the HOA.”
Technically.
I hated that word.
There was nothing technical about my ownership.
I held the deed.
My father held it before me.
The county recognized the boundary.
The subdivision existed because my father had refused to sell this exact piece of land.
One afternoon, Delphine came to the fence herself.
Her heels sank into the dirt.
I had been rebuilding a pressure regulator for a rancher two towns over and was wearing work pants stained with rust and pipe compound.
She looked at me.
Not directly.
Down first.
