That wasn’t going to happen since Hilly was willing to testify—from what the youngster had revealed— that Carter had no idea he’d endangered Bailey’s life. The pending charges, however, would be filed, but lessened to intent to do bodily harm.
With no prior offenses on his record, Carter would probably get probation, and the help he needed, mentally.
“Carter isn’t an issue,” Hilly responded firmly. “He’s shown remorse over his actions, and he’ll be carefully watched by his parents. After his trial, if he’s found guilty, he’ll eventually be monitored by his probation officer.”
Buffy nodded, but not happily. “Your sperm donor, then?” She wasn’t going to let things go.
“Mason has his computer-geeks, Opal and Nolan on top of it. They’ve sent his license plate out on a national alert network, they have tags on his credit cards, and they got court approval to track his phone. If he dares use it, they’ll find him. He’s not getting away, Buff.”
“Well, I’ll be happy when he’s locked up,” her friend grumbled.
Buffy sauntered to the table, and gazed at it as if she were seeing things. “Well, well, well,” she smirked. “It looks like somebody is planning a seduction.”
Hilly felt the color move up her neck.
Yeah, Buffy was the only adult on premise who she hadn’t let in on her plans. Hilly had known that if her take-charge friend found out, she’d be unstoppable; setting things up like a woman on a mission. It had been crazy of Hilly, thinking she might be able to get away with her amorous play without Buff finding out. Clearly, that futile thought had now been blown to hell.
So, she’d get Buffy’s opinion.
“Too much?” Hilly asked, looking at the small table where she’d laid out real plates and flatware instead of paper and plastic, and had decorated with some pretty wildflowers. Ellen was due to bring over a roast chicken dinner in a few minutes.
The room itself was also decorated with a plethora of candles, all scented vanilla; a fragrance Cisco said he associated with her.
Buffy declined comment, but walked over and peered into Hilly’s bedroom. She snorted, then cough/laughed. “Yikes!” She was gleeful. “You call that lingerie?”
“Too little?”
Hilly had gone into town with Adeline earlier and purchased the two scraps of green silk. Adeline had heartily approved, but Hilly was so uncertain of herself, she’d relish Buffy adding her two cents. Maybe with her endorsement, Hilly wouldn’t be so nervous.
Buffy giggled and repeated Hilly’s questions. “Too much? Too little? Why are you so conflicted? Hilly, that man is crazy about you. You could dress in a feed-sack, give him a bowl of dry cereal, and he’d still adore you. And as for the whisps of lace on your bed…?” She snickered and drew a “whew” hand across her dry brow. “They’re perfect, but don’t expect to be wearing them for long.”
Hilly colored up and chewed on her lip. “I don’t know, Buff. You know Cisco’s pretty much refused to touch me since the incident. What if he’s changed his mind about wanting me altogether?”
“Are you daft?” Buffy rebutted heartily. “How many times has he asked you to marry him in the last two weeks.”
“I, uh, haven’t been counting,” Hilly lied.
“Well, I have,” Buffy retorted. “And if you haven’t skipped mentioning any of the proposals, it’s been eight times. Eight. What man does that if he’s lost interest?”
“One who feels sorry for me?” Hilly returned tentatively.
“Hon, sorry is a bunch of flowers, a meal at Mickie-D’s, and a quick phone call before you get ghosted. Sorry is not a man who makes the trip to a kids’ camp after work every day, and sleeps in your cabin.”
“On the couch,” Hilly groused, just happy it wasn’t the lumpy old one she’d had before. But she still didn’t like it. He hadn’t once sought her bed.
“Because he doesn’t want to hurt you.” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Now promise me this. If he doesn’t fall for this cajolery,” she waved her arm around the room, “don’t take it as a rejection. The man has protector written all over him, and he’d rather slit his wrists than cause you one ounce of pain.”
“Fine,” Hilly agreed poutingly after pondering Buffy’s advice. “I promise.”
Her friend, even when she wasn’t wearing her shrink hat, rarely steered Hilly wrong.
“Good. Now if I have one piece of advice, it’s this. Don’t wait until after dinner to put on those lovely bits of silk. Go dress yourself—and I use that term loosely—in them now, then meet your man at the door.”
“Are you serious?” Hilly squeaked. She’d been intending to read his mood, and only don the sexy scraps if Cisco appeared mellow and willing.
“As serious as a cardiovascular infarction,” Buffy replied snarkily.
Hilly rolled her eyes. “Only you would say that instead of heart attack.”
Buffy ignored her. “Are you all waxed and creamed and prepped?”
Again, Hilly blushed. “Uh, yeah. Adeline and I had a shopping and spa day.”
“Good. I—”
“Hello?” Ellen’s voice sounded from outside. “Is it safe to come in?”
“You see?” Buffy gloated. “Even Mrs. S thinks you’re probably dressed for steamy sex already.”
“Come on in, Ellen,” Hilly groaned.
Ellen walked in carrying a large, insulated container. “Hi, ladies.”
“Buffy was just leaving,” Hilly stated, daring her friend to contradict her.
“And I’ll be right behind,” Mrs. S agreed. “Hilly, everything is in here, and it will stay warm until you’re ready to eat. There’s a roast chicken, mashed potatoes, spinach in cream sauce with a pine nut topping, and glazed baby carrots.”
“Yumm,” Buffy bent over the bag and sniffed. “Dessert?”
