She held him toward the man with the bat.
“Please.”
Her voice shook.
Green Jacket stared.
Daisy pushed the bear farther forward.
“Take my bear.”
The biker went completely still.
Daisy's fingers tightened around Buttons for one last second.
Her face crumpled.
“He’s the only thing I have.”
The old biker’s expression broke.
He lifted one hand.
Gently pushed the teddy bear back against Daisy’s chest.
“No, little one.”
His voice became impossibly soft.
“You keep him.”
Daisy looked at him.
The biker pulled off his leather jacket despite the motorcycle trapping his leg.
He wrapped part of it around her shoulders.
“You don't give away the last thing you love.”
Green Jacket raised the bat again.
“Kid.”
His voice became impatient.
“Move.”
Daisy pressed herself closer to the biker.
The old man tried to sit.
Pain stopped him.
“Don't.”
He whispered to her.
“Please.”
Daisy turned toward the man.
Snow melted in her hair.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
She looked at the biker’s white beard.
At the kind eyes.
At the jacket around her.
At the motorcycle.
Then back at the bat.
Her voice barely rose above the wind.
“Please…”
Green Jacket stared.
Daisy hugged the biker.
“Don’t hurt Santa.”
Nobody moved.
The sentence seemed to change the temperature of the parking lot.
The biker closed his eyes.
One of the other drunk men lowered his head.
Even Green Jacket hesitated.
Daisy whispered again:
“Please don't hurt Santa.”
The gas station door burst open.
Martin had found a tire iron.
He stood there shaking.
“I called the police!”
Lights appeared on the highway.
Blue.
Red.
Coming fast.
Green Jacket cursed.
He dropped the bat.
Not swung.
Dropped.
The wood bounced once against the pavement.
The three men ran toward their pickup.
They did not get far.
A county sheriff’s SUV blocked the exit.
A second patrol car turned in behind it.
The men stopped.
Hands rose.
Daisy barely noticed.
The biker was looking at her.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
“Daisy.”
“Daisy what?”
She stared at Buttons.
“Daisy.”
The old man nodded.
“Okay.”
“Just Daisy.”
She looked at his beard.
“Are you Santa?”
Despite the pain, he smiled.
“No.”
Daisy’s face fell.
He added:
“Not professionally.”
That confused her.
The first deputy approached.
“Sir, stay down.”
The biker nodded.
“Was planning on it.”
Paramedics arrived seventeen minutes later.
Getting the motorcycle off him required three people.
The leg was not broken.
Badly bruised.
Sprained knee.
A deep cut along one shin.
Nothing life-threatening.
Daisy sat inside the ambulance wrapped in three blankets.
Buttons remained under her chin.