A Place with Briar

He chuckled louder, reaching around to her backside and grabbing a handful.

Cole lunged forward, pushing through the other bystanders, a haze of rage cloaking his vision as he heard Briar shriek in alarm. Before he could reach them and dispense justice in his own way, she hauled back a flat-palmed hand and struck Clint across the face.

Clint staggered back, not from the force of the blow, but in surprise, gripping his chin and eyeing Briar in a new light. “Well, who knew there was something fiery underneath Minnie Mouse’s blouse? I like that.”

Before Clint could reach out and touch her again, Cole clapped his hands over the giant’s shoulders and jerked him forcibly around to face him.

“Hey, man,” Clint protested. Blinking sluggishly, his eyes found Cole’s face. Judging by the slow perception and the heavy stench of beer emanating from him, it didn’t take a scholar to determine that Clint was well wasted. “What’s it to you?” he asked, thumping Cole in the chest with the heel of his hand.

“Leave the lady alone,” Cole demanded, his voice low. Someone shut off the music and all eyes tuned in to the action. “Or you’ll be answering to me.”

“Cole...” Briar began but Clint’s mocking “ooooo” broke through her speech.

“What’re you gonna do?” Clint asked. “Hit me?”

“If you touch her again, yeah,” Cole pledged, his hard gaze never flickering from Clint’s face. “I will.” His hands were already balled, ready, at his sides.

The man let out an obnoxious laugh, grabbing Briar by the wrist and trying to haul her against him again. “Is this bothering you, pretty boy?”

Briar clawed at the brawny cuff on her arm in a failed attempt to dislodge it. Her fingers were turning white—the nimrod was cutting off her circulation. “Let go of me, Clint! You’re hurting me!”

Panic crossed Briar’s face. Cole had seen that same expression on too many victims’ faces to count. Not Briar. He flexed his fists until the knuckles cracked.

Olivia finally managed to work her way to the center of the crowd. He turned to her in question. “Permission to make a scene?”

“You had to ask?” she said, eyes bright with indignation. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Come on, mousey.” Clint laughed, now using both hands to plaster Briar against him. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

“Enough,” Cole said, lunging forward. He put a firm hold on Clint’s arm, twisting until the man was forced to let go. He blustered, swinging wildly with one arm. Briar ducked, but despite Cole’s attempts to shield her, Clint’s arm plowed into her, knocking her back into the vacated table and chairs.

Cole saw her go down hard. It was the last straw. Whirling, he raised a balled fist and nailed Clint in the jaw.

The man reeled back against the wall. Spitting blood, he knuckled his mouth. “Son of a bitch clocked me.” He eyed Cole with the light of challenge strong in his eyes. “You wanna brawl?” He stood up, squaring his shoulders and planting his feet as he raised his fists. “Let’s go.”

Cole snapped his ready fist up again and sent Clint reeling once more, this time into the crowd of regulars to his left. They parted and let him fall like a tree with a deafening clatter to the floor.

Cole leaned over him, grabbing hold of the collar of the man’s shirt. Again, he spoke low in a menacing tone. “If I catch you even looking at her again, much less bothering her, I’ll knock your eyes out. Got me?”

Clint coughed. Blood spittled as he spoke. “She’s not worth the trouble.”

Cole hauled him into a sitting position and jerked his head in Briar’s direction. She sat in a chair with a hand on the back of her head, her expression pained as she eyed the pair of them warily.

Cole twisted Clint’s arm behind his back until he shrieked in pain. “Apologize.”

“No flippin’ way.”

Cole twisted the arm harder, making Clint yelp.

“Okay, okay! You’re gonna snap my damn arm off!”

“So apologize and save me the effort,” Cole warned.

“Fine! Sorry, Ms. Browning. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Cole held on to the arm a moment longer then reluctantly let it go. He looked to Olivia. “What do you do with the trash?”

She smirked, helping Briar to her feet as she looked around for two strong regulars. “Freddie, Ty, get rid of this hunk of junk for me, will ya?”

“Gladly, Liv.” They scooped Clint up by each arm and hustled him out the door.

Cole crossed to Olivia and Briar as the crowd started milling again, everyone murmuring in the hushed wake of commotion. “You’ll let me know if he makes trouble again?”

Olivia nodded. “You did good.” She seemed to realize Briar was still leaning heavily against her side. “Come on, cuz. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“She okay?” Cole asked, trailing them into the back room.

Olivia steered her into the office and lowered her to the only chair. “She’ll be all right, as long as she’s not bleeding anywhere.”

