A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance)

by Amber Leigh Williams

  He wanted Gavin back in his life. Nothing had changed that. But now, in addition, he wanted Briar. Worse, he feared he wanted both in equal measure.

  The two lives he could envision for himself—one with Gavin, one with Briar—could never mix, could they? In order to gain visitation rights with Gavin, he had betrayed Briar—there was no going back from that. And even if she could somehow find it in her heart to forgive him, he doubted Tiffany would. If he chose Briar, he had to give up any hope of ever being a part of Gavin’s life.

  His temples pounded. The knot he’d managed to bind himself in wasn’t going to give until he thought things through. He had to get back to that place in his mind where everything made sense, where he knew exactly what needed to be done.

  Where was the stone-cold detective’s instinct when he needed it? It had disappeared amidst the storm debris littering the streets.

  He was going for a ride, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d cleared some of the debris from his brain. Until his thoughts weren’t a tangle of what-ifs. There was no way he could do his thinking here—Briar was here. And when Briar was around, he couldn’t trust himself to think about anything but wanting her. Loving her.

  Halfway down the stairs to the first floor, his steps slowed. The whistle was low, a small whine that barely penetrated the silence of the bottom floor. Instinct that had gone missing teased the small hairs on the back of his neck to attention. Gripping the banister, he listened carefully. Through the open kitchen door, he saw the stove was empty. No kettle. He would have heard Briar come downstairs. She hadn’t. The floor was vacant.

  He caught himself reaching for his belt where, as an officer, his gun had once rested. Slowly, silently, he crept the rest of the way down the stairs. The whistle was coming from the right, down the hall toward the entryway. Edging along the wall, he listened for the telltale sounds of intrusion—soft footsteps, faint rustling—and heard nothing but that strange whistle.

  As he rounded the corner carefully into the entryway, the whistling noise drew him to the door behind the podium—the one he had broken into not long ago. He’d had to pick the lock because Briar always kept it closed and bolted. Every nerve in his body stood on end when he saw that the door was open.

  Stepping across the office threshold, a slight breeze hit his face, smelling strongly of wet earth and magnolia leaves. His eyes trekked quickly over the papers strewn about the room, the open drawers and filing cabinet. Nights ago, Briar’s records had been meticulously organized. Now they were completely destroyed. Her computer had been taken, but the printer, fax machine and phone remained.

  He touched his fingers to the broken windowpane, and the muscles in his jaw bunched as rage overcame him.

  This was no robbery.

  Knowing exactly who was behind this, he curled his fist into a ball and fought the urge to smash through the rest of the broken pane of glass.

  “Cole, what are you...”

  He turned just in time to see the warm smile vanish from Briar’s face. Her color vanished, too, as her face fell, distressed. Her hand fumbled for the doorjamb as she swayed. “What—what happened here?” she breathed, the words trembling out of her as she raised a hand to her mouth.

  He crossed to her quickly because she looked damn near faint. “A break-in. No one’s here. I checked. But we need to call the police.”

  “The police,” she muttered. Seeming to come back to herself, she shook her head hard and closed her eyes. “Yes, you’re right. The police. I’ll call them.”

  Because she still looked alarmingly pale, he touched her face. “It’s all right, Briar. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  As her eyes searched his wildly for answers, she nodded slowly before backtracking into the entryway.

  Glancing back at the wreckage of the office, he listened to Briar’s quavering voice speak to the dispatcher. The clarity he’d been looking for from the moment he woke up in her bed was suddenly right in front of him.

  Tiffany had crossed the line, and now he would do what he had once done best.

  Justice was about to be served.

  * * *

  “IT LOOKS LIKE the desktop computer was the only thing taken,” the officer told her, echoing what Cole had explained to her and what she’d already surmised herself.

