A Place with Briar

“I sympathize, Ms. Browning, but I’m afraid that failure to pay taxes is a serious offense.”

She took a minute to gather herself. She had to stand up against this. Had to be strong. “I realize that, Mr. Fields, but surely, there can be an extension on the deadline....”

“We’ve already offered the extension. Twice. You did receive the notices we sent?”

She’d received them. And she’d scrimped and saved. But then there was the matter of her car breaking down for the final time. Without a vehicle, she couldn’t haul groceries or landscaping materials. The down payment on the used Honda had burned a devastating hole in what was left of her savings. “I received them, yes.”

“And you failed to comply.”

“It’s not a matter of failed compliance, Mr. Fields. It’s just a matter of simple finance. I have every intention of paying the tax and I will when I have the resources. At the moment, though, I do not have the payment.”

“Ms. Browning, you do know what the penalty for failure to pay your taxes is, don’t you?”

Her head started to spin. The wallpaper whirled sickeningly. “I—”

“The county can seize any assets you hold in your name to account for the debt. In this case, we would be forced to take the property.”

Now she did shrink to the floor. Curling up, she dropped her brow to her raised knees. She struggled to breathe through the panic that assailed her.

“Ms. Browning?”

She couldn’t lose the inn. She just couldn’t. In an instant, she was transported back to last winter, watching her mother wither away before her eyes. Staring out at the bay as if the sight of sun dappling on its blue-gray waters would bring healing where nothing else could.

Tears burned her eyes. “Mr. Fields...” She took a deep breath, doing her best to steady her voice. “My mother, Hanna Browning, a pillar of this community, lost her life last year.”

“Yes, I knew of her illness.” The voice softened. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Browning. I’m also aware of the fact that she was under your care.”

“As you can imagine, the expense of her treatments and everything it took to make her comfortable during her last few months...” Again she had to take a breath. The quaver in her voice had worked its way into her joints and threatened to tear her to pieces. “It was devastating to both my family and the finances we had accumulated over the years.”

“I understand that, ma’am, but—”

“Mr. Fields, please, I need you to understand that I will pay the tax. I always pay my debts. I...I just need more time.”

A long pause followed the waning words. Her heart hammered somewhere between her stomach and spinal cord. The hole it left in her chest throbbed miserably.

“We can give you until mid-July.”

She released the breath she’d held on to as a last resort. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Fields. Thank you so much.”

“Just make sure you get the payment in. Preferably ahead of time.”

“I will. You can be sure of it.” Anything to prevent losing Hanna’s. “Goodbye, Mr. Fields.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Browning.”

She stood to hang the phone back in the cradle. For a long moment, she leaned her head against the wall and concentrated on steadying herself. Her knees quaked, and she ordered them to stop. She wiped her eyes before turning to walk back into the kitchen.

A gasp launched from her throat when she found Cole standing in the hallway just beyond. She clapped a hand over her heart. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Mr. Savitt. I didn’t see you there.”

He said nothing, just scanned her face with a frown.

Oh, dear God, her troubles were no doubt written all over her. How much had he heard?

He stepped forward, into the light. The haunted look had vanished from his face, replaced with concern. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed, her insides squirming in embarrassment and cheeks heating all over again. “Is there...anything I can get you?”

He closed the distance between them in three quick strides. Startled, she pressed her back against the podium. Her breath caught as he hovered close, gaze intense now as he searched her eyes, seeing too much. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

She sucked in a long, steadying breath. “I’m fine.” When he didn’t look convinced, she sighed. “Mr. Savitt, you’re my guest. It’s my job to see to it that you’re all right. Not the other way around.”

“And who sees to it that you are?” he blurted.

Her lips parted. No guest had ever asked her such a question. Certainly not one she had ever met before.

Lips firming, he lowered his penetrating stare. “I...apologize, Ms. Browning.”

With a short shake of her head, she fought for words. “It’s forgotten.”

Hesitant, his gaze latched on to her face once more, spanning her features. “You look exhausted, is all.”

Lifting a hand to her hair, she realized she must look a fright. “I—”

“If you need a break, I’ll be happy to—”

“No,” she refused, finding strength buried beneath the shame. “No, that’s out of the question. I thank you, Mr. Savitt, but the last thing I need right now is a break.”

