Page 3 of Tame Me Daddy

The heat made thinking difficult. Sweat trickled down my temples, between my breasts, along my spine. My heart pounded too fast in my chest. The beginnings of a panic attack fluttered at the edges of my consciousness.

I focused on my breathing. In for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight. A grounding technique I'd learned years ago. I pressed my palms against the rough bench wood, feeling splinters catch on my skin.

"You're okay," I whispered to myself. "One day at a time."

The hard part was done, wasn't it? I'd already left. Already burned bridges. Already chosen this path. Now I just had to walk it.

I fished my hair tie from my wrist and pulled my blonde hair into a tighter ponytail. Straightened my t-shirt. Small actions of control in a situation where I felt none.

My phone buzzed with a text from my sister: "Please let me know you're safe."

I hesitated, then typed: "I'm safe. Got a job with housing. Will call when settled." I hit send, then turned my phone to airplane mode. I couldn't handle more questions right now.

The heat was making me light-headed. I took another small sip of water, feeling it warm in my mouth. I'd expected Texas to be hot, but not this oppressive, like the air itself had weight. The silence stretched around me, broken only by the occasional rustle of dry brush or the distant call of what might have been a hawk.

What would the ranch be like? Would the other workers be kind? Would they look at me and somehow know I was different? Would my boss—Grant, the man with the deep voice from the phone—regret hiring me? I imagined having to call my sister towire me bus fare home after being fired. The thought made me nauseated.

The sound of an approaching engine cut through my thoughts. A dust cloud rose from the road leading to the highway. My heart jumped into my throat.

I stood, grabbing my suitcase handle. Stood taller. Squared my shoulders. Practiced my normal-adult face. This was it. First impressions mattered more than anything now.

The rumble grew louder. I squinted against the sun, watching as a blue pickup truck materialized through the heat haze. Country music drifted from its open windows, some upbeat song about dirt roads and cold beer. The truck slowed as it approached, tires crunching on gravel.

This was my new life arriving. Ready or not.

The truck stopped a few feet from me, Texas dust swirling around its tires. The woman behind the wheel killed the engine but left the radio playing—some country singer belting about trucks and heartbreak. She jumped out with the energy of someone who found the scorching heat invigorating rather than punishing. Her dark hair was pulled back in practical braids, and she wore a faded blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing tanned forearms. A smile split her face, genuine and warm as the day.

"Cherry, right?" She extended her hand. "I'm Maya Rodriguez. Welcome to the middle of nowhere, Texas."

Her handshake was firm but not aggressive. Mine felt clammy and weak in comparison, but if she noticed, she didn't show it.

"That all you got?" She nodded toward my single suitcase and backpack.

"Yeah. I travel light."

"Smart. Most folks bring way too much." Maya grabbed my suitcase before I could protest. "The quarters ain't huge anyway."

She hefted it into the truck bed with one smooth motion that made it clear she was used to physical work. I clutched my backpack—with its precious cargo—to my chest and climbed into the passenger seat. The vinyl was hot enough to sear through my jeans.

"Shit!" I yelped, then immediately blushed. "Sorry."

Maya laughed, sliding behind the wheel. "No worries. First rule of Texas: everything's trying to burn you in summer." She cranked the AC, which blasted hot air before gradually cooling. "You'll toughen up quick."

The truck smelled of hay, dirt, and something vaguely floral—maybe Maya's shampoo. The dashboard was cluttered with receipts, a small turquoise stone, and what looked like a partially unwrapped protein bar. Country music still played from the speakers, not too loud but persistent.

"Hope you don't mind the tunes. Gets lonely on these drives otherwise." She put the truck in gear and executed a tight turn, sending dust spiraling behind us.

"I don't mind." In truth, I preferred silence when anxious, but contradicting my new coworker and ride seemed unwise.

We bounced down the dirt road toward the highway. I gripped the door handle, not used to the truck's suspension—or lack thereof.

"So," Maya's eyes stayed on the road, "I'm guessing this is your first time in Texas?"

"Is it that obvious?"

She glanced at my canvas sneakers and jeans with an amused smile. "Just a hunch."

"I'm from Vermont originally."

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