Cole could see the bruises on the white skin of her wrist and a large purple welt on her shoulder where she’d smacked the table or chair. “Briar,” he said, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. “You all right?”

“My head,” she said, reaching back again for it. “I rapped it on something.” She pulled her fingers away. They were wet with blood. Cole’s heart shrank at the sight.

Olivia parted Briar’s hair to get a closer look at the cut. “Cole, put some cold water on one of those hand towels there and hand it here.”

Without hesitation he went to the sink in the corner, listening to Olivia’s ministrations.

“We’ll find you some aspirin, okay?” she said. “It should help the bump.” She turned to Cole with a sneer when he handed her the wet cloth. “That slimeball.”

“Does this happen often?” he asked.

“Not in my bar.”

Briar groaned when Olivia poked gingerly at the bruise on her shoulder. “That hurts,” she muttered. “And I’m a little dizzy.”

Cole couldn’t help himself. He knelt in front of her, took her free hand and squeezed it. “You might have a concussion.”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” she insisted.

One of the men who’d hauled Clint off walked into the office. “Hey, Liv. Sorry to interrupt, but some of your customers are getting antsy out here.”

“Thanks, Ty. I’ll be right out.” Olivia went to the sink to wash the trickle of blood off. “Here’s a clean towel. Can I trust you to get her to bed, Cole?”

“Go do what you need to. I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

“Thanks. I’ll be over to check on her after closing.” Olivia patted his shoulder and walked back into the bar.

“Can you stand?” he asked, lifting Briar’s head to look at her face.

“Yeah.”

He pulled her to her feet slowly. Her knees wobbled, and he tucked an arm around her waist. “Okay?”

“Fine.”

He walked her through the narrow hallway to the side door, which opened onto the lawn behind the greenhouse. It was a pretty night. He could smell the jasmine and gardenia of Briar’s garden. Moonlight poured down around them, a spectral spotlight.

Briar slumped against his side. He paused, tucked one hand under her knees and scooped her into his arms. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

She turned her face into his neck. The touch of her skin against his stirred something warm and hungry in his blood.

Not hungry by Clint’s definition. Cole wanted to guard her, protect her from the seedy reality of the world. Her scent filtered through him just as the fragrance of her flowers penetrated the tepid night air. When she wrapped her arms close around his neck, he realized he had her full trust.

The knowledge was potent.

He mounted the stairs to the third level where he knew her private rooms were. Stepping into the living room lit by a single lamp, the smell of lavender struck him. He toted her past the small kitchen on the right and into the first bedroom. Its pale green drapes were closed tight over the windows. The mauve spread was turned down in invitation.

He set her on the edge and went to his knees to tug off her shoes. “Lay back,” he advised.

She lowered to the pillows, curling onto her side to face him. He pressed the cloth to the back of her head. “How do you feel?”

“Mmm,” she moaned distantly, her eyes closing. “Sleepy.”

“Don’t fall asleep yet. I need you to tell me if you blacked out at all.”

“I don’t think so.”

He stroked a hand over her hair. “Do you have any Advil? Ibuprofen?”

“In the bathroom cupboard.”

He returned with two pills and a glass of water. “Take these.” Relieved to see color filtering back into her cheeks, he said, “You already look better.”

She gazed at him as he ran the cold rag over her cheeks and brow. “Liv’s right. You’re a nice guy.”

He didn’t feel particularly nice. Protective. A bit shaken. But with hunger gnawing at his vital hold on control, nice wasn’t the word for what he felt.

“What you did to Clint...” She trailed off and swallowed hard. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”

“Assault is something I don’t tolerate,” he groaned. “No one should.”

“It was only a kiss he wanted. He was drunk and things just...escalated.”

Cole had seen the greed in Clint’s eyes, the way they’d skimmed her torso, the way they lit up when he touched her skin. Fury slunk into Cole and he worked carefully for a moment to contain it. Cole had seen his like too many times to count. The man had wanted more.

“He won’t touch me again. Not after you scared him like that.” Grinning, she added, “It was sort of funny hearing him scream like a girl.”

Relieved to see her smile, he stroked her cheek and watched her eyes flutter closed. Pulling his hand away as if burned, he cleared his throat. “No, he won’t touch you again. Not as long as I’m around.”

The smile melted from her face and the light in her eyes faded. He knew she was thinking about his check-out date. She cleared her throat and changed the subject, careful not to look at him. “Adrian said you used to be a detective.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice surprisingly rusty.

