A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance)

by Amber Leigh Williams

  She nodded and a small relieved light flashed in her eyes. “That’s a relief.”

  “I left for personal reasons,” he said. “When you’re around cops long enough, you hear a lot about something called ‘burnout.’”

  “You burned out,” she surmised.

  “Not completely,” he told her. “I could’ve kept going. But things were unraveling around me. There’s a numbness that you have when you’re exposed to enough bloodshed. It doesn’t completely protect you, but it’s usually enough to get you through.”

  “You stopped feeling numb?”

  He paused for a long moment. Was he really going to relive this again? “Something broke through.” Clearing his throat, he shifted on the hard picnic table seat. “My partner and I had been tracking a meth lab into the woods outside the city. We secured a warrant, but we were a day too late. There was an explosion, and everyone in the house was killed.”

  He stopped but couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. His mind was back in the woods outside Huntsville, a place he rarely allowed himself to go. “It wasn’t the first time I’d investigated a meth lab after an explosion and seen the dead bodies. But this time there was a family living in the house, too, with small children.”

  She nodded. “I can see how that would affect someone.”

  The part he didn’t reveal to her was that one of the children had been the same age as his own son and that the meth lab investigation had happened around the same time that he realized Gavin could be taken away from him. For weeks, he couldn’t sleep. When he’d finally gone back to work, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but the crime scene photos...and the face of that little boy.

  With a court battle approaching, it had been the worst time to lose his job. But without focus, he could see himself slipping up in the field just long enough for his partner to be unprotected. One mistake was all it took. And the long hours he’d spent on the job over the past decade hadn’t boded well for him in the fight for custody, either. Tiffany had used that very fact as one of her main striking points.

  It was a lose-lose situation, whatever he did. He’d given up the job he’d dedicated his life to, and he’d lost his son. All in one horrible year.

  “How long ago was that?” Adrian asked, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over the table.

  “A little over a year.”

  “And you’re still drifting.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I lost my family and my job. It’s hard to start over when there’s no center.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever be able to move on?” she asked.

  Wasn’t that why he was doing this wicked errand for Tiffany, for the promise of a new life? “Maybe. But it won’t come without...work.”

  “Speaking as someone who has hit rock bottom—” she lifted her bottle in toast “—it’s not easy, but it can happen.”

  There was the source of that shrewd judgment he’d seen under the surface. She was a single mother who had obviously been through hell with her ex and had come out on top—and all the better for it. Lifting his own beer bottle, he tapped it against the neck of hers. “Thanks.”

  “Be careful, though,” she added. “Make sure the ends justify the means and you don’t end up hurting someone you love in the process.”

  Someone you love. She was speaking of his son. But he couldn’t help thinking of Briar back at the tavern. When had he gone from thinking of her as the pretty innkeeper to someone you love?

  Gavin was that someone. Gavin was his only chance at a content life, happiness. He couldn’t lose sight of that for one second, especially where Briar Browning was concerned.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NEAR TEN O’CLOCK, Adrian and Cole made it back to the tavern. Standing outside the doors, the jukebox could be heard blaring an old Hank Williams song. Adrian smiled at him. “Pretty rowdy in there.”

  “Is it always like this?” Cole wondered aloud.

  “Liv lives for it,” Adrian said. “She’s as rowdy as three drunks on a bad night. She’s got help, Monica Slayer, most evenings. On others, we try to lend a hand, whoever has less to do. But if she had to, Olivia could hold this place up with one hand and have strength to spare.”

  Cole hesitated before asking his next question. As far as Briar was concerned, his curiosity wouldn’t stop prodding. Though he and Adrian had talked of little else but the inn and the three shops adjacent to it all night long, he’d managed to keep the subject off the innkeeper. Until now. “And Briar?”

  Adrian lifted her shoulder. “She’s been doing what she does ever since...well, she had to, really. But it’s wearing her down. She refuses help, but we can all see the responsibility of the inn weighs on her, heavily. The past year’s been especially difficult.”

  “Her mother,” Cole surmised. Yes, he’d heard more of the conversation between Briar and whoever she’d been on the phone with than he’d have liked. The more he learned about Briar and why the inn was in such bad financial straits, the more he was riddled by guilt over what he was doing there.

  “Yes,” Adrian said and not much more. Solidarity, he knew. Her dark eyes slit, scrutinizing. “Why are you so curious about Briar?”

  Shifting, he glanced out over the bay. “She just... It really seems like she... I don’t know. Needs someone.”

  Her lips pursed. “You’re interested in her.”

  Alarm filtered through him swiftly. “I’m not the kind of man she needs.” It was the truth—as much for himself as to assure her.

  Adrian lifted her chin in a short nod. “Not everyone’s brave enough to share the load she has. Or care for her the way she deserves to be cared for.”

  Words formed on his tongue, but he stopped them before they could spill out. “You’re right about that.”

  Her hand lifted to his arm. “Cole, I like you. And it’s because I like you that I’m going to be completely honest with you. Briar’s one of my oldest friends, and I don’t want to see her hurt again. If you’re just passing through, it’s best just to leave things be.”

  He frowned over her shoulder at the bay again. “Adrian, I never had any intention—”

  “I know,” she said with a small smile. “But I saw the way you were looking at her today.”

  Avoiding her gaze again, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re looking out for her. I get it. But trust me. The last thing I want is to cause Briar any trouble.” Veering around her to the tavern door, he reached for the handle. “And you’re right. That’s all I’d ever be to her.”

  “Cole—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, pushing the door open. “I’ll see you around, Adrian.” Before she could reply, he shouldered his way in, losing himself in the crowd.

  He could use another stiff drink.

  The place was twice as crowded as before. Over the heads of the people on the barstools, he caught a glimpse of the two women working there.

  Cole edged toward the wall to avoid getting shouldered by any of the people milling about. For a moment, he simply observed.

  Briar maneuvered her way through the crowd with two large pints of draft beer in each hand. She took them to a table, set them down and pocketed the patrons’ money. The gracious smile she aimed at them sucked Cole in. Made his pulse dance irregularly in that dark place it’d dwelled during the past few years.

  Cole watched as a large man with a ruddy face coated with a prickly red goatee cornered Briar, laying beefy hands on her shoulders. She jerked in surprise, spinning around only to find herself locked between his solid, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bulk and the wall behind her. His booming voice resonated across the tavern. “Careful there, little lady. Don’t want you to trip and hurt that sweet face.”

  “Then you shouldn’t stand in my blind spot, Clint.” She tried to outmaneuver him
by ducking under his arm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have orders to fill.”

  “Why the rush?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist and steering her toward a table near the back of the room where lights were dimmer and Olivia didn’t have quite so well a view of what transpired between her patrons. Cole saw Briar’s eyes flash around the room, looking for an escape. He took several steps forward.

  Clint’s meaty paws squeezed her shoulders and he leered close as his buddies at the table looked on and sniggered. “Give me some sugar. You know you want to.”

  She turned her nose up, digging an elbow into the man’s ribs in another effort to dislodge his attentions. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Clint. Now knock it off so I can get back to work.”

  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.