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Santa, Bring Me a Biker!

Written By

USA Today Bestselling Author

Chelsea Camaron

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli

Formatting by: Jennifer Rivera

Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of a motorcycle club but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.

***Warning: This book may contain graphic situations that may be a trigger for some readers. Please understand this is a work of fiction and not meant to offend or misrepresent any situations.***


To my nephew: you are a light in my life. Since before you were born, I prayed for you, wished for you, dreamt about you, and loved you. My wish for you is a life of love, happiness, and don’t ever let anyone hold you back. You are a bundle of energy, emotion, and all things right when sometimes we are surrounded in so much wrong in the world. I will always be here for you. Family is everything.

Santa, Bring Me a Biker!

Tinsley Parker is a scattered, scorned, mess of a woman this holiday season. This year has been one thing after another with no end in sight.

Down on her luck, a drunk evening with her only sister lands them both writing letters to Santa.

A simple mix-up when delivering her nephew’s letter lands her secret wish in the hands of Ryan Causley.

One Christmas wish from one hopeless woman turns into a miracle for a family that has been dealt too many hard knocks.

Do you still believe in the magic of Christmas?

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Bonus Moment

About the Author

Chapter One

December 1st


Every snowflake is unique.

The sky is not filled with some gorgeous light of a new day. In fact, the air is thick, cold, and unforgiving. It matches my soul at the moment. Snow will be pouring down soon, I can feel it in the air. Jameson, Vermont, our small town, in the winter is frigid at times. Maybe it’s not the air that’s so cold but the feeling of my heart.

The Lincoln town car slows down and stops behind the Hearse. I squeeze my sister Lindsey’s hand as a comfort and reminder that as much as she feels alone, in this moment, she isn’t.

My nephew sits on the other side of her, most likely still trying to process what has happened. Keegan turned nine this past summer. They say children are resilient but really, what more can one person take? I am twenty-nine years old and completely shattered. How can anyone expect him to get through all of this?

In the last eleven months, my mother passed away from cancer, then my father, two weeks later, from a heart attack, as if that loss wasn’t enough, their cat, Petunia, didn’t adjust to the shared custody agreement Lindsey and I had – she took off out the door behind Keegan one day and the next time we saw her, she had been hit by a car in front of my parents’ previous home. We can only assume she was homesick and looking for our parents.

Ten days ago, on a simple training exercise with his unit, my brother-in-law died in a helicopter crash leaving my sister, Lindsey and their young son, Keegan, behind.

Thanksgiving didn’t happen for our family because honestly, Lindsay and I couldn’t find much to be thankful for other than each other and Keegan. I get it. We are wrong for the bitterness.

It can always be worse, we both have to remind each other and ourselves of that fact.

But this … this is hard. And to have those men in uniform show up just days before Thanksgiving, days before Kyle would be home on the holiday time off the Marines gave him, and days before my sister could tell him that she was ready to try for a second child that Kyle had been asking for, it just makes everything more difficult. There will be no second baby for my sister and her husband. Keegan will be the only product of their love. There was no way we could celebrate a time of thanks when we had simply lost too much.

Does that make us bad people? I don’t think so. Does it make us human and full of raw emotions? Absolutely.

Ten days ago, our world changed once again. The mourning process isn’t easy normally, but with Kyle’s situation there was time needed to “process him and his belongings,” the military said. Lindsey thinks they were trying to sort out all of the victims’ family and the bodies. There was not a single survivor from the crash so I am sure there was a lot of things for them to handle on top of the investigation to determine what actually happened.

The answers we seek we will most likely never know. The documents of the crash are classified, only adding to our mourning. We won’t ever know what caused Kyle to be taken from his wife, his son, and our family.

I can’t say if having his body sooner, or having this service, days after the accident, would change a single thing about the way we feel right now or not. We didn’t have that option so we take what we get and try to push through.

I wish I could say we had some large extended family to be some sort of support system. We don’t, though. Our grandparents passed away before we were born so Lindsey and I are left leaning on one another now.

The car door opens and I swallow back the emotions threatening to drown me where I sit. Sliding out, I stand and wait for my sister and then Keegan before we follow our military escort to the graveside.

The service is a whirlwind of one tradition to another. Everything laced in history and respect for their fallen brother. The Navy Chaplain who performed the service actually requested it. Apparently on one of the many deployments Kyle made, he met this particular Chaplain. According to what Lindsay said, he held Kyle in a high regard, even if he was a Jarhead – the man did make those jokes in his opening. All in all, though, the man made it clear there were very few men with Kyle’s integrity, courage, commitment, and honor.

He should tell the world. I don’t have a single negative thing to say about my brother-in-law. I don’t know anyone who could say something bad about him. Lindsey and Kyle met when they were still in diapers and I wasn’t even thought of. Side-by-side the two of them grew up together, fell in love, and built this life.

