guns was not even an option.
    Mrs Claus. A slight lift of his lips as he envisioned Roxi in a tight, short, red dress—even though he doubted that would be the costume—and her at his side. Another sigh and he got himself to work.
    Father O’Toole came for him at lunch when Sam was cleaning up, having finished for the day. “Come get some food, son.” He glanced around. “You’ve made some great strides.”
    Sam had only part of one wall left. And