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