  “But why?” Briar asked. She, Cole, Olivia and the detective doing the questioning were sitting around the kitchen table. Her nails were biting into her forearms as she searched for answers and fought the helpless trembling that threatened to assault her body. She couldn’t let it. She couldn’t afford to be fragile. She wouldn’t be weak. Not now. “The modem’s outdated and has needed to be replaced for some time now. Why wouldn’t they have taken something more valuable, like the printer? I bought it six months ago....”

  “Looting is, unfortunately, sometimes a by-product of hurricanes,” the detective explained. “Usually, we see it with bigger storms, the kind that do a lot more damage than this last one. But if the looter thought that the inn was empty, as many homes around the area have been over the past week, they would’ve seen it as an easy target. Also, the perpetrator might’ve started to clean house but heard a noise and realized that he wasn’t alone. Can you tell me if there were any lights on in the downstairs area overnight?”

  “No.” The shock was turning her numb. It lured her into a kind of numbness she recognized—it was both comforting and distressing.

  She’d felt the same numbness for months after her mother’s death. It had helped her get through the grieving process, but there had been a period several months long where she’d feared she wouldn’t be able to break out of it—to go on living a normal life with all the necessary emotional stimuli. Shaking off the niggling voices in her head, Briar cleared her throat and forced herself to go on. “The power was out until sometime early this morning. I didn’t leave any lamps or candles burning.”

  The detective—she couldn’t quite place his name amidst the chaos in her head—nodded as he made notes on his pad. “And what time did you go to bed?”

  She did her best not to look at Cole. Or Olivia, for that matter. “It was around...nine. Maybe nine-thirty. The girls were here to keep Mr. Savitt and me company over dinner. I’m not sure when they left exactly, but I went up to bed shortly after that.”

  “I was the last to leave,” Olivia said, reaching over to place a supportive hand over Briar’s. “It was right around eight forty-five. I locked up behind me.”

  “This is just a routine question, but do either you, Ms. Browning, or Ms. Lewis, know of any enemies you might have? Any reason why someone would want your computer files?”

  “No,” Briar said at once. “There’s no one.”

  “No one who would wish you harm?”

  Briar shook her head. “No one,” she repeated, at a loss. When Olivia said the same, she knotted her hands together. “Detective...if you think it was just a looter, why would you ask these questions?”

  “Like I said, Ms. Browning. They’re just routine.” The officer turned to Cole for the first time. “You went to bed around the same time Ms. Browning did?”

  “Yes,” Cole replied. “As soon as I heard Olivia here lock up, I went upstairs. To my room.”

  “Your suite is on the second floor,” the detective stated.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But you didn’t hear anything?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Cole replied.

  Briar watched a muscle in his jaw tighten and quickly spoke up for him. “Mr. Savitt was kind enough to help us take care of the debris and repairs around the inn and shops yesterday. He worked very hard to get everything cleared up. It’s no wonder he didn’t hear anything. He was exhausted, I’m sure.”

  Cole’s eyes rose to hers briefly. They’d been hard since the police had arrived. Since they had discovered th
e break-in, in fact. Now, facing her, they softened by a fraction. It was her heart that trembled and broke through the numbness she’d dreaded, warming her cold limbs inch by welcome inch.

  The police didn’t take up much more of her time. The detective that had spoken to them assured her they would get back to her with any leads, but Briar couldn’t help but notice that the words sounded hollow, routine.

  “I have to clean up....” she told the others after they watched the police depart.

  Olivia tucked an arm around her waist. “I’ll help.”

  Cole cleared his throat. His voice grated, raw against his throat. “I would, too...but I have some business in town I need to take care of.”

  Briar looked to him. The knot in his jaw was working hard against the bone. She wanted to reach up to touch him, soothe him. “Thank you. Both of you. I hardly know what to make of all this.”

