“There may be implied access based on historic use.”
“Then have the HOA attorney send me the document.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act as though living outside the subdivision means you have no obligation to cooperate with anyone.”
Garrett looked through the barn window toward the neighborhood roofs.
“I cooperate all the time.”
“When it suits you.”
“It’s my property. Suiting me matters.”
Victoria hung up.
Two days later, Garrett received a certified letter from the HOA.
The letter was carefully worded.
It did not claim the ranch belonged to Pine Valley.
It did not claim the HOA possessed a recorded easement.
Instead, it referred to a “traditional access corridor” and asked Garrett to avoid “unilateral obstruction pending review.”
Garrett read it twice.
Then called an attorney.
Not because he wanted a lawsuit.
Because he knew the difference between being right and being documented.
His attorney was a land-use lawyer named Michael Dean, who had handled one of Garrett’s previous boundary issues with the county.
Michael listened to the story.
Then asked:
“Did your father ever grant access?”
“No.”
“Written?”
“No.”
“Oral?”
“Not that I know.”
“Do neighbors regularly cross?”
“Only with permission.”
“How long has Victoria been doing it?”
“Couple months.”
“Anyone else?”
“Maybe a few after they saw her.”
Michael sighed.
“That part matters.”
“What do you mean?”
“If repeated public use continues long enough and facts become messy enough, you create arguments you don’t want to spend money disproving later.”
“So I lock it.”
“Yes.”