Silence loomed over them both. Then he slid his hands slowly into his pockets in a gesture of acquiescence. “All right.”

Her eyes avoided his as disbelief again crossed his face. “Really, if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable...”

His face hardened and for an instant, she thought she saw the muscles in his jaw quake formidably. Finally, he pulled in a long inhale and said, “I told you. Just call me Cole.” Turning away, he walked out, the bells jangling over the door in his wake.

She watched him through the windows until he disappeared from view. Then she shook her head.

The man was unbelievable.

And he’d smelled so good up close—like soap, her cinnamon rolls and that very base note she suspected belonged to him alone.

Setting the pen she still held tightly in her hand on the podium, she dragged her fingers through her hair and made her way back to the kitchen.

She stopped short just inside the door.

The table had been cleared. Three clean plates and forks dried in the sink-side drainer.

Did he...?

Something inside her awakened, unfurling, tingling to life. Something that’d been dead for too long to measure.

If she wasn’t careful, she could start feeling things for this man she barely knew. Things she couldn’t afford to feel for anyone again—least of all a complete and total stranger.

* * *

COLE NEEDED TIME alone to think. Room enough to pace, to burn off the edge from the confrontation with Briar.

He’d seen women in pain. He’d been a member of the Huntsville police department for ten years. That was more than enough regular calls of domestic violence and trauma vics. Yes, he’d seen too many wounded women to count.

But Briar... She was different. Kind to a fault and yet undeniably capable with what he strongly sensed was an unexpected streak of perseverance. She downright intrigued him.

After the past three hellish years... Well, she was like a breath of fresh air. A fine, cool kiss of morning mist.

A ride around town wouldn’t cool the burn in his blood. Wrestling with it, he walked away from the inn. Away from her. He couldn’t keep encountering her on the verge of tears. Finding her that way, close to shattering, had made him forget completely why he was here. Tiffany’s wicked errand and all that came with it.

Damn it, for a moment, Gavin’s face had been completely wiped away by Briar’s frightened features, and he’d wanted nothing more than to enfold her in his arms and...

Nope, don’t go there. Don’t you dare go there, Savitt. Dangerous. Under the circumstances, it was just too damned dangerous. For the both of them.

How he could even think about being with another woman again after all the grief Tiffany had put him through was beyond him.

As he roamed around the side of the building, the tidiness of the well-loved garden left him little doubt Briar landscaped it herself. The scent of the confederate jasmine clinging to lattices tickled his nostrils. Bright salmon petunia faces popped out of the soil in cheery abundance. At his approach, a hummingbird flitted away from a butterfly bush. Off the gravel path, a vegetable garden flourished. Squash and tomatoes looked seasoned, a bright slash of color against the lush green landscape.

More of her work there. He saw it, too, in the clumps of daffodils trumpeting up from the mulch between sweet olive bushes. Climbing roses laced their way around porch columns. He smelled the gardenia before he spotted it. The soothing fragrance of the open, palm-sized blooms cleared the way for cool thoughts.

Briar didn’t need a man with a past as black as his underlying intentions cozying up to her.

“You son of a bitch!”

Frowning toward the voice that had read his thoughts exactly, he pivoted on his heel to face the long, glass-walled greenhouse between the inn and its neighboring twin structure. Something crashed against the floor and he took several steps toward the paned doors that had been thrown wide-open. More expletives reached his ears as he peered around the jamb.

First he spotted the glass splintered on the damp concrete slab and the long-stemmed crimson roses scattered like blood spatter.

Great. He was likening flowers to something he’d seen at a crime scene. The world-weary detective he’d wanted to bury deeply, forever, was taking over again, little by little.

“Hello?” he called.

Instantly, a brilliant streak of red hair peered over a worktable. “Shop’s next door, mister!”

“I heard a commotion,” he called back, taking a step farther over the entrance. “Are you okay?”

She emitted a snort before disappearing from view. Something scraped across the floor, followed by the tinkling protest of glass. Dustpan. “What are you, my knight in shining armor?”

He grimaced. “More like a concerned neighbor. Temporarily, at least.”

