Lou Ellen Wells stepped inside the church and stopped to inhale deeply of the scent of peace and hope. She let it absorb into her soul, and her insides lightened. Reverence swept through her as she took one step, then another, toward the grouping of candles situated to the left of the altar.

On auto-pilot, her heels struck the glossy marble floors of the empty chapel and echoed in her ears as she made her way down the center aisle to carry out her yearly Thanksgiving pilgrimage. At the end of the aisle, she bowed and made the sign of the cross before moving to the candles. She smiled as she knelt on the cushioned bolster before the candles, and again made the sign of the trinity. Pulling out a long-stemmed match, she touched it to an already burning wick on a candle in the back row.

Her hand shook as she touched the flame to the first candle, then blew out the match. Folding her hands, she prayed for her father who was killed in the Vietnam war when she was ten. She relit the match, touched it to another candle and prayed for her first husband, Wills, who died in the first Gulf War twenty-three years prior, when she was thirty-two. She lit a third candle and prayed for inner peace for the men and women who made it back from war, but not fully whole, adding a special request to end the wars that left all that carnage.

Her final prayer was for the safety of the men and women she worked with at Deep Six Security, who she considered family now, people who had done their time defending the country, but were still putting their lives on the line to protect innocents at home.

When she pushed up to her feet again her knees creaked, telling her how many years she’d been making these same requests. Lou refused to stop having faith they’d eventually produce results, though. God worked in His own time, the world had plenty of problems for Him to solve, and she was patient. Men would do what they would do, regardless of what their maker commanded.

She turned and gasped when she came face to broad chest with a tall, hard-faced man in dirty fatigues and a military field cap. His piercing, but wary and tired, blue eyes bored through her. Lou Ellen forced a smile, but he didn’t return it. Or at least she didn’t think he did, because the scraggly salt-and-pepper beard that covered the lower half of his chest didn’t move.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she muttered, and took his grunt as he moved around her to kneel before the candles as a return greeting.

Was this man one of those she’d just prayed for? If so, she sure hoped He would answer her prayers, because this rangy, downtrodden-looking man didn’t appear to have much to be thankful for other than his next breath. Was he one of the hopeless heroes she was going to serve today at the veteran’s shelter? Maybe, maybe not. But his ragged appearance pointed to him being homeless for sure. The shelter would welcome him today, regardless of whether he served or not.

Lou Ellen opened her mouth to invite him to dinner there, but he bowed his head and she left him to pray. It appeared he needed all the help he could get from on high, so she was not going to interrupt.

She was late now anyway, and dinner would be too, if she didn’t hurry. She’d slapped her alarm clock one too many times after five a.m. because she was not a morning person. Today and Christmas Day were the only two days of the year she forced herself to be an early bird.

When she walked outside, she inhaled again and the crisp November air seemed cleaner somehow. The dark gray clouds overhead were just turning burnt orange, which again reminded her how late she was this morning. Turning left, she set a brisk pace and five blocks later, she turned the corner and saw the warm glow of the lights at the shelter.

With each step she made toward the building, her heart warmed more, even though it was just above freezing outside. Today would be long and hard, but no harder or longer than the days these men had spent serving her and their country. As minor as it was in comparison, this was how she showed her thanks to them for their contributions to the country.

The front door of the building was vacant now, but in an hour, at sunrise, she knew the line would start forming there, just like it did every year. She hurried around the corner into the alley and took two steps toward the side door, but stopped when she heard something shuffle behind the dumpster at the end of the alley.

The hair on the back of her neck rose, as she flipped back the flap on her purse to put her hand inside to close it around Bruno’s grip. Having the pistol in her palm comforted her as she watched the dumpster and took the five remaining steps to the door.

A cat darted out, then gracefully leapt on top of the dumpster before diving over the fence. Lou’s breath escaped in a steamy puff, her shoulders relaxed and she pulled her hand out of her purse to open the door. She pasted on a smile and strode inside then her eyes ticked around the already-bustling kitchen.

“Morning, y’all! Trouble has arrived, so get ready,” she shouted, and all eyes turned her way. Everyone except Frank Johnson smiled. Most of the faces she recognized, but there were several new helpers too, which bode well for this very needed tradition continuing.

