Cameron

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The truck door slams shut with a thud that reverberates through my already pounding head.

Heat embraces me instantly, like I've just stepped into a sauna fully dressed. The vinyl seat under me is practically melting, searing through my pants as I shift uncomfortably.

"The AC's busted," the cowboy—Ellis, she'd grudgingly introduced herself-—informs me as she slides into the driver's seat.

"Of course it is," I mutter, resisting the urge to bang my head against the dashboard.

Because naturally, on the hottest day of the year, in the middle of nowhere, I'd end up in a truck with no air conditioning.

The universe clearly hasn't punished me enough this month.

First, my train was delayed. Then my suitcase almost got swallowed by the tracks. And now I’m stuck in this oven on wheels with a cowboy who thinks she’s funny.

Ellis turns the key in the ignition, and the truck roars to life with a cough and a shudder that makes me question whether we'll make it anywhere at all.

Then, to complete my personal hell, she reaches for the radio dial.

The speakers crackle before erupting with the twangy sounds of a country song so loud I can feel it vibrating in my chest. It's literally about cold beer, heartbreak, and driving trucks down dirt roads.

And it's obnoxiously loud.

"Is that really necessary?" I have to raise my voice to be heard over the wailing.

Ellis glances at me, one eyebrow raised, before turning it up a notch.

"Driver picks the music," she says, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. "Passenger shuts her pie hole."

I close my eyes and count to ten, reminding myself that I do not, in fact, need to strangle this woman. Not yet, anyway.

"Lovely," I say, rolling my window down.

The hot air that rushes in feels like a blow dryer on high, but it's marginally better than suffocating inside this metal oven.

The truck lurches forward, gravel crunching under the tires as we pull away from the station.

I watch as the small town rolls by-—if you can even call it a town. Main Street consists of a diner, a general store, a post office, and what appears to be a feed shop. Thrilling.

"So," Ellis says over the music, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You're Lita's niece."

It's not a question. "Oh, my gosh, what gave it away?"

She doesn't pick up on the sarcasm.

"Never seen you around before."

"I haven't been back since I was twelve."

She whistles . "That's a long time."

I don't respond. I don't owe this woman my life story. I don't owe her anything.

The song changes to something even more grating, a woman's voice lamenting her husband's drinking problem while guitars bling sadly in the background.

I reach for the volume dial, unable to take another second.

Ellis's hand shoots out, blocking mine. "Don't touch."

"I'm developing a migraine," I snap.

"Should've brought headphones."

"Should've brought my own car."

She snorts. "Good luck with that. Nearest rental place is two hours away."

I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes again. The scenery blurs past-—endless fields, occasional farmhouses, the distant silhouette of mountains. Nothing like home.

"How long until we reach?" I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

"About thirty minutes," Ellis replies. "Unless you want the scenic route."

"Hard pass."

We lapse into silence, or as close to silence as we can get with Dolly Parton belting her heart out between us.

I try to focus on something—anything—other than the sweat trickling down my back and the dust that seems to be coating my lungs.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, grateful for the distraction.

No service. Perfect.

"There's no cell service out here," I say, turning the phone over in my hands as if that might magically make bars appear.

Ellis makes a sound that might be a laugh. "Welcome to the country, princess."

"Don't call me that."

"What should I call you, then? City Girl?"

I bristle. "Cameron. My name is Cameron."

"Cam it is," she says with a nod, like she's doing me a favor by shortening the name I just gave her.

"I prefer Cameron."

She shrugs, clearly not caring. "How long you planning on staying, Cam?"

The way she says it makes it clear she's hoping my visit will be brief. At least we agree on something.

"Just long enough to get the property on the market," I say, watching her profile for a reaction. "A week, maybe two."

Up close, she’s the perfect picture of small-town, rural charm— chopped  dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. She looks like she belongs in a country music video, which is probably why she’s so insufferable.

She catches me looking and smirks. "Like what you see, Cam?"

I scoff, looking back out the window. "Just eww."

Her smirk deepens. "Sure."

I force myself to ignore her and focus on the scenery instead. Everything is so... open. Too open.

It’s unsettling.

In the city, space is a luxury. People are crammed together, buildings towering overhead, noise filling every second. Out here? It’s nothing but land and sky, and the silence makes me itchy.

The truck bounces over a pothole, and I grip the handle above the door to keep from slamming into the dashboard.

"Jesus, do you even know how to drive!" I snap.

Ellis grins. "It’s called a dirt road. You’ll get used to it."

"Not planning to be here long enough for that."

"Oh, yeah, what’s the rush again?"

"I have a life to get back to."

"A life," she repeats with sarcasm. "Must be nice."

I turn to face her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." She switches lanes to pass a tractor creeping along the road. "Just wondering what's so important back in the big city that you can't spend more than a hot minute dealing with your aunt's legacy."

The words sting more than they should. "You don't know the first thing about me."

"I know you haven't been back in over fifteen years," she counters. "I know Lita talked about you like you hung the moon, even though you never called, never visited."

"That's not—" I stop myself, swallowing the defensive words rising in my throat. I don't owe her explanations. "My relationship with my aunt is none of your business."

"Was," she corrects, and the simple past tense is like a physical blow. "Your relationship with your aunt was none of my business."

The song changes again, mercifully, but this time to a man crooning about his dog and his truck and his broken heart. I resist the urge to scream.

I groan but she gets it.

"Miss your fancy city life already?"

I don't respond.

"It must be nice, not having to work a day just...drinking coffee and living."

"Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to grovel in the dirt to prove I'm not as fancy as you think?" I snap.

Ellis smirks. "Wouldn’t hurt."

I let out a frustrated groan, digging my nails into my palm.

Ellis reaches for the stereo and turns it up.

I snap. "Turn that damn thing off!"

She actually has the audacity to laugh, but, to my surprise, she lowers the volume. Not off, but quieter.

"Better?" she asks, voice dripping with amusement.

I exhale. "Close."

The truck rumbles down the road, and I close my eyes, willing this drive to be over.

The heat, the dust, the loudmouth cowboy beside me-—everything about this place is suffocating.

But as much as I hate to admit it, the one thing more annoying than Ellis and her country music…

Is the fact that, despite everything, a small part of me is actually curious about this place.

"How much longer?"

"Getting there," Ellis says vaguely, turning onto a narrower road that sends dust billowing around the truck. "You in a hurry?"

"To get out of this rolling sauna? Absolutely."

She shakes her head, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"You always this pleasant, or am I just lucky?" She asks.

"Depends on the company," I shoot back.

"Ah," she nods sagely. "So it's me."

"And the heat. And the music. And the fact that I've been traveling for eighteen hours straight."

"Sounds rough," she says, not sounding sympathetic.

"Yeah."

"Sucks to be you." She shakes her head.

I hate her already.