"Then you should call an ambulance."
"I can't." She gave him a pleading look. "Please, Wayne? I need to get him back to my place."
"Is he a friend of yours?" he asked even more skeptically.
"Well, no. We just kind of collided out here."
"Then leave him. The last thing you need is to get involved with another biker. It's none of our business what happens to him."
"Wayne!"
"He could be a criminal, Sunshine."
"How could you say such a thing?"
Wayne had been convicted of involuntary manslaughter seventeen years ago. After he'd served his time, he'd spent several months trying to find a job. With no money, no place to live, and no one willing to hire an ex-con to do anything, he was on the brink of committing another crime to return to jail when he'd applied for a job at her father's club.
Against her father's protests, Sunshine had hired him.
Five years later, Wayne had never missed a day of work or been late. He was her father's best employee.
"Please, Wayne?" she asked, giving him the puppy-dog look that never failed to bend the men in her life to her will.
As he left the truck to help her, Wayne made a series of irritated noises. "One day, that big heart of yours is going to get you into trouble. Do you know anything about this man?"
"No." All she knew was that he had saved her life when no one else would have bothered. Surely such a man wouldn't hurt her.
She and Wayne struggled to get the unknown man upright, but it wasn't easy.
"Jeez," Wayne muttered as they staggered with him between them. "He's huge and he weighs a friggin' ton."
Sunshine concurred. The man was at least six feet five inches of lean, solid muscle. Even with the thick leather motorcycle jacket concealing his upper torso, there was no doubt just how well toned and muscular he was.
She'd never felt such a hard, steely body in her life.
After some doing, they finally got him into the truck.
As they headed toward her father's club, Sunshine held the stranger's head on her shoulder and brushed his wavy blond hair back from the chiseled features of his face.
There was a wild, untamed look about him that reminded her of some ancient warrior. His golden hair brushed against his shoulders in a loose style that said he was attentive to his appearance, but not obsessive about it.
Dark brown eyebrows arched over his closed eyes. His face was ruggedly scrumptious with a full day's growth of beard. Even unconscious, he was compelling and drop-dead gorgeous, and his nearness stirred something needful deep inside her.
But what she liked most about this stranger was the warm masculine and leather scent of him. It made her want to nuzzle his neck and inhale the heady mixture until she was drunk with it.
"So," Wayne said as he drove. "What happened to him? Do you know?"
"He got hit by a Mardi Gras float."
Even in the dim light of the truck's cab, she could tell Wayne was giving her the are-you-nuts? stare. "There's no parade tonight. Where did it come from?"
"I don't know. I guess he must have ticked off the gods or something."
"Huh?"
She brushed her hand through the man's tousled blond hair and toyed with the two thin braids that hung from his left temple as she answered Wayne's question. "It was a big Bacchus float. I was just thinking this poor guy must have offended our patron god of excess to have been run over by him."
Wayne muttered under his breath. "Must be another frat-boy prank. Seems like every year one of them is stealing a float and taking a joy ride in it. I wonder where they'll leave it parked this time?"