The auburn crop appeared again. On second look, her face was round and pixielike with a button of a nose and unpainted lips, which softened the impact of her pronounced bone structure. The eyes that stared back at him were dark and sharp as a whip.

This was no damsel. From the eyes alone, he could tell nothing got past this lady.

The woman stood slowly, revealing a red apron with the name FLORA embroidered across the front. “I apologize for the outburst. The vase was delivered broken and tried to pick a fight with me.”

He tilted his head, eyeing what had once been the vase in question. “Seems you won.”

She beamed and propped a gloved fist on her hip. “As a matter of fact, I did.” Those sharp eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

He scanned her face more closely. After some hesitation, he stepped forward, cautious of the scattered shards. “I’m Cole. Cole Savitt,” he said, extending a hand toward her.

Her eyes narrowed as she pried a glove from her hand to grip his firmly. “I don’t think I know any Savitts. Are you related to anyone around here?”

He paused. Then decided there wasn’t much harm in mentioning Tiffany. “My ex-wife. Tiffany Howard.”

“It rings a bell.” She nodded, pursing her lips. “I’m Adrian. Adrian Carlton.”

“Adrian,” he greeted. “Nice to meet you.”

“You married?”

He chuckled, unable to help it. “You ladies cut right to the quick around here.”

“So you’ve met Liv, I take it.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. He sensed from experience that she was a wary soul, but an inherently good one. His instincts had served him well in the past...unless he counted Tiffany and the viper that had lived unbeknownst to him under her polished veneer. “And I take it you’re the Adrian who owns the flower shop next door.”

“That’s me. Flora, finest flowers in Fairhope. You must be Briar’s new guest.”

“You heard about me, huh?”

“We don’t get many single men around Hanna’s,” Adrian told him, easing into a smile. “And with somebody like Liv on the loose, nothing stays secret for long. Though since the fact that you have an ex-wife didn’t come up in this morning’s gossip exchange, I’m guessing I’m the first to know that you’re divorced.”

He lifted a shoulder, slipping his hands into his pockets in a relaxed stance. “It’s not something people like to advertise.”

“Don’t I know it.” At his curious look, she nodded. “We’re of the same breed as far as failed marriages are concerned.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Nothing to be sorry about. Especially when your ex is a wife beater hiding behind a badge.”

“Please tell me justice was served,” he said.

“After long last. Suspension for him and restraining order for me and my son,” she said matter-of-factly before tending to some long-stemmed roses. “So what brings you to Fairhope?”

“Much-needed vacation,” he lied.

“Workaholic?”

“Actually, I’m kind of between jobs.”

“What do you do?”

He hesitated then realized there was no reason to lie, at least about his job. “I was a Huntsville police detective.”

Her brows lifted again. “Seriously?”

“I put ten years on the force.”

“You know, now that I think about it, you look like a cop,” she said with a smug smile.

“Since the wife-beating ex is a cop, too, I’m guessing that isn’t a compliment.”

She smiled. “I’ll trust you and he have little in common other than your chosen careers.”

“And I’ll thank you for that, Ms. Carlton,” he replied.

“Adrian,” she corrected. “Ms. Carlton is my mother, which is why I tend to shudder whenever anyone calls me by that particular name.”

He chuckled again. Yes, he was growing to like Adrian.

“You thinking of transferring south?” she asked. “I’m acquainted with a few of the officers at the local PD. I could introduce you....”

“No, for now I’m just...” He stopped because he saw understanding begin to creep into her eyes. “This seems like a nice enough place to live, I’ll admit. Everyone’s friendly. The weather’s good—not too hot.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Wait until mid-July before you start making weather assumptions. I should give you the grand city tour, introduce you to the right people. You might like it enough to stick.”

No. It’d be a while before he could stick anywhere. The thought of two weeks in Fairhope already seemed like an eternity. At Hanna’s, anyway—close to Briar and other things too far out of his reach. However, if he couldn’t be around Briar without thinking straight then her friends might be able to tell him more than he could wean out of her. “What are you doing tonight?”

She considered. “I could ask Briar to babysit.”

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to put Briar out.” God knew she had enough on her plate already.

