Reece (Stud Ranch)

He was old, wiry, and also wearing flannel, though he had the arms cut off at the shoulders, exposing thin, sinewed arms.

I took one look at the rest of the truckers who were looking me up and down, shivered, and scurried after Rick.

The smell of body odor and cigarette smoke competed for dominance in the cab of his rig, but I decided beggars couldn’t be choosers. I put on my seatbelt and was glad when he reached out with a gnarled hand and cranked up the radio station. Country, naturally.

He seemed to have no interest in talking and that was absolutely fine by me.

The next few hours passed in silence as we drove south. He’d occasionally open the window, light a cigarette, and smoke several in a row, taking in long, slow draws of smoke as he drove lazily with one hand.

It didn’t seem the safest way to be hauling what was I’m sure several tons of weight, but considering his age, I supposed he knew what he was doing?

He’d only occasionally bang on his horn and cuss other drivers out. Never once looking my direction or even acknowledging I was in the cab with him.

It was certainly strange, but not altogether the worst thing I’d ever experienced, and I was just happy to see the mile markers passing indicating that we were, indeed, getting closer to Austin.

We hit some traffic and it was slow going for a few hours. The sun passed overhead and started on its way toward the horizon. Rick’s cussing at traffic increased in direct proportion the slower traffic crawled. As did his cigarette consumption.

Since we were all but stopped in traffic several times, the smoke built up in the cab and I couldn’t help coughing, but other than glancing my way a couple times—the most Rick had acknowledged me since I’d climbed aboard, he didn’t say a thing to me.

Then, about sixty miles from Austin, he got off of I35 and took a smaller highway. I frowned and looked behind us at the much larger highway we were leaving behind.

“Where are we going?” I asked, a little twinge of anxiety lighting in my stomach. More than a twinge.

Rich waved a hand, lit cigarette between two fingers. “Short cut with no traffic.”

He didn’t seem interested in saying more and I didn’t ask. If he knew a shortcut around traffic, I wasn’t going to complain. Especially since we were so close to my destination. Whenever he next stopped, I’d get the hell out of this cab and rethink this whole idea.

Except the signs no longer mentioned Austin, and I kept my eyes peeled for every one of them.

Instead of getting to Austin an hour later, we’d arrived in a town called Burnet. And it was definitely a town, not a city. The road we’d been on had officially been labeled a state highway, but at times gone down to a single lane and the scenery, while pretty, was far more secluded than I was comfortable with.

As the small town of Burnett passed by, I spoke up nervously. “Could we stop? I need to use the restroom.”

“Shoulda thoughta that back in Dallas,” was all Rick said.

We’d turned onto another highway as we cruised through the town and that was when I finally saw another sign for Austin. Which said it was 55 miles away.

We’d taken a huge detour out of our way, not a shortcut. What the hell? This was not good. Very not good.

I thought about opening up the door and jumping out but we’d passed the town and Rick was speeding the truck back up to fifty miles an hour again.

Shit.

No, stop it. I was overreacting. Rick was not Jeff. Not every man in the world was out to get me, or wanted to hurt women. Sure Rick was an anti-social dude, but that didn’t make him bad.

Still, I swallowed hard. Because the sun was setting now. It made for a lovely sunset. The Texas sky was splashed with color, neon oranges and pinks, with deeper blues and purples at the edges.

But all I could think was that meant it would soon be dark and I was in a truck with a strange man taking me God knew where.

He’s just anti-social. Not every man is Jeff. Over and over again, that was what I told myself, for the next fifteen minutes anyway.

Until it was full dark and the big rig started slowing down on an especially lonely stretch of highway.

Rick pulled off on an even smaller road and I managed to get words out through my incredibly dry throat. “Um. Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, just kept on driving.

Okay, screw this. Screw being polite. I was freaked the hell out. I’d had enough.

“Look, I really appreciate you driving me this far. You’re a lifesaver. But if you can just stop, I’ll get out here. Thanks again, so much.”