“You’d make a good cop.”

Cole dropped the rag from her head, set it aside. “I don’t think you have a concussion.”

She sighed in obvious relief. “Good. I don’t think I could’ve handled the hospital tonight.”

“Still, expect to wake up with a rough headache in the morning. Think you can sleep?”

“Maybe.”

He pulled the spread up and over her, tucking it around her shoulders, and switched off the light. “Good night.”

“Cole.”

As he glanced back, Briar looked too pale in the shadows. Too vulnerable.

“I’d feel better if you stayed a bit.”

Swallowing hard, he hesitated halfway between the bed and the door, both calling to him for reasons that dwelled on opposite poles. “You need your sleep,” he decided, looking away.

She let out a breath. “You’re right. I’m...sorry to have to ask something else of you, but could you lock up downstairs? Liv has a key if she wants to look in on me later.”

“Sure,” he answered, taking several steps toward the door before he could change his mind. “Don’t worry about it. Just get some sleep.”

“Good night, Cole.”

* * *

BRIAR’S ATTACK PROVIDED the perfect opportunity to check out the inn’s records and gain some insight into the establishment’s shaky finances. And Cole seriously doubted that someone as attached to the family business as Briar was would let it go belly-up without tapping all possible resources, such as buyers or investors.

However, as Cole lay in bed fully clothed in the dark with his gaze fixed on the ceiling, the knot in his throat grew larger.

Yes, it was the perfect opportunity—perhaps his only chance to get in and out of Briar’s files unseen. But there was something else at work now....

Maybe he’d gone soft since turning in his badge because he couldn’t motivate himself to invade her privacy—not after the scare she’d had tonight in the tavern.

But she was okay—probably sleeping. Turning on his side to force his attention away from the ceiling—and Briar somewhere on the other side of that white, orange-peel expanse—he tried not to dwell on the fact that concussion victims could slip into comas if they fell asleep. No, she was fine. It was time to do what he was here to do.

Driving a fist into his pillow, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stepped lightly to the floor of his suite, careful not to wake the creaky, old footboards beneath him. As he turned the knob of the door, he ignored the knot in the back of his throat and how bad he felt about what he was going to do next.

Gavin, he remembered. All he had to do was think about his son. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the dark hall.

No sooner had he moved onto the landing than he heard the creak of the stairs in front of him.

He bit back a curse. No time to step back into his room and erase his tracks. The top of Olivia’s head came into view and he gripped the banister in as casual a stance as he could manage.

Damn, why hadn’t he heard her come in? He was going soft.

“Cole,” she said, surprised as she made it to the landing. “You’re up late.”

“I heard you come in,” he lied. Clearing his throat, he jerked his thumb toward the stairs that led to Briar’s rooms. “I just wanted you to know I saw her to bed. She seemed fine, but I’m glad you’re checking on her.”

She smiled at him. “You’re worried. That’s so sweet.”

He was worried about her. No acting involved there. “I guess,” he said for lack of anything better. “Anyhow...” He pushed off the banister and backed toward the door of the bay-view suite. “I’ll let you go on up.”

Olivia patted his arm as she passed him. “Thanks again, Cole—for everything. You’re a real hero.”

Disguising the knee-jerk, disagreeable sound in his throat with a chuckle, he opened the door and walked back into his room. Frowning at the bed, he balled his hands into fists again.

Sleep wouldn’t come as easily tonight as it had previously in the suite’s bed. He consoled himself with the thought that tomorrow... Yes, tomorrow he would find a way into Briar’s filing system. Then this foul errand, which he already felt tangled in from the neck down, would be over and he could get as far away from Briar Browning as possible.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER, Briar beamed as she hung up the phone in the inn entryway. It was just past 10:00 a.m. and already she had two families booked for the week. Her sigh wavered with relief, and she felt elated.

Guests meant she was another foothold closer to rising above the treacherous cliff she and the inn were dangling over. It hadn’t occurred to her that at some point she’d begun to look forward to bookings because some part of her still enjoyed preparing for them. As she made her notes on how to prep for each family’s specific needs, the urge to get back to work and arrange for a full house was strong enough to make her tap her foot against the side of the check-in podium.

The dull headache that had followed the run-in with one of Olivia’s tavern chairs was down to a subtle throb, easily masked by a small dose of painkillers.

With two cups of coffee in her system already, plus the last-minute reservations filling the days of the guest calendar in front of her, Briar’s disposition went from cheerful to downright sunny for the first time in weeks.

