Free Be Mine for Christmas by Alicia Street, Roy Street

 
     
    Be Mine For Christmas
     
     
    “Brandon, come back here.” Ellie couldn’t really blame her six-year-old for being angry. This winter wonderland that smelled of balsam and roasting chestnuts affected her with its magic, too, making her long for everything Christmas could be. But that didn’t change the facts.
    “Brandon?” She walked through rows of huge Douglas firs, their branches caressing Ellie’s shoulders with gentle scratching sounds as they brushed against her quilted parka, her boots crunching on packed snow underfoot. She’d thought Santa Sunday at Madsen’s Christmas tree farm would be a way to share some holiday fun with Brandon—without spending money she didn’t have. But between the ride in Santa’s train, the bells, the carols and the tempting gift shop full of bright, colorful toys, she’d only made things worse.
    “Brandon!” Where was he? How could he get away from her so fast? Her anxiety mounted. She picked up her pace, moving down one row of evergreens after the next, with no sign of her son.
    Jogging around a bend, she tripped and ran smack against a broad, hard chest in a black sweater. She glanced up and her breath caught at the sight of a square-jawed Viking, blond curls framing his face beneath a woolen cap, smiling blue eyes with lashes that would make most women jealous. 
    His hands gripped her shoulders as he set her steadily on her feet. “I think you’re the one I’ve been looking for.”
    Don’t I wish . This buff hunk would be exactly what she’d ask Santa for—if she believed in such things. She shook off the thought. “My little boy ran into this section of trees and I can’t find him. He’s wearing a green parka with a dinosaur embroidered on the back.” 
    A slow smile formed on the Viking’s handsome face. “And his name is Brandon Dean.”
    He knew her son’s name? At first her mom-alarm freaked over this breach of the “no talking to strangers” rule she’d drilled into Brandon. But then she thought about the friendly atmosphere of this place. “You’ve found him? Where is he?”
    The man turned away and gestured for her to follow. Ellie raced to keep up with his long strides.
    When they came to an isolated barnlike building in a clearing behind the trees, her safety defenses kicked in. She stopped in her tracks. “Where are you taking me? I thought you said—”
    “Your boy’s right here.” He opened the door wide enough for her to see a brightly lit workshop. Evergreen branches, ribbons and shiny Christmas balls spread across broad tables.
    And there sat Brandon, sipping hot chocolate and watching with admiring eyes as a boy who looked about thirteen secured pinecones on a wreath.
    Ellie let out an audible sigh. Brandon glanced up. She was about to rush forward and hug him, but he gave her a frown and turned away.
    She blinked back tears, telling herself it was only that he wanted to be seen as a big boy now, not a mama’s baby. But guilt flooded her. She knew a large part of his anger stemmed from hearing his mom say no every time he asked for something. When Ellie had lost her job last year, she’d promised herself not to allow the stress of their situation to affect her son.
    Apparently she had failed.
    A touch on her elbow urged her to give the boy his space. “How about some hot chocolate?” The Viking’s deep voice sent a spark through Ellie that stirred something inside her. She followed him to a bench in the corner near an iron stove.
    “I’m Reece Madsen, by the way.”
    “Madsen? Then this is your farm?”
    He nodded. “Does Brandon’s mom have a name?”
    “Ellie Dean.” She took the mug of steaming cocoa he handed her and whispered, “Thank you for finding my son.”
    “Actually, he tripped and fell against me just like you did.” His sea blue eyes held hers with a look that instantly brought back the memory of her hands, cheek and chest pressing against his muscular body.
    And how good it felt.
    Was that what