Lindsey being Lindsey and wanting to be near our family, she let her husband work away from home. Kyle joined the Marines while allowing her to stay here to be with our parents who were aging, and then when I graduated from college she was here to help me start my business. Their love was strong enough to withstand any distance, they both always said. So even though, they only had weekend visits, and holiday leave time, Kyle always made the best of it. Every single day, he would video call Keegan and do his homework with him, read to him, and talk about anything and everything under the sun. When bed time came if Kyle was away, he made sure before he left that there was a new recording in this bear he found to say goodnight and I love you to his son.

My feet falter as my heels get stuck in the ground as we walk away from the graveside. Twenty-one-gun salute, the playing of Taps, the presentation of the flag, it was all painful. Lindsey looks back to check on me, while holding the folded flag tightly to her chest.

The two men, all I could do was stare at their white glove covered fingers as they first folded it in half, then in half again before pulling the old red, white, and blue tight. The one Marine stood absolutely still holding the flag while his comrade continued to make the triangles until it was to the place they could tuck the ends and seal the flag closed. The very flag that was draped over Kyle’s casket to cover the Marine for his service to our country.

As emotional as it was to have that flag presented to my sister on behalf of the President of the United States of America and the Marines, it doesn’t touch what I feel thinking of my nephew and the things he has to hold onto for his dad. No, nothing hits me as hard as thinking of that bear right now. Lifting my head to the sky, I don’t speak but I silently pray.

“Please don’t let that bear ever break and erase the sound of his daddy’s voice.”

I feel the heat of my tears trickle down my face as I follow my sister holding her son’s hand and we slide back into the car.

The men in their uniform make no movements right away. They respect our time and allow us to get comfortable. They show no expressions on their faces. There isn’t a sadness exactly, but a somberness in their expressions.

The one thing that stands out most, though, is the respect they carry themselves with for Kyle. Through the entire service, they never faltered.

I can only hope that for the rest of Keegan’s life, Lindsey and I never falter for the little boy who has lost half of his world.

Chapter Two

December 12th


Everything gets better in time … or with wine.

“I have an idea!” Lindsey says with a huge smile from across the dinner table.

“Hit me with it,” I tell her swirling spaghetti around my fork.

“Well, every year when Kyle got leave for Christmas, he always did a Toys for Tots rotation at the toy store in Bingham in his full dress blues uniform.” I nod for her to continue. “I have a set of kid’s blues for Keegan. So I think this year, we should write our lists to Santa and mail them off at the big mail box they have that shoots direct to the North Pole and spend an hour donating our time to the charity along with some toys.”

I see the tears fill my sister’s eyes. Looking over to Keegan, my heart splinters with the hope in those deep blue depths. The mail box doesn’t shoot directly to the North Pole but it’s something Kyle always told Keegan. This is an opportunity to keep a memory alive.

Instantly, I nod. “Guess we need to make our wish lists for good ole Saint Nick.”

Keegan jumps up from his chair and rushes to me wrapping his hands around my neck. “Aunt Tins, you’re gonna love giving back!”

Lindsey watches us as the tears flow down her face now in streams.

“My daddy always took me with him. We have to stand real still. It’s to honor the men in the uniform that came before us. If a child needs some help, only then do we break stance because we are here to protect and serve.” Keegan explains his previous times with his dad.

Times he will never have again.

I swallow back my tears. “Sounds like we have an important job to do then.”

“First, we gotta write our lists,” Keegan rambles as he takes off to his room.

Immediately, I look to my sister who has this glisten in her eyes of pride for this family tradition her husband had with their son. “Okay sister, what do we put on these lists?”

Lindsey smiles at me, “our Christmas wishes, duh.” She winks at me. “Adult style of course.”

“Yeah, and what should we put on them, feeted pajama’s?” I joke back lifting my glass of wine.

“Have a few more glasses and settle in for the night. We don’t have to rush. We can make this silly and fun. No one will see the lists anyway.”

This is the first time since just before Thanksgiving when the uniformed Marines showed up at her front door that Lindsey actually seems like she is living. We have all been going through the motions. If this gives my nephew something normal in a shit storm of chaos, then I will gladly make lists to Santa every year for the rest of my life.

Keegan returns with paper, pencils, and a box of markers. He places the paper in the middle and hands the markers to me. “Aunt Tins, you might wanna color yours. It’s been a while since you have written to the jolly man. He might need something to remember you need to move to the good list from the naughty side.”

I gasp. “Keegan Rosswell Miller, I’ll have you know, I give Santa my Christmas list every year. I told you I email that direct to the fat man in the suit every year.”

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