A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance) by Amber Leigh Williams

Author:Amber Leigh Williams [Williams, Amber Leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

BY MORNING, Brett hobbled north, drenching the Eastern Shore in ten inches of salty rain.

Briar walked out to gauge the destruction in a hooded coat and rain boots. The vegetables were gone. She’d known they were doomed the night before when she’d discovered the heavy arm of the tree that had toppled over the garden patch and clawed its way through the porch roof. Damp leaves covered the lawn in a dying carpet. The jasmine and annuals had suffered, but other than that, damage to the inn and the shops was minimal.

Just after noon, the last of the rain bands gave way to blue sky and hot sun. Without power and climate control, the day became oppressive.

An eerie calm always followed hurricanes. The system inhaled every breeze within hundreds of miles around its tunneling ranks, dragging them along for the ride. Though the pressure of the air lifted, without a stir, misery became the order of the day.

As soon as the gray shroud lifted, though, all four ladies of Hanna’s, Flora, Tavern of the Graces and Belle Brides went to work, with Cole helping take down the storm shutters. Sweat trickled down Cole’s bare back as he sawed fallen limbs into transferable pieces then hauled or rolled each of them to the street for pickup.

Briar swept the porch and gathered the leaves into garbage bags. She trimmed back the jasmine and pulled up drowned petunias. Thankfully, she managed to harvest all the daffodil bulbs—they could be replanted in dryer conditions.

The vegetables, on the other hand, were ruined. Everything had crumbled and lay flattened under the tarp Cole and his chainsaw finally uncovered. She mourned the squash, peppers and the big round tomatoes she and her mother had planted together. Digging up dead stalks and vines, she stuffed them, too, in garbage bags and took them to the street.

Afterward, she went into the muggy inn, putting the portable fans to work in the kitchen as she squeezed lemons and tried to take her mind off the loss. She was lucky—they were all lucky. It could have been worse. No use mourning and brooding when there was so much more to be done.

Through the open windows and the screen door, she heard the thwack of a hammer high above. After finding an extension ladder, Cole had offered to check for structural damage and replace the shingles that had been blown off.

She prayed there was no roof damage. Already, she had to get the porch to rights. She’d have to hire someone, of course. Construction was about as good for business as tropical storms.

A porch could be fixed quickly, though. An entire roof? She’d have to shut the inn down for a couple of weeks at least.

By the time she finished making lemonade, Cole was climbing down the ladder, hammer hooked through his belt loop. She carried out a tray full of finger sandwiches and the lemonade jug with two ice-filled glasses. A fine sheen of sweat coated every inch of his skin.

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