Amber Leigh Williams - A Place with Briar

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....