Page 5 of Protected By the Bikers Next Door
“Not that she knows it,” Hawk points out.
“She’s been hurt. Someone made her hate that gorgeous body. And no one moves into that house who isn’t desperate or running,” I reply.
We’ve worked our way through our fair share of neighbors, driving the price down. We’ve been hoping to buy the place and expand our clubhouse, but the owner’s been stubborn. If we can drive yet another tenant out, we think he’ll finally give in. Although I’m not so sure I want to get rid of Harper now.
When Bear says, “We can change that,” I know that my friends are as infatuated with Harper as I am.
We collectively decide then that we want Harper to be ours.
Our lioness.
Chapter 3
Harper
When Jenny wakes me up at the crack of dawn the following day, I decide to get some payback and blare out some loud music of my own. Something I can’t imagine is on their playlist, so I choose classical music. I sit on the front porch, sipping my morning coffee with glee and waving goodbye with a waggle of my fingers as the tired, grumpy men leave for work, presumably.
That night, they threw another wild party in retaliation.
Undeterred, I continued my morning assaults, this time playing Jenny’s favorite kiddie songs. If they found Bach annoying, then they’re going to hate Baby Shark. Unsurprisingly, they retort by keeping me up all night again, and not in a good way. By the end of four days, we’re exhausted. I’m running on caffeine, and Jenny is getting cranky from the lack of sleep. As I put my daughter to bed, I feel like the world’s worst mother. I’ve been more focused on this petty feud than my own child’s health. I vow to call a truce.
When I hear Jenny cry out for me in the middle of the night, I’m not worried initially. I assume it’s just the noise coming from next door that’s woken her. However, the moment I step into her bedroom, I know something’s wrong. She’s tangled in the sheets, her pajamas rucked up, and her hair wild and matted to her sweaty forehead.
“I don’t feel so good, Mommy,” she groans.
I rush over and feel her forehead; she’s on fire. “It’s okay, sweetie, Mommy’s here. Just wait there a sec while I get something to help cool you down, okay, baby?”
I rush to the bathroom, wetting a flannel with cold water and grabbing the liquid Tylenol for kids, as well as a thermometer, before racing back to her room. “Okay, sweetie, here we go, drink some of this,” I say, spooning out the Tylenol.
She coughs and sputters a little but manages to swallow some. I place the flannel on her head in a desperate effort to cool her down as I take her temperature. She’s weak, and I know before I read her temperature that home remedies won’t cut it.
104 degrees. Shit. I need to get her to a hospital.
I try to stay calm and not panic. I don’t have a car; my truck is in the shop, having finally given up the ghost. It used its last legs to get us here. “Hold on a second, sweetie. Mommy will be right back.”
I race to my bedroom and grab my phone, dialing 911. The phone rings for an agonizingly long time, and when I finally get through to the operator, they inform me that there’s a forty-five minute wait, minimum. After rattling off a string of colorful expletives that would make a sailor blush, I run back to Jenny.
I scoop her limp little body into my arms. “It’s okay, Mommy’s here. I’m gonna make everything okay.”
She doesn’t respond. I’ve never seen my daughter like this before. Suddenly, I remember that Bear from next door mentioned something about being an Army medic. Desperate and with no other option, I rush next door and pound on the door.
“I wondered when you’d come,” Wolf says as he opens the door. His eyes land on me and Jenny, and immediately, he drops his jovial, taunting manner, replacing it with a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Is Bear here? I need him. She has a fever of 104, I tried calling the paramedics but there’s going to be a wait,” I say, the words coming out in a rush.
“Come on through,” he says, taking Jenny’s weight from me with ease.
In the corner, I notice Hawk turning the music off. “Everyone out!” he shouts, and the place clears. Bear comes rushing in, taking Jenny from Wolf and asking me a string of questions that I just about manage to answer without allowing the sheer terror I feel to take over.
“Can you help? Please help her,” I beg, senseless with worry.
“I’ll do everything I can,” he says, his voice soothing and calm.
He barks orders at the other two, who do as he commands quickly and efficiently, clearing the couch for him to examine Jenny.
Suddenly Jenny starts seizing, and I let out a wail of terror. “What’s happening?”
“It’s a febrile seizure: convulsions caused by her fever. It’s quite common, it’s scary, but we need to get her temperature down,” he says, trying to assure me.
