A Place with Briar

CHAPTER TWO

BRIAR CAUGHT HERSELF thinking far too deeply about the stranger in the bay suite. Especially after he chose to forgo lunch in the dining room and took off with a roar on his Harley.

As far as she could tell, Cole Savitt was a middle-aged man with no wedding ring, and apparently he carried all he needed for two weeks in a single backpack.

And when he’d taken off his sunglasses and she got a gander at the pain riddling his dark eyes, her heart reached out to him unequivocally. And...his broad shoulders and trim torso fit his leather riding jacket really well, too.

She cleared her throat and gave herself a mental shake. Damn her heart. It’d always readily reached out to the wounded.

There was no doubt in her mind Cole Savitt was a wounded man. But that kind of information was above and beyond what she needed to know about her guest. All she had to do was make his two weeks at Hanna’s as pleasant as possible. In the year she’d worked here, she had never failed to please anyone under the inn’s roof.

She hadn’t offered more than breakfast in bed to any guests, either, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Too much else to worry about.

In addition to Hanna’s Inn, Briar owned the adjoining property. At two stories, the building was painted white to match the inn. It held three shop spaces in addition to a roomy apartment on the back half of the second-floor interior. She rented the living space to her cousin, Olivia Lewis, who managed the adjacent first-floor bayside bar, Tavern of the Graces.

Briar leased the street-side shop space to Adrian Carlton, single mother and proprietor of Flora, Fairhope’s finest floral shop. Above it, the third commercial space sat on the second level, overlooking South Mobile Street and had been empty for years. Thankfully, someone had finally taken notice.

As Briar stood aside, listening to the clack of heels over tile, a potential investor, Roxie Honeycutt, strolled slowly around the room, doing her final walk-through. The woman had been eager to sign the lease and institute Belle Brides—a bridal boutique that would house the woman’s own line of bridal couture. But Briar had insisted on the final formality.

Roxie sighed, whirling to face her. She looked utterly chic in a strapless summer dress the color of money and matching peep-toe pumps. “I said it once, I’ll say it again. It’s absolutely perfect.”

Briar held back a sigh of her own, one of immense relief. “I had an exterminator give it a once-over. No termites or other pest problems. Though I wish I’d had the time to give it a fresh coat of paint.”

“Oh, the color will change, anyway,” Roxie explained, waving a hand. “I’m thinking pink. With vintage white mirrored accessories. Typical, maybe. But I advertise my gowns on a red-based pink backdrop and it really makes the designs pop.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the space look fabulous.” She shook Roxie’s hand. “Welcome to the building.”

Roxie beamed, her commercial-straight teeth as perfect as her Victoria Beckham coif and cornflower-blue eyes. “You’ve just made me the happiest woman this side of the Mississippi. Opening my own shop has been a dream for so long, I can hardly believe I’m finally doing it.”

Dreams, Briar thought. It had been so long since she’d contemplated her own, she could hardly remember them. They had slipped through her fingers so quickly, she was no longer sure what she wanted. “When will you get started?”

“I’m hoping to open before July, just in time for the big holiday rush. So as soon as possible.”

“Well, if you need any assistance at all the other girls and I will be more than happy to help you settle in,” Briar said. “Shall we sign and make it official?”

As they stepped out, Briar locked the dead bolt while Roxie stood back, eyeing the shop face. “I had a bit of a brainstorm last night. I never sleep when I’m excited. Drives my fiancé, Richard, to insanity, me pacing up and down the halls at all hours. If you’re up for it, I think we could come up with a package deal.”

Briar leaned against the rail overlooking the small parking lot. “How so?”

“On top of designing, I’m a licensed wedding coordinator. I plan ceremonies, receptions, book caterers, photographers, venues, florists, etc. What I was thinking is we each shave a percentage off our prices for my couples—offer them my services and attire along with your honeymoon suite at a discounted rate.”

“Have you thought about adding Flora to the package? Adrian’s done weddings, and her bridal arrangements are divine.”

Roxie held up a discerning finger. “And don’t forget the Tavern. I love that wide veranda on the back. It’s just big enough for a reception space. With the right lighting, trimmings and that amazing natural backdrop of the bay, it’d be breathtaking.”

