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State of Pennsylvania
County of Potter
Notice of Temporary Injunction
Vaguely, I hear the deputy slam his car door and start the engine, reversing out of my driveway, the crunch of gravel under his tires. My eyes fly over the words as I try to comprehend them.
Words and phrases stick out:
Coen Highsmith
Questionable easement for current zoning
Tree removal and any other destruction to the land
It is hereby ordered…
And then my eyes focus on the most important thing. It says an injunction is in place preventing me from making any changes to the easement, in particular cutting down trees and building a driveway from the main road, until such time as a hearing can be set to determine the appropriate uses of said easement.
“What the absolute fuck?” I snarl as I read the document once more.
Something else prickles at me now—a feeling that I’m being watched—and I raise my head.
The deputy’s car is gone, but standing at the end of my driveway near the road—a mere fifty feet away—is the asshole responsible for the papers in my hand.
He’s wearing cargo shorts, a navy T-shirt, and hiking shoes. He’s smiling like a damn Cheshire cat, and it suddenly occurs to me, he made sure he was here to watch the deputy serve me these papers.
The man’s grin spreads wider, and he waves. “Good reading?” he calls out.
“If you like works created by assholes,” I shout back.
He’s not offended in the slightest, as evidenced by the hearty laugh that floats across my yard and assaults my ears. “I’m sure the judge wouldn’t like you calling him that.”
“I’m talking about you,” I growl, flying down the steps and stomping down my driveway. I swear I feel steam coming out of my ears. I march right up to him, tip my head back, and inform him, “You’re the asshole.”
“That’s original,” he drawls with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes dance with amusement, and his bearing reminds me of someone who is taking pride in winning a game.
Totally full of himself.
I wave the papers. “This won’t stop me.”
“It will for now,” he quips. Moving a few steps back, he points at me mockingly and enunciates his words with faux politeness, “You… have a great day.”
He smiles once more and pivots on his foot to leave.
“Stay off my property,” I say, and I know it’s lame. So lame he doesn’t even flinch, just casually walks away while whistling, “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”
I curse in frustration, crumbling the document in my hand as I march back to my house. He’s not going to get away with this.
Ugh, he’s insufferable. Cocky, arrogant, and gloating is not a good look on him.
Okay, that’s not true. Even at his worst, he’s still drop-dead gorgeous, but that doesn’t lessen how much I despise him. He’s become my dream crusher, and I’m not going to let that happen.
Back inside my house, I call the general contractor and explain these new developments. He confirms what I suspected and says there’s no sense in doing anything further until I get this situation worked out. I then call John and tell him that the trees will have to wait.
I’ll be damned, though, if I’m going to wait around for some hearing that’s even yet to be set.
I head into town, everything on my list of errands forgotten for the moment, and drive straight to the law offices of Theodore “Teddy” M. Dupree, Attorney at Law. He’s the lawyer who handled the loan closing on my property as well as got it rezoned to add commercial usage. He’s the very man who assured me the easement would suit my needs to build my studio.