Lunch. It would be lunchtime soon and Cole would likely be roaring back on that Harley of his. Touching a hand to the center of her chest, her smile faded a bit. Since the night he had gallantly carried her up to bed, even casual thoughts of him were accompanied by the flutter of her heart.

Scrubbing the heel of her hand against her sternum, she closed the guest book and walked to the kitchen. There was no room in her life for feelings like this. Especially since Cole was a temporary fixture in her life. Less than a fixture actually, because for the past couple days she’d seen very little of him.

“Roxie,” she said, turning around as the door to the kitchen swung open. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Roxie lifted a shoulder. “I had some spare time and thought I’d drop by. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Have a seat—help yourself to some coffee.” Briar went to the sink to busy her hands. She pushed her sleeves up and began to rinse the tomatoes that waited in a basket on the counter. “Roxie, I should apologize for the way I acted the other night in the tavern. There’s no excuse for being rude to you and your fiancé.”

“You weren’t rude at all,” Roxie assured her as she joined Briar at the sink. Her eyes widened as she reached over to pick up one of the tomatoes. “These are bigger than my mother’s. You should sell them.”

“I would if I didn’t use them all for cooking,” Briar explained. “They get bigger each year. Soon I won’t be able to get them through the door.”

“That’s when you enter them in the county fair and win prizes,” Roxie advised. Her warm grin faded after a moment and she put a hand on Briar’s arm. “Olivia told me that you’re uncomfortable with me knowing about the inn’s troubles.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, I think it is something.” Roxie read her well. “And it’s worrying you a great deal. I wasn’t painting pictures when I said I want to help. I can pay more on the lease if you need me to.”

“No,” Briar said, shutting off the water and drying her hands. “I already charge you girls enough. It’s just...this was my mother’s place. She’s gone and Hanna’s has to continue running, no matter what.” She gestured to the table. “If you’re not in a hurry, I have some leftover biscuits from breakfast if you want some.”

“Sure,” Roxie said. “Olivia and Adrian rave about your cooking.”

“A year and a half of cooking school,” she explained. “Anyway, I want to hear more about the boutique. How’s it coming along?”

“Wonderfully—quicker than I anticipated. I’m just thrilled with how things are progressing.”

“Have you mentioned the package deal to the others?” Briar asked.

“Oh, yes. Adrian jumped on it and had a proposal and spreadsheets lined up for me the next morning. Olivia seemed happy about the veranda being put to good use. We just need to iron out the details and we can start marketing it as soon as I open Belle Brides for business.”

Through the screen door, the sound of an uninhibited engine poured loudly through the quiet of the inn. Roxie’s eyes widened in glee. “Ooo, I was hoping I’d get to meet your tavern hero.”

Briar frowned. “He’s been gone most of the morning. Most of yesterday, as well. I guess he’s come back for lunch.” Her heart did that inconvenient jump when the kitchen door opened and Cole walked in, his brow wet and the front of his plain white T-shirt damp from perspiration. As he glanced around the kitchen, his dark eyes caught the light and flickered. Briar’s stomach muscles softened, trembled.

“Sorry, ladies. Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Briar said quickly. Composure, she urged as she opened the refrigerator. “I made some fresh lemonade if you’re thirsty.”

He watched her take down a glass. “Parched, actually.” After a moment, he glanced at Roxie. “Cole Savitt.”

“Pleased to meet you, Cole,” she acknowledged. “Roxie Honeycutt.”

Cole stuck out a hand for her to shake then pulled it back when he saw the grease on his fingers. “Sorry. I’ve been working on my bike for the better part of the morning.”

“Nothing like a little early morning mechanics,” Roxie commented. “I’m opening a bridal shop above Adrian’s florist.”

“Oh, right,” Cole said. “She mentioned you.” Briar handed him the cool glass. “Thanks, this looks great,” he said appreciatively and sipped. “Tastes great, too.”

“Want some lunch?” she asked.

“Actually, I was going to grab a shower before I stink up your kitchen.”

“Do you need fresh towels?” she asked as he turned to go upstairs.

“Just the one will do.”

“I’ll wash the others,” she offered. “Give me a minute to get you a clean stack.”

He nodded, lifting the glass. “Thanks again for the drink. It was nice to meet you, Roxie.”

“Likewise.” As she watched him walk out, Roxie tilted her head to admire the view. “Mmm. Honey, with men like that roaming the earth, global warming is here to stay.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.