* * *
Saturday morning arrived, and I’d barely slept the night before. As much as we’d managed to accomplish this past week, we still had a shit ton to do and I was using a walker or forced to be in a chair, unable to move freely on my own.
Thank God for Harmony. And Melody as well, really. She’d figured out a way to get a night off so that she could do a private concert, which meant we sold twice the amount of tickets than last year. Plus, according to Wynn, who was handling both the silent and live auctions, she had some amazing donations, not to mention gorgeous men, to auction off.
Jaxon had arrived on Wednesday and rallied a few of his FBI buddies to help with some heavy lifting, which was more valuable than he could know, and I probably thanked him twelve times a day.
I was currently sitting at my dining room table, going through my final checklist when Harmony walked in. “Are you ready to head over to the Convention Center?”
“Yes, give me five,” I said, distractedly.
She chuckled. “You said that half-an-hour ago.”
“Did I?”
I was forced to move my hands away from my keyboard when Harmony closed my laptop on me. “Yes. We have everything in the car. Let’s go.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” I grabbed my crutches and hoisted myself up, following her slowly out to the car. I was in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip flops, which Harmony had objected to, but I just couldn’t shove my good foot into a sneaker. It was too hot. And there was no way I was going to put my formal gown on until the very last minute. I just had to be extra careful and make sure I didn’t trip on anything.
Jaxon met me at the top of my porch stairs, took my crutches from me, and lifted me down before handing me back my crutches. God, he was a good guy. Gentleman to the nth degree and I was so glad my sister and he had found each other.
He helped me into the back seat of his rental and then we headed down to the convention center where we’d be watching Melody rehearse and take care of any last minute details.
We parked close to the side entrance and I hobbled inside and bumped into something hard. I looked up to find my savior standing with a group of rough looking bikers and I let out a quiet gasp. “What are you doing here?”
Lincoln frowned. “Should you be on your feet?”
“I need to be up and moving a few hours a day,” I said.
Oh my god, he looked incredible. Last time I saw him, he wore torn jeans, a leather jacket, motorcycle boots, and a beanie covering every inch of his head. I had no idea if he had hair or what color it was.
The man had hair. A lot of it. It was dark. It was long…shoulder-length…and thick with a slight curl. It gave him a Jason Momoa look, if Jason Momoa was an angry motorcycle type. It complemented his full beard perfectly and made my girly bits long for things it shouldn’t. Shit, he was gorgeous.
“Maybe you should sit down,” he said.
“I’m good,” I said, surprised by his demand. “Why are you here?”
He rolled his eyes.
“He’s one of the auction items,” his friend answered. “You’re Lyric, right?”
“Ah, yes.”
“I’m Alamo. You crashed in front of my shop.”
“Oh,” I breathed out. “Thank you so much for all your help.”
“Did you get another car sorted?”
I shook my head. “I figured I’d wait until I could actually drive again.”
“Good plan,” he said, and nodded toward Lincoln. “You need help findin’ another one, Doom’s your man.”
Lincoln shook his head and glared at his friend. “Alamo,” he growled.
I smiled, feeling incredibly insecure all of a sudden. “I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Alamo?” Jaxon walked in with a huge grin on his face.
