Page 6 of Tame Me Daddy

I tried to absorb it all, cataloging buildings and their purposes, trying to imagine myself moving confidently through this unfamiliar world.

"What happened to his father?" I asked, noting she'd mentioned Grant taking over.

"Retired to Arizona with Grant's mom. Some health issues, I think. Grant was running most of it anyway by then." She steered around a pothole. "The Warwicks have owned this land since the 1880s. Grant's the fifth generation."

The weight of that history pressed against me. Five generations of belonging somewhere. Of knowing exactly who you were and where you fit. The opposite of how I felt—rootless, disconnected, hiding essential parts of myself.

As we drove deeper into the property, I spotted three riders on horseback moving across a distant field, silhouetted against the sky. They guided a small herd of cattle with practiced ease. The scene looked like something from a movie—too perfect, too iconic to be my actual life now.

"That's the western crew checking fence lines," Maya explained. "We rotate cattle between pastures to prevent overgrazing. Grant's big on sustainable practices. Says his grandkids should inherit land as good as what he got."

The mention of future generations made me wonder about Grant's personal life. Was he married? Had children? The questions felt too personal to ask someone I'd just met.

We passed a large pond with a wooden dock extending into water that reflected the blue sky. Several ducks took flight as we approached.

"That's one of the water retention ponds Grant added. Helps during dry spells, plus good for wildlife." Maya slowed to let a tractor cross the road ahead. "He's partnered with some university program on regenerative agriculture. Lots of science behind what looks like simple ranching."

The more she talked about Grant Warwick, the more complex he seemed—not just a gruff boss but someone with vision, someone who thought about legacy and sustainability. I found myself curious despite my anxiety.

The main cluster of buildings grew closer. Now I could see details—weathered wood, metal roofs, equipment parked with military precision. Several dogs roamed the area, one racing alongside a utility vehicle.

"Working dogs," Maya explained, following my gaze. "Border collies mostly. Smart as hell. Don't try to pet them while they're working though. They take their jobs seriously."

I nodded, thinking how that would be my approach too—head down, focused on work, avoiding attention.

We turned off the main road onto a smaller track that curved behind the main house. Here, set back among a stand of mesquite trees, stood a long, single-story building with a covered porch running its length. Several smaller cabins flanked it.

"Workers' quarters," Maya said, pulling up in front of the main building. "Communal spaces in the big building—mess hall, rec room, laundry. Individual rooms in the wings and those separate cabins. Older hands get the cabins. You and I are in the east wing."

The building looked well-maintained but basic. White paint with green trim, metal roof that probably made a satisfying sound during rain. Rocking chairs lined the porch, and a large grillstood at one end. It looked . . . not like home, exactly, but like it could become something close to it.

"The mess hall serves breakfast at 5 AM, lunch at noon, dinner at 7 PM. Miss it and you're on your own." Maya killed the engine. "Bathrooms are shared but cleaned daily. Laundry room has three washers and dryers—Sunday's the best day to get a machine. Any questions?"

A hundred, but none I could articulate. Everything felt both overwhelming and strangely right—like I'd stepped into a life I didn't know I was meant for.

"It's a lot to take in," I finally said.

Maya nodded understandingly. "First few days are the hardest. Then routine kicks in." She grabbed her water bottle from the cup holder. "Oh, and fair warning—cell service is spotty. WiFi works in the main buildings but not great in the rooms. Satellite TV in the rec room for sports and weather."

Limited connectivity would make maintaining my online little community difficult. But maybe some distance from digital life would be good. Fewer reminders of what I'd left behind.

For the first time since leaving home, I felt a flicker of something like hope. Not just the desperate hope of escape, but genuine possibility. The ranch sprawled around me, intimidating in its size and unfamiliarity, but also offering something I desperately needed—purpose, structure, and anonymity. No one here knew me. No one had expectations based on who I'd been before.

"It's beautiful," I said quietly, looking out at the golden fields stretching to the horizon, the neat buildings, the sense of order and purpose. "Different than what I'm used to, but beautiful."

Maya smiled, seeming pleased by my reaction. "Wait till you see a Texas sunset. Like the whole sky's on fire." She opened her door. "Come on, let's get you settled before dinner. You look dead on your feet."

I was—exhaustion weighed every limb, made heavier by emotional fatigue. But there was also a strange exhilaration. I'd done it. I'd left my old life behind and landed somewhere entirely new. Somewhere no one looked at me with disgust or disappointment. Not yet, anyway.

As I climbed down from the truck, the Texas heat embraced me again—still intense but somehow less oppressive than at the bus stop. A slight breeze carried the scents of hay, animals, and dust. Sounds drifted from the nearby barns—machinery, voices, the occasional animal call.

"You'll meet everyone at dinner," Maya said, pulling my suitcase from the truck bed. "Don't worry about remembering names. Nobody expects that on day one."

I followed Maya toward the workers' quarters, trying to absorb everything around me—the layout of buildings, the paths between them, the rhythm of activity. My new world. My second chance.

*

Maya led me down a narrow hallway that smelled of pine cleaner and old wood. Doors lined both sides, each painted the same forest green with small brass numbers. She stopped at number seven and handed me a key attached to a plain metal ring. "Home sweet home," she said with a small smile. I turned the key, pushed the door open, and stepped into the room.

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