“I like it,” Briar admitted. Something buzzed beneath her skin. Something that felt an awful lot like possibilities. Could this be what the inn needed to stay afloat? “You should discuss it with the others.”

“We’ll all have to sit down for drinks sometime this week,” Roxie said as she descended the steps to her waiting Lexus. “Who knows? This could be a lucrative venture for all of us.”

The wild roar of an engine snagged their attention. Briar’s stomach fluttered as Cole Savitt zoomed in on his motorcycle, coming to an abrupt halt under the magnolia.

As he cut the engine and pulled off his helmet, Roxie raised a brow. “One of your guests?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Mmm.” She slid Briar a teasing grin. “I might have to pop by sometime while he’s here.”

Briar laughed as Roxie got into her car. She waved her off then smoothed nervous hands over her skirt. A lucrative venture. The words echoed in her head as she stood alone on the gravel drive. The inn and her mother’s lifetime of work were slipping away slowly but surely. She had to find more investors before it was yanked from her hands and the state put it up for sale or foreclosure.

She owed her mother at least that much.

Loosening a sigh, she began the walk back to the inn. Her eyes fell on the lone vehicle in the drive, Cole Savitt’s Harley-Davidson. Where had it taken him? What all had he seen straddling its black leather seat?

Dreams. She pondered them as she passed through the garden her mother—and now she—so lovingly tended. Once upon a time, her dreams had led her to Paris where she had escaped the obligation her father had been trying to press upon her. Back then she hadn’t wanted to leave Hanna’s—a long time ago, her dream had been to run the inn alongside her mother.

Her father’s wishes, however, had carried her off to law school. Her path had been laid before her. All she’d had to do was walk within it.

Instead, she’d taken a detour from law school in the States to Europe with friends and, to her father’s consternation, had wound up settling in Paris for a semester. There she had rediscovered her love of cooking and had enrolled in culinary school. And that had become her dream.

But soon after beginning her studies in culinary arts, she fell into some bad luck. Or, more accurately, she had run headlong into it, eyes wide-open. Since then, her dreams had gone down a rocky path and hadn’t returned.

She gazed up at the face of the bed-and-breakfast she had once wanted so much to be a part of. Was it still what she wanted?

Guilt swamped her, as it always did when she let her thoughts wander back to Paris, her culinary dreams and the niggling sense of uncertainty she kept locked up inside her. What did it matter what she wanted? What she needed was to keep her mother’s dream alive—to make sure Hanna’s Inn survived the test of time.

Though judging by the dismal financial outlook in the inn’s books and its empty guest calendar, it seemed as if her bad luck was back to haunt her and tear down the solid legacy it had taken decades for her mother to build.

* * *

COLE’S FIRST NIGHT at Hanna’s turned out to be surprisingly restful. He sank into the plush bedding with the drugging fragrance of candles and the dim flicker of firelight lulling him into complacency and easy sleep.

He woke the next morning to the pale light of dawn and stepped into a hot shower, unable to remember the last time he’d woken so rested.

It’d certainly been a while since he’d dreamed of a woman’s face.

The vivid memory of the pretty innkeeper had lingered all through the night. He rubbed water over his face, trying to get the blood flowing as much as to scrub the vision of Briar Browning from the backs of his eyes.

As he stepped out and looped a towel around his waist, he recalled the way she’d watched him in his dreams. Never saying anything—just watching him with those soft honey-brown eyes. He’d felt their touch like a skin-on-skin caress.

Damn, the woman was making it difficult to focus.

He rubbed another towel over his dripping hair before he wiped a spot on the mirror clear in order to shave. Before he lifted the razor to his cheek, he heard the knock on the door. He paused, and called, “It’s open!” Making sure the towel on his waist was secure, he stepped into the room as Briar opened it.

She took one look at his bare chest, shrieked and whirled away. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, gripping the knob. “I’ll come back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said automatically. “Nothing to see here.”

She cast him an easy for you to say glance before her eyes veered politely downward. “You have a phone call. It seems rather urgent. And breakfast is ready.”

Amused by the way her eyes averted him, he asked, “What’s on the menu?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” she explained. “And fruit salad. I’ll serve you in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

He nodded. “Sounds great.”