“Oh, Kyle loves Briar,” she explained. “He helps her out around the place, gives her a much-needed hand, even if it is with the little things.”

He hesitated, weighing the situation. “Well, okay, then. I’ll meet you at the tavern around seven?”

“Seven it is.” She started to walk off. “I have a customer waiting on these roses. It was nice meeting you, Cole.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU GOT A date with the new guy?”

Adrian heaved an aggrieved sigh. “It’s not a date, Liv. I’m just showing him around.”

“I think he might be able to show you a thing or two,” Olivia deduced.

Adrian took a bite out of her tuna sandwich, knowing as well as Briar did that a reply would only egg on Olivia. It was no use trying to budge Olivia once she set her mind to something. Especially if that something was in any way, shape or form promiscuous.

Olivia and Adrian were eating lunch at the inn kitchen table while Briar attempted to fix the leaky pipes under the sink. It didn’t take long for Olivia to notice that she was having difficulty using the socket wrench. “You need a plumber.”

“Plumbers cost money,” Briar said. “Unfortunately, I can’t afford such a luxury.”

“Come on, cuz,” Olivia said. “It’s not that bad.”

Briar frowned as she gave up on the pipes and the wrench, tucking it away with her other tools and cleaning supplies by closing the cabinet doors. She washed her hands then walked to the fridge to pull out the makings for lunch. “I got a call from a county man today. Property taxes are overdue.”

Olivia and Adrian exchanged worrisome glances. “Did you ask for an extension?” Adrian asked.

“I’ve already had two,” Briar explained, pulling open a packet of bacon. Strips sizzled as she laid them one by one on a hot skillet. The smooth, practiced motions of her hands were at odds with the slight quaver of her tone. “He said that if I don’t pay by the middle of July, they’ll seize the property to compensate.”

Olivia choked on her sandwich as Adrian gaped in horror. “They can’t do that.”

The last time Briar had felt this tired, drained, was during her mother’s last days. “With the way business is going, I don’t know if I can raise it. If I don’t nail down one of these potential investors soon, I could lose everything.”

“We’ll fight for it.”

“That’s right,” Adrian assured her, echoing Olivia’s sentiment. “We’ll fight for what’s ours, Briar. We’ll help you.”

She shook her head. “I’m already bleeding the both of you for rent. Adrian, you had to replace your greenhouse after the last hurricane and I know it ate a hole in your house budget—you barely had enough left over to send Kyle to soccer camp. And, Liv, you’re saving up for an addition to the tavern. I have to do this alone.”

“You can’t do everything alone,” Olivia protested.

“And that’s why I have potential investors.” She waved her hands in frustration. “Can we not talk about this right now? So, tell me what you think of the new girl.”

Defeated, Adrian lowered to her seat, appetite forgotten. “Roxie Honeycutt. She seems nice, really excited about opening shop.”

“Though Lord knows we don’t need another bridal boutique around here,” Olivia said before taking a big bite out of a banana.

“She also has a license for wedding consultation,” Briar added.

Olivia made a face. “They give out licenses for just about anything nowadays.”

“Anyway,” Briar went on, “she has some interesting ideas—I think she’ll do well. And I bet her gowns are gorgeous.”

Adrian brightened up. “And she plans on using me for all the floral arrangements she’ll need.”

“I like her,” Briar concluded, placing the bacon onto a plate. She took a knife from the butcher block to slice a tomato. “Why didn’t you bring her over for lunch, guys?”

“Said she was eating with her hotshot fiancé,” Olivia explained with a dismissing wave of her hand. “Some law professor named Richard Levy.”

“He teaches in Mobile,” Briar blurted. “At South Alabama.”

“You know him?” Adrian asked curiously.

“No,” Briar said, frown returning. “Daddy was talking about him the last time I visited.”

That left another gray cloud hanging over the room—usually any mention of Briar’s father did. Any thought of him, really, had the same effect.

It’s unimaginable—you running the business by yourself....

She closed her eyes because the terrible words he’d spoken to her that day not but a year before still echoed clearly through her head—on a constant loop.

Adrian recovered the conversation. “She’s coming by the tavern tonight to try one of Olivia’s margaritas.”

