“Property line improvement.”
Harold looked at the steel.
“Improving it against artillery?”
Garrett laughed.
“Just traffic.”
Harold understood immediately.
“Victoria?”
Garrett returned to leveling mortar.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Harold leaned against his truck.
“I used the road once.”
Garrett looked up.
Harold raised both hands.
“Years ago. Your father told me I could when the bridge flooded.”
“That’s different.”
“I know.”
Harold became serious.
“She’s been telling people the road is community access.”
“Have you seen a document?”
“No.”
“Neither has she.”
Harold nodded.
“Figured.”
Then he drove away.
Not everyone sided with Garrett.
A mother named Rebecca Sloan stopped the next day.
“You know that road cuts seven minutes off the school run.”
“I know.”
“Would it really hurt to let residents use it during certain hours?”
Garrett put down his tape measure.
“Would you let seventy cars a day cross your backyard?”
“It isn’t my backyard.”
“It’s my ranch road.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Rebecca opened her mouth.
Then paused.
Garrett continued calmly.
“I have tractors on this road. Horses cross it. Cattle move through here. Feed trucks back into the barn. Kids started riding bikes through after they saw cars doing it.”