Her lips quirked into a brief smile. “Sorry I barged in on you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. When she shut the door, a wide grin broke over his face, though he couldn’t have said why as he reached for the phone on the bedside table. “Savitt,” he said, raising it to his ear.

“You didn’t call yesterday. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

The grin vanished quickly along with all the good feelings left over from his early morning encounter with Briar. “Tiff.”

“Enjoying your vacation?”

His back teeth ground together in frustration. “I haven’t found enjoyment in anything since you began your dirty deeds. But that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Tiffany’s laugh filtered over the line. “Don’t whine, Cole. It doesn’t suit you. I called to make sure you haven’t backed out of our deal. And to remind you what’s at stake here.”

How could he possibly forget about Gavin? “For you or for me—because I’m not quite clear on the former.”

“The less you know, the better,” she said. “Isn’t that what you used to tell me when you’d come off a crime scene? As if my delicate, feminine sensibilities would swoon just for thinking about what my flatfoot husband had encountered.”

“I’m no longer your husband,” he reminded her. And he’d learned well that there was nothing delicate about Tiffany. Hard and unyielding, like a hammer, was more like it.

“You’ve got that right. Though Gavin does seem to miss you, on occasion.”

“Don’t,” he said, the word coming out on a fierce growl as every muscle in his body tightened in defense. “Don’t dangle him in front of me any more than you already are.” He couldn’t stand it.

“All right. Just remember what I said. Get inside her head, her files, whatever you have to do to find out everything there is to know about the inn, the adjacent property and if she has investors. If she does, I want to know who and how much.”

“Are you going to buy them off, too?”

“If necessary. I’ll need a progress report every night, Cole.”

“So you can keep tabs on me, as usual.”

“So I know you’re doing your job. I’m not paying for you to stay there so you can lounge under the sun, drink mai tais and work on your tan.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Nobody knows that more than me. I’m out.” He hung up and took a moment to steady himself. The woman could wind him up quicker than a Matchbox car. It was sickening. Fighting the urge to put his fist through one of Briar’s lovely walls, he dug through his backpack until he found something clean to wear.

* * *

BRIAR HAD MADE the mistake of looking at him again as she closed the door to the bay-view suite. And this time, her gaze had taken its time perusing freely. Beads of water had rolled down his chest from the wet, tousled tips of his black hair. The lure felt more than magnetic—it melted her. Turning away from the tempting sight, she had shut the door smartly at her back, hoping her hormones would get the message No!

Her legs wobbled on the stairs. When she made it safely to the kitchen, she managed to sink into one of the breakfast table’s chairs before she could shrink to the floor.

She fought to cool her heated cheeks, banishing the image of her guest’s sculpted chest from her memory.

It had been a long time since she’d been so drawn to a man—and where had that gotten her? Into a whole heap of trouble. The last thing she needed now was a repeat of what had happened in Paris....

Knuckles rapped against the frame of the screen door. Briar glanced up. Relief swelled at the sight of sure distraction.

“Hey, let me in!” her cousin, Olivia Lewis, called through the door.

“I’m sorry,” Briar apologized, springing up. She unbolted the screen and pushed it open with a creak so Olivia could breeze through. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah?” Olivia said in her characteristically lurid voice. “You looked it.” She held up a large crate. “The wine you ordered.”

“Oh,” Briar said, remembering. “Right.” She took a knife from a drawer to pry the lid open, glad for the activity as Olivia made herself cozy at the table. “Staying for breakfast?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d check up on this new guest of yours.”

Briar’s hands fumbled at the mere mention of Cole. The bottles in her arms clinked together as she elbowed the door to the liquor cabinet open. “Why?”

“He seems like an interesting character,” Olivia mused, picking a ripe purple plum out of the bowl at the center of the table.

“What could you possibly know about him?” Briar asked. “You haven’t even met him.”

“I’m not deaf. You’ve got a biker living under your roof. I just want to make sure he’s not eyeing the family silver.”

“You’re terrible! He’s not like that,” Briar blurted. Instantly, she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. Instead, she broke down the crate and tossed it into the disposal behind the pantry door.

“What do you mean?” Olivia raised a knowing brow. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“Would you lower your voice?” Briar said. “He’s right upstairs!”