“I guess that’ll be around the time you skip off on your hot date.”

“It’s not a date, Liv.”

Briar looked up. “What’s this about a date, Adrian?” she asked as she began to shred a head of lettuce.

“Oh, she’s got one hell of a date lined up,” Olivia groused. “With Cole Savitt.”

The lettuce dropped to the floor with a crunch. Briar felt the color drain from her face as she bent to scoop up the mess. “Oh.”

Olivia watched her cousin closely as she ran the lettuce under the sink tap. “Yep. She beat us both to the plate.”

“That’s not true,” Adrian protested, clearly alarmed by Briar’s reaction.

“Did you get the scoop?” Olivia asked.

“About why he has that wounded air about him? Maybe. And it seems to be a recent development.”

“And?”

Taking a sip of her mineral water, Adrian watched Olivia’s expectant face with a shred of glee. “It’s personal.”

Olivia groaned. “Can’t you just give me a hint?”

“Nope.”

“Spoilsport.” Olivia took a hearty bite out of her sandwich, eyeing Adrian with mock loathing before turning her attention to Briar. “Would you just sit down and eat? The man has two hands. He can fix his own lunch.”

“You know that I provide meals when they’re requested,” she reminded Olivia. “He wanted to eat here. I’m going to accommodate him.”

“Like a good hostess,” Olivia said with some disdain. “Personally, I don’t think women should cook for men at all anymore. We’ve progressed too far for that. Let them fend for themselves.”

“It’s not as if we’re married,” Briar said, irritation nipping on her heels. “I’ve never done anything less for any guest.”

“If I were in your shoes, I’d serve him right up in a negligee,” Olivia said with a knowing smile.

Briar’s color was definitely coming back. “You just stepped on your point.”

Olivia met Adrian’s curious gaze and said, “She’s got the hots for him.”

“Olivia—”

The screen door creaked open and Cole walked through. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Cole,” Olivia greeted, offering him a Cheshire-cat grin. She patted the cushion of the seat next to hers. “We were just talking about you.” She winked conspiratorially at Adrian.

“Ah, so that’s why my ears are burning.” He settled in the chair. “Something smells good,” he commented, craning his neck toward the stove.

“Briar’s slaving away again,” Olivia informed him. “I hope you like blood, sweat and tears.”

Cole glanced up at Briar who was neatly arranging two BLTs on a plate. “Do you need any help?” he asked.

She turned and met his gaze. She swore she was growing pinker by the second. Lowering her eyes, she set a plate in front of him. “Of course not. What would you like to drink?”

“I’ll get it,” he said, already on his feet. “You don’t have a fixed plate here. Go ahead and make yourself something.”

“But I’m—”

He smiled and effectively melted the rest of her words away. “I can fix myself a drink, Briar.”

“Cole—” Briar began before Olivia cut her off.

“Let the man do what he wants and fix yourself some food. You work to the bone then starve yourself. Soon you’ll be nothing but a scarecrow.”

“Fine,” Briar resigned. “Cups are in the cupboard.” When his back was turned, she sent Olivia a seething look. Her cousin merely lifted a shoulder and finished off her sandwich.

As if Briar didn’t have enough problems already with her guest getting under her skin and the inn potentially going under. Apparently, Olivia had decided to play the Emma Woodhouse game again.

Since she had returned to Fairhope, Briar had managed to fly under Olivia’s matchmaking radar. Adrian, however, hadn’t faired so lucky and had a short list of dating calamities to prove it.

By the helpless look on Adrian’s face, Briar knew there was little the people involved in Olivia’s matchmaking schemes could do but humor her and hope it didn’t all end in complete disaster.

* * *

TAVERN OF THE Graces was in full swing by seven o’clock. Regulars lined up at the bar, talking to each other overloud. The room was nearly filled to capacity, and the pool table was in use by after-work players. And above the table in the corner where an arm-wrestling match was taking place was a flat-screen television tuned to ESPN and a Braves game.

When Cole walked through the thick wood-paneled doors he was overwhelmed by a blast of Sheryl Crow’s “Winding Road.”

Jubilant shouts echoed from the men surrounding the pool table. Cole followed their attention to the television and saw that Chipper had hit a homer.