A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance)

by Amber Leigh Williams

  * * *

  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.”

  “I’m sorry to say this, Ms. Browning, but you’re late on your property tax payment. Are you aware of this?”

  Of course she was aware of it. The tax plagued her every thought—along with the inn’s other debts. She took a shaky breath. “Mr. Fields, business was very slow this past autumn and winter season. I had to pay an unexpected remodeling charge for one of the shops next door. Plus, there was another hotel established in the downtown area and it took a chunk out of my profits.”

  “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.”