The tires had churned up soft soil, leaving thick clods of earth in their wake. He rubbed a hand over his beard and muttered, “Well, hell.” It wasn’t just the presence of the cars—it was their boldness.
These weren’t cautious edge-parkers; these were people who had decided his land was fair game, like it was a public lot that just hadn’t been paved yet. Margaret joined him a few minutes later, holding a small pot of the newly sprouted forget-me-nots. “More of them?”