“Trouble is right,” Frank grumbled as he slammed a metal spoon down on the counter to wipe his hands on his apron front, while he walked over to her. “You’re late, beautiful,” he growled as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I was afraid you weren’t coming this year.”

“Have I ever not come, Frankie?” she asked, with an eye roll as he helped her out of her coat. She hung her scarf, coat and purse on a hook. “I’m as much a fixture around this place as you are. If I ever don’t show up, you’ll know I’m dead.”

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to him. “Don’t ever say that again,” he said, his brown eyes boring into hers. “You’re just like me. Too mean and ornery to die.”

The intensity in his voice reminded her she needed to tread lightly with him. It was obvious he had feelings for her that went beyond friendship. In fact, two years ago, he tried to take their friendship further, but Lou Ellen just didn’t feel that way about the sixty-eight-year-old former Army Captain. At this point in her life, she didn’t need a man anyway. Two times married, one divorced and one dead, was enough. She liked having control of her own destiny and decisions now.

“I told you not to dress up to come here,” he reprimanded, handing her an apron. “Jeans and a t-shirt will do. That blue suit is going to be brown polka-dot by the time you leave today.”

“Then it can go in the trash,” she replied, taking the apron to tie it around her waist. “I don’t do jeans, I told you that. Besides, dressing up shows respect for both the job and the occasion.”

“Fine—be hardheaded. It’s your money to waste.” Frank turned and stomped back to the stove, and Lou Ellen laughed.

Lou Ellen was hardheaded—and stubborn. At fifty-five years old, she was set in her ways and they weren’t likely to change, so she was doing men a favor by not engaging with them.

Besides, she had enough men, who she didn’t sleep with, at her office to babysit to have time to allow another one into her life. That is not what she should be thinking about right now, however. She needed to check the assignment list and get busy.

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Nine hours later, Lou Ellen’s cheeks hurt from smiling, her stomach ached from the incredible amount of food she’d eaten and her back hurt from leaning over the serving trays, but she felt better than she had all year. She always felt that way after volunteering here. It was the highlight of her year.

She got up from the table intending to start wiping down tables, but saw one of the new volunteers already handling that task. Another was busy mopping the floors, another task she usually performed. It looked like they’d be getting out of here early today, she thought, as she gathered the trash bags and carried them to the back door of the kitchen. She’d take them out after she helped Frank load the dishwasher. But when she turned and saw someone already doing that job too, she felt a little put upon that they were messing up the Zen of their traditions.

Leaving early would mean missing out on another yearly tradition, too. She and Frank wouldn’t be walking to the nearby pub for a hot, spiced cider, and he wouldn’t be insisting on walking her back to her car, which she always parked at the office, because they didn’t have parking here.

Things change, Lou Ellen, you need to adapt. Be thankful the shelter has new blood, because you and Frank aren’t getting any younger.

With a sigh, she took the trash bags out to the dumpster, one by one, and hefted them up inside. On her fifth trip, she was relieved of that duty too by a new volunteer. Lou Ellen gave up, washed her hands and removed her apron, then dropped it in the linen bin on the way to the coat rack. Jerking her scarf from the peg, she wrapped it around her neck, put on her coat, then slung her purse over her shoulder.

“I guess I’ll see you at Christmas, Frankie,” she said, trying to keep the agitation from her voice as she grabbed the door handle.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Don’t guess, gorgeous—be here—or I’ll find you and dig you up,” he growled, but winked at her.

She laughed, because she couldn’t help herself. “Same goes, Captain,” she replied as she pushed open the door and walked outside.

Turning left, she walked to the end of the alley and squinted against the bright winter sunshine as she turned right onto the sidewalk. She shaded her eyes as she made her way down the block toward the intersection. When she stepped under the canopy of a shop down the street which blocked the sun, spots danced in her vision.

They cleared and her eyes landed on a familiar-looking man panhandling in front of a liquor store two doors down. The guy from the church, she thought, stepping off of the curb, intending to talk him into going to the shelter for a bite to eat. Frank wouldn’t close the doors until he was ready to leave, or out of food. They had plenty of leftovers this year.

A rancid smell suddenly surrounded her, steely arms clamped around her upper arms and a dirty hand slammed down over her mouth, before she was jerked off of her feet and dragged back into a narrow alley.