Page 60

Both pairs of eyes turned toward him as he came to a stop a few feet away in the cloud of dust he’d raised.
“Everything okay here, Hilly?” he asked, now glad he’d kept his uniform on. He shut down his bike, then swung his leg over the saddle, standing tall.
Hilly gave him a tight smile, but it was clear she was happy to see him.
“Mr. Cottins, here, was just leaving,” she stated with a bite in her voice.
Ah, Cottins. That was the guy’s name. Langford Cottins.
“Actually,” the man rebutted unctuously, “I’m waiting for my investor to show up, if it’s any of your business, officer.” He spit out the last like it was a dirty word.
“Since I’m not here in an official capacity,” Cisco told him with a warning in his voice, slowly removing his helmet and placing it on the back of his bike, “but as Hilly’s friend, I’d say whatever’s upsetting her is my business.”
The man actually sneered. “Fine. You want to know how stupid she’s being? She’s not sure if she’s ready to sell this piece of crap place yet, but no worries. In the end I’ll convince her it’s in her best interest.”
Hilly’s face grew even redder as she snapped at the blustering prick. “You’re not convincing me of anything,” she snarled. “This beautiful property was left to me by my grandmother, and her wishes were?—”
“Oh, I know what her wishes were,” the man interrupted, nastily. “But she didn’t follow through on what she knew was right. She was old, and she made the mistake of leaving this land to you because she was clearly in the throes of dementia.”
Hilly spit nails. “Seriously? That’s your line now? If you think that, you’re fucking delusional. For your information, my Gran was sharp right up until the end, and knew exactly who’d continue her legacy and who wouldn’t. She…”
Hilly trailed off as she turned at the sound of another vehicle pulling up.
The crimson color that had blazed like a beacon, immediately drained from her face, leaving her ghostly white.
Cisco stepped closer, not understanding the new threat, but more than ready to defend her from whatever it was.
Nel, who’d been by her side for the entire confrontation, growled low in her throat, her scruff coming up.
What the hell?
Hilly turned to Cisco, looking almost frantic. “You should go set up for your class. You don’t want to be late.”
Cisco had another half hour before kids would convene at the pavilion. Why was Hilly trying to get rid of him all of a sudden?
“I’d rather stay,” he answered evenly, attempting not to clench his fists. “I have a few minutes.”
Hilly made a choking noise, but spun away from him to face whoever was parking their old-ass, piece-of-shit truck next to the developer’s shiny BMW.
Her shoulders squared as a worn, scuffed boot came down onto the running board, and a graying, unkempt and shaggy-haired individual eventually stepped down.
Cisco knew that face.
Marty Smittfield.
An ass of the highest degree.
The man was always in trouble with local law enforcement, and often spent the night in jail for drunken and disorderly conduct, or for starting a brawl. The short incarcerations never did anything to smarten the man up, however. He’d get out within a day or two, pay his fine, then go back to making trouble.
The question was, what the hell was he doing here?
“Well, well, well,” Marty sneered, walking their way. His beer belly hung down over the worn belt that held up his dirty blue-jeans. He had eyes only for Hilly. “If it isn’t saccharine-sweet Chunk-Kay, looking as fat-assed as ever.”
Say what? Cisco’s back went up, and he couldn’t be sure it didn’t match Nel’s. What had this prick just said to Hilly?
“What do you want?” Hilly bit out sharply, but Cisco could see the tremble in her lips.
“Now is that any kind of attitude?” Marty’s oily voice wheedled. “A man can’t come say hi to his only pudgy-faced daughter?”