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“You don’t have a say in this, Coen whatever your last name is.” She tips her head back to look up at me, hands on her hips, and the sunlight makes her light brown eyes turn almost golden. “Those trees are coming down whether you like it or not.”
“Marshall, right?” I ask.
She frowns, looking perplexed. “Are you confirming my last name?”
“Yeah,” I say, turning to walk away from her. I call back over my shoulder. “I just want to make sure I have your name right when I sue your ass. See you in court, Tilden Marshall.”
“Excuse me?” she yells, her tone shocked and confused. “Did you saysueme?”
I don’t bother clarifying. She can figure it out later when I have her served with papers.
I march right into my house, the blast of air conditioning helping to cool some of the heat brought on by my anger. I stomp to the refrigerator, grab a beer, and plop down at the kitchen table.
Only after the top is twisted off and I’ve taken three long pulls do I call Stone.
He answers on the second ring. “What’s up, buddy?”
“I need to talk to Harlow.” I take another sip of the cold brew.
“Um… let’s try that again,” Stone drawls, and I can hear both amusement and irritation through the phone connection. “I say, what’s up, buddy, and you are polite and tell me briefly what you’ve been up to. You then ask how I am, which I’d tell you that I’m on vacation with Harlow in gorgeous St. Lucia, and I wouldn’t really mind you impinging on my time with her if you were just a little nicer about it.”
A gush of air flees my lungs as I let out my frustration. “Sorry,” I admit sheepishly. “How are you?”
“Did you miss the part where I said I’m in St. Lucia with a beautiful woman? I’m fucking fantastic. How are you?”
“Not good, and I need Harlow’s help.”
I don’t give him details because if he knew this was about trees getting cut down, he’d be well within his right to deem that not enough of an emergency to ruin his vacation.
So I let him assume what he may.
“Okay… sure, man. Hold on.”
There’s some mumbling as he hands the phone over and Harlow asks, “Coen… what can I help you with?”
I tell her about what just happened, ending with, “I don’t trust the woman. She was trespassing on my trails last month. She doesn’t know the boundaries. They’re marking trees. I needyou to stop this before it happens, because that shit can’t be undone.”
Harlow is silent a moment before she says, “There’s an easement there, Coen. I told you about it at the closing.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You did?”
“Yes. It allows for a shared driveway.”
“So I’m screwed?”
“Not necessarily,” she says, and my eyes pop open with hope. “You said she was building an art studio, which implies a commercial business. I assume the easement was granted with the idea in mind of a shared driveway for residential homes. I’d have to pull the actual easement and read the language, but I suppose we can make an argument that she’s not using the property as originally allowed by law.”
“Yes, do that. Sue her ass.”
That was so demanding and impolite, but Harlow actually laughs. “Easy there, tiger. First and foremost, I’m on vacation, and as much as I like your prickly nature, I’m not working on my vacation. But I’ll call a friend at my dad’s law firm and ask them to take a look at it. If there’s any wiggle room in the law at all, we can at least get a temporary injunction in place that will stop immediate plans to take down trees. That will buy time for a hearing at a later date.”
I force myself to pull on manners that feel foreign to me now. Since the crash, none of my prior self seems to exist anymore. “That would be wonderful if you could get that injunction, Harlow. I’ll pay whatever.”
She snorts. “That’s good to hear, because my dad’s law firm doesn’t come cheap.”
“I’ll pay whatever,” I reiterate. “Just don’t let that brat take down my trees.”
“Brat,” Harlow muses. “An interesting word for the woman you’re battling.”