  Olivia smiled in reassurance. “We’ll get it cleaned up. I’ll call the window repair people. And if they don’t catch whoever did this, if it was looters like they say, they’re long gone.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Briar nodded. She took a cleansing breath, gathering confidence from the both of them standing strong around her. “No, I know you’re right.” She patted her hands over the apron she had put on as she came downstairs. Before the day that had started out so perfectly took a long slide downhill. “I didn’t get to make lunch.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Cole’s hand found hers as his eyes once again latched on to her face and softened several degrees. “I’ll get something in town.”

  “Will you be back in time for dinner?” she asked, hearing the hopeful lilt of the words for herself.

  He hesitated, searching her face. Then he whispered, “Count on it.” He touched his lips to her cheek. “Liv,” he said with a nod to her before he walked down the porch steps, helmet in hand. “Take care of her.”

  “Will do. Come on, cuz,” Olivia said, guiding her back to the door. “Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BRIAR KNEW THAT it was mostly to get her mind off the break-in, but as soon as she and Olivia finished cleaning the office and piecing together what was left of her files, her cousin walked her over to the shops. Adrian and Roxie both offered her what would have been sure distraction on any other day. She found it hard, however, to think of anything but that broken pane of glass and her missing computer.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered to herself as she sat on a stool in Roxie’s boutique folding delicate swatches of satin and silk. She’d asked Roxie if she needed a hand preparing the shop, as desperate to distract herself as her friends were determined to keep her mind off the morning’s events. Each swatch was different, ranging from spring pastels to deeper hues more suited to autumn. They would go in the bridesmaids’ design portfolio Roxie was putting together.

  The wedding coordinator’s voice echoed from the open changing stalls toward the back of the boutique. “I know it doesn’t make sense, Briar, but there’s no use getting your thoughts more tangled up than they need to be. The police will do their job. During Ivan, my neighbors two doors down were looted.”

  “Were the looters ever caught?” Briar asked curiously, folding a delicate, salmon-pink swatch over one of burgundy.

  “They were,” Roxie replied. “They actually ran into one of the National Guard patrols. The idiots were the only ones out after the county-wide curfew that was enforced in the storm’s wake. Looters aren’t generally the smartest members of the herd.”

  “Right,” Briar said. “You’re right.” She glanced toward the changing stalls. “Are you sure you don’t need a hand? I feel pretty useless.”

  “No, you just keep folding, honey,” Roxie called back in a reassuring voice. “Trust me. There’s nothing like folding, or any other mundane task, for that matter, to get you back in the right mind-set.”

  The boutique smelled of the newness of fresh paint and possibilities. Briar found herself looking again at the mannequins bedecked in profusions of white fabric. “Your work is exquisite.”

  The hardworking lady peered out of a dressing room, paint roller in hand and a long handkerchief tied from her brow to the nape of her neck to protect her coif. “That’s the gown I designed for my eldest sister’s wedding. It took everything but a loaded gun to convince her to let me add it to my collection.”

  “Why wouldn’t she want you to?” Briar asked, fingering the long Irish lace train. “It’s your design.”

  Roxie lifted a shoulder and disappeared again, voice echoing once more. “My sisters are all creatures of selfishness and vanity. My mother, too. You get used to it.”

  “Were you adopted?”

  “Sometimes I dream.” Roxie backed out of the dressing room, gauging her paint job. “The Honeycutt women don’t settle for anything but the very best, so don’t get me wrong—the fact that both of my wedded sisters came directly to me for their gowns pleases me to no end. I guess I’m partly a creature of selfishness and vanity myself.”

  “You’re no such thing.” Briar eyed the dress again wistfully. “I bet she looked absolutely stunning.”

  “The wedding was alfresco in the middle of a field with a backdrop of wildflowers. I was going for nostalgic whimsy.” Roxie dried her hands on a wet rag as she approached Briar. “Though it is one of my best, I’d have to do up something completely different for you.”

  “Really?” Briar narrowed her eyes. “You’ve thought about me...in a wedding gown?”