“I knew it,” Olivia said. “One look at those crimson cheeks of yours could only mean one thing. Come clean.”

“Let’s not do this now,” Briar begged as she tucked cinnamon rolls into a bread basket and set them on the table beside a small stack of plates. “Please.”

Olivia smirked. “Well, I guess if you’re not interested, I might as well take a whack at him.”

Briar’s cheeks were on fire. She turned to the sink. “Do what you want,” she muttered and began to scrub furiously at a cooking pan. “You always do. And I’m not interested.”

“Yeah, sure.” Olivia knew Briar better than anyone. They weren’t just cousins. They’d grown up together, Briar’s mother managing Hanna’s and Olivia’s parents turning Tavern of the Graces into a runaway success.

Olivia had long, blond hair that hung halfway down her back in flyaway curls and her sharp green eyes didn’t miss a trick. She stood nearly a head shorter than Briar but made up for it with her boisterous personality, an uproarious, booming laugh and an unchecked streak of righteousness.

Despite their differences, they’d grown as close as sisters over the years. Guilt riddled Briar over the tinge of envy. Olivia could bait the opposite sex with a mere sidelong glance and, by extension, make Briar feel completely inadequate in the men department.

The swinging kitchen door opened behind her and her fingers stiffened around her scrub brush when she got a strong whiff of soap and shampoo. Not quite steady enough to look, she continued to buffer the oven pan.

“Good morning, ladies.”

“Hi,” Olivia greeted, rising from her chair with a flirty smile.

“Are you staying here, too?” Cole asked.

“Hell, no,” Olivia said with a loud cackle. “I couldn’t afford a room here if I sold my tavern.”

“Tavern?”

“Briar didn’t tell you about me? She’s certainly forgotten her manners. Olivia Lewis. I own Tavern of the Graces right next door.”

“Cole Savitt. You don’t look like a bartender.”

“Let me tell you something, mister,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I make a margarita Jimmy Buffet would weep over.”

He laughed. Briar’s insides trembled over the deep sound. She certainly hadn’t made him laugh, had she? “I might have to find out for myself,” he replied.

“Then come on by later, if you’re not busy. Not much to do around this place.”

Briar’s back stiffened as Cole hesitated. “I might,” he repeated. “Are you joining us for breakfast, Olivia?”

“I wouldn’t miss the cinnamon rolls for anything,” Olivia drawled. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Savitt. What brings you to Hanna’s?”

He settled on one of the seats at the table. “It’s personal.”

“Hmm. Well, you can’t leave us dangling like that. Can he, Briar?”

Briar lifted a shoulder, drying a coffee mug and setting it in the open cupboard over the counter. “It’s his business.”

Olivia let out an exasperated huff. “Enough with the Sandra Lee. Would you sit down?”

Briar sighed, drying her hands. She turned to the oven. “I’m waiting for the quiche.”

“Quiche, too?” Cole asked, brow quirked in interest. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“You better believe it,” Olivia advised.

Briar took a pot holder off a hook on the wall and opened the door. “Close enough.” She pulled the quiche out and set it on the waiting trivet on the table, moving the bowl of fruit to the counter and replacing it with a server of fruit salad. “What would you like to drink, Cole?”

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, lifting his mug.

“Liv?”

“OJ for me. So did you bring a wife along, Cole?”

“No,” he replied with an edge to his voice. “I don’t have a wife.”

Olivia pursed her lips, curious. “I’ve never been married, either.”

As Briar brought Olivia’s juice to the table and settled into a chair, her eyes met his. “What about you?” he asked.

She paused. “Erm...me?”

“Process of elimination, cuz,” Olivia quipped, watching her with a sly grin.

“No. I’ve never been married,” she stammered before dropping her face to hide another flush and piled fruit salad onto her plate.

“Briar hasn’t been on a date in years,” Olivia blurted. “Needless to say, we all think she seriously needs to get laid.”

“Olivia! Honestly, that’s enough,” Briar squealed as Cole choked on a cinnamon roll.

“What?” Olivia asked. “We’re all family. No need to hide the truth. Especially when he might be able to help you out with that. Would you mind loosening her up for us, Cole?”