  Roxie laughed, delighted by the perplexed look on Briar’s face. “Honey, it’s the first thing I think about when I meet a prospective customer. Or friend. Or simple acquaintance. I’m somewhat obsessed, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Tea?” she asked as she walked behind the glass display check-out counter and lifted a teapot inlaid with pink and yellow pansies.

  “Sure.”

  Roxie poured both of them a cup. Steam billowed from each, infusing the air with a soothing, herbal blend. She passed one to Briar then took out a sketch pad as she made herself cozy on the high-backed stool behind her. While her tea cooled, Roxie picked up a pencil and began to draw. “First I’d go with a sweetheart neckline. And linen. You’d look sublime in virgin-white linen.”

  Briar lifted the delicate cup to her lips and blew the steam off the surface of the tea. “Not that I’ve dwelled on it overly much...” She cleared her throat carefully. “But I always kind of pictured a garden wedding. At Hanna’s.”

  “Yes, yes!” Roxie’s pencil hand drew in quicker, surer strokes. “With a mixed, cascade bouquet. And white blossoms in your hair in lieu of a veil. Lily of the valley, perhaps.”

  Briar closed her eyes, trying to see it more clearly. “On the north side of the house. Summertime would be best, preferably before it’s too hot.”

  “Late April or early May,” Roxie suggested. “I love a late-spring, early summer wedding. And, you’re right, we wouldn’t want the guests to drop like flies in the heat. The vows could be exchanged under that charming jasmine arbor.”

  “Mmm.” Briar beamed. She could smell the jasmine’s torrid perfume. Her heart picked up pace as she imagined walking through the shrubbery and blooms her mother had planted...the ones she’d nurtured and sustained...walking toward...

  Her pulse leaped. Cole. She could see Cole standing under the arbor, waiting.

  “This is it.”

  Briar’s eyes popped open. She stared at the drawing of a faceless model of herself. The gown was simple, empire-waisted. The skirt tapered down in a soft flair. Roxie’s clever vision had added a chapel train. She let out a breath. “That’s it,” she agreed in a whisper. She shook her head, reaching out to take the pad and admiring the details more closely. “You’re a visionary, Roxie.” She could practically feel the linen, the weight of the gown around her. Her heart gave an
other thrilled leap when again Cole appeared under the flowered arch, hand outstretched, eyes warm.

  With a sigh, Briar edged the pad onto the counter, clasping her hands tight over her knee. “Oh, Roxie. What are you doing?”

  “Making you a princess,” Roxie replied in an airy voice as she tucked the pencil behind her ear. “It’s my job.”

  “Yes, well.” Briar forced her eyes away from the drawing. “I’m not getting married.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  When Briar’s mouth fumbled open, Roxie offered her an encouraging grin and reached out to pat her hands. “Here’s reality, the way I see it. You’re beautiful, sane, stable. What man wouldn’t want you?”

  Briar shook her head. She’d set aside dreams of wedded bliss when Jean-Luc had left her high and dry in her Paris loft. “No one’s ever...” She fumbled as Roxie gauged her reaction. “There hasn’t been time to...”

  “You seem to be making plenty of time with sexy Mr. Savitt.”

  She took a steadying breath. “Cole... He’s not looking for marriage.”

  “Have you asked him that?”

  “This soon? Of course not—I’d run him off.”

  Roxie chuckled, sipped her tea. “It took some time for my Richard to come around to it—four years to be exact. But at the end of the day we love each other and want to continue to be together. It’ll happen, if you both feel it for one another.”

  Briar’s heart rapped against her breastbone, and she couldn’t quite meet Roxie’s eyes. “I haven’t known you all that long. But there’s something delicate I need to say to someone.”

  “I’m your friend, Briar,” Roxie assured her. “Lay anything you want on me. It doesn’t go outside that door.”

  Briar eyed it, uncertain. “Last night... Well, he and I...”

  “Tangled? I thought so.”

  Seeing the amused gleam in Roxie’s eyes, she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from twitching up. “How did you know?”