Briar groaned, pressing a hand over her eyes to ward off Olivia’s scheming expression.

“I’d love to.”

Briar’s hand and jaw dropped simultaneously. Her eyes widened, her heart leaping with surprise and...something else. Delight? She saw his playful grin then Olivia’s. “Oh!” she shrieked, embarrassment trawling through her.

“I’m sorry, Briar,” Cole said sincerely. “Couldn’t resist.”

“You’ll fit right in around here,” Olivia decided, slapping him companionably on the back.

“I hope so.” He smiled as he scooped a forkful of quiche into his mouth. His eyes flared, softened. “Whoa. Holy smokes.”

Olivia’s conspiratorial twinkle was back, suggestive as ever. “Look, Briar, he even likes your cooking.”

“That’s an understatement,” he amended, swallowing another bite. He gazed at her. “This is incredible.”

Briar’s lips curved warmly now. “Thank you.”

“She’s the best cook in L.A.” At his dubious look, Olivia laughed. “That’s Lower Alabama, newcomer.” Olivia’s digital watch beeped and she cursed. Dropping her fork to her plate with a sharp clang, she pushed her chair back to rise. “Duty calls.”

“You’re going to work already?” Briar asked. “You didn’t finish your breakfast.”

“I’ll survive, Mama.” She took her plate to the sink to rinse. “The bar doesn’t open until noon. I’m helping that new girl move her stuff into the shop upstairs.”

Briar gasped. “I forgot all about that!”

“Don’t get up. Two pairs of hands will get the job done fine,” Olivia assured her as she dried hers. “And Adrian’s going to sneak up when she can.”

“I’ll head over later to see if you need anything,” Briar said. She’d fit it in between fixing a leaky sink and weeding flower beds. “Call me if y’all need me before then.”

“You just do what you do best first.” Olivia leaned over and kissed the top of Briar’s head. “Be good.” She sent Cole a sidelong grin as she headed out the screen door. “Don’t give her any trouble now, ya hear?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he assured her. “I’ll come by later for that margarita.”

“You do that. First one’s on me. See you two lovebirds later.”

When the door rapped shut, Briar turned to him with a grimace. “I’m sorry about that.”

“She’s a feisty one.”

“Always has been,” Briar said with a weary sigh. “Trust me. There’s never a dull moment around here.”

“You grew up here?”

“Yes. My mother established the inn after she married my father. A short time later, Olivia’s parents bought the bar from a couple of retirees and rebuilt from the ground up. They lived in the apartment upstairs. When they retired, they handed it all over to Olivia. Ever since I took over, it seems I’m either over at the tavern yelling at her to turn the music down or she’s over here making a fool of me in front of my guests.”

“You’re right. Never a dull moment. Can I have another one of these?”

Her face lit with a quick smile. “Finish them off, by all means.” She passed the basket of cinnamon rolls across the table and felt the glow spread from her heart to her cheeks when he took two. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Mmm. This is all wonderful, Briar. I don’t remember the last time I had a fine meal like this.”

In an instant, his eyes clouded over again. She wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, squeeze it reassuringly. Anything to erase that haunted look from his face.

Before she could react or resist, the phone rang. She lifted her napkin to dab the corners of her mouth. “Excuse me.”

He raised a hand to show that her departure didn’t bother him.

She sprinted into the entryway. Hopefully, it was another customer calling to reserve a suite. Or an investor. Please, let it be one or the other. “Hanna’s Inn,” she greeted, pulse pumping in her ears.

“Ms. Browning?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Jack Fields. I’m with the Baldwin County tax office. I’d like a few minutes of your time.”

CHAPTER THREE

ALL THE BLOOD drained from her face down to her toes. She wanted to shrink to the floor. Without a chair, she leaned against the wall as her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. “Is there a problem, Mr. Fields?” Her voice trembled. She prayed for control and watched her free hand quiver as it reached for a pen on the podium.

“I’m afraid there is. Is this a convenient time to talk or should we schedule a meeting sometime this week?”

She swallowed. “Now’s fine.”

“You are the proprietor of Hanna’s Inn on South Mobile Street in Fairhope, Alabama?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“And you own the adjacent property, as well?”

“I do.”