Trucker Daddy (Call Me Daddy)

1. Sienna

CHAPTER 1

Sienna

I t’s early evening, August 23, and I feel I’m drowning.

Outside the bathroom I’ve hidden myself in, the sounds of muffled laughter and clinking dishes filter through. I wet my hands and place them on my forehead, hoping the cold water will bring me some clarity. It doesn’t.

Breathe , I tell myself. In. Out. In. Out.

My lungs feel tight. My reflection is unfamiliar, although this is far from the first time my mother has dressed me up like her own personal doll. My makeup is tasteful, my auburn hair in a simple chignon, and my shoulders bare, my strapless champagne gown elegant and shimmering. I’m dressed this way because this is my engagement party. An engagement to a man that I barely know, and what little I do know of him, I loathe.

I press my palms against my chest, willing my heart to slow its relentless hammering. Am I having a panic attack?

My engagement ring, a monstrous, sparkling thing that Charles slid onto my finger just two weeks ago, catches the light. I fight the urge to take it off and throw it in the toilet, but just barely.

Charles. Even thinking his name sends a shiver down my spine. The way he looks at me, his eyes sharp and assessing, like he’s mentally cataloging every flaw he’ll try to fix once I’m his wife. Everything about him screams danger. My parents don’t see it. They see his money, his connections, his polished charm. To them, he’s perfect. To me, he’s a nightmare.

I’d rather walk barefoot into the bayou and never look back than marry Charles.

Well, maybe not barefoot. I might hate the idea of leeches and gators even more than Charles Westfield. But escape is all I can think about. How would I manage it? There are over a hundred people in the house, and the driveway is clogged with chauffeured cars.

My phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with a text from Charles.

Where are you? Guests are asking for you. Come back out now.

My stomach churns. The audacity of him telling me what to do already!

No. I won’t let this be my life.

I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the sink tighter. I see it then—a road stretching out before me, open and endless, far away from here. It would be a far cry from the gentle, privileged life I’ve lived, but that might not be as bad as it seems.

The plan forms in fragments. I’ll slip out through the kitchen—our staff’s quarters are quieter, tucked away from the chaos of the party. My car is parked at the far end of the driveway. If I can reach it without anyone noticing…but where will I go?

Breaking off this engagement will mean breaking off any and all connections to my current life, but it has to be done.

I straighten up, staring at my reflection one last time. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself. The woman in the mirror doesn’t look convinced.

I grab my clutch, steady my breath, and prepare to make my great escape.

I grab my phone and compose a text to Charles.

Meet me on the east side of the house near the garden. Need a moment away from the crowd. Just us.

I hit send and barely suppress a shiver. The idea of being alone with him makes my skin crawl, but I’m sure he’ll be so excited by the prospect that he won’t even question my demands.

Sliding the phone into my clutch, I push open the bathroom door and step into the hallway. My heels click against the polished wood floors, each step seeming the loudest sound in the world. I yearn for my gym shoes upstairs and their soft, silent soles.

The kitchen. Just get to the kitchen.

Halfway there, I freeze.

“Sienna?” My mother’s voice, honey-smooth but laced with steel, stops me cold.

I turn slowly, plastering a smile on my face. “Yes, Mother?”

She’s standing just a few feet away, her perfectly styled blonde hair catching the light from the chandelier. Her emerald-green gown matches her eyes—the ones I inherited from her—and she steps closer. “Where have you been?”

“I just needed a moment to myself,” I say, keeping my voice light, even though my heart is pounding.

Her eyes narrow, searching my face for cracks in my armor. As a child, I know she would have caught onto my lies immediately, but now that I’m twenty, it’s a little harder for her to read me. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

I laugh, and it’s higher pitched than I intended. “Of course not. Where would I go?”

Her gaze lingers, and for a terrifying moment, I think she sees through me. “You look pale. Is something wrong?”

“No,” I say too quickly. Her brows lift in suspicion. I force myself to slow down. “I mean, no. I’m fine, really. Just nervous.”

She softens just a little and pats my arm. “Well, you’d better get used to it. This is just the beginning. Charles is a very important man, Sienna.”

Acid rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. “I know.”

“Good. Now go have a sip of water, and let’s get you back out there with your fiancé.”

I nod, murmuring something noncommittal, and quickly excuse myself. My legs are shaking, heels barely holding me, but I push forward. I briefly consider running upstairs and packing a bag, but my mother wasn’t fully convinced by my lies, I’m sure of it. If I’m going to leave, it has to be right now.

I ease the door open, slipping into the kitchen. It’s quiet here, the scent of roasted lamb and truffle oil is still strong in the air.

Freedom is just steps away.

Past the last door, the night air is warm and balmy. We have security cameras, but I think if I can slink behind all the parked cars, I’ll be unnoticeable. I crouch low, clutching my clutch against my chest. Every step toward the end of the driveway feels like a mile, my heels sinking slightly into the manicured lawn.

There it is—my car.

The sleek, silver Porsche Macan gleams under the soft glow of the driveway lights, a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday. The memory stings now. Part of me wishes I could be a good daughter, but if I do exactly what they want, I’d never be happy.

My fingers fumble in my clutch for the keys, but finally, my hand closes around the fob, and I press the unlock button. The car beeps softly, the headlights flashing once. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. Did anyone hear that?

Nothing but the chirp of crickets.

I sprint forward, slipping into the driver’s seat and pulling the door shut as quietly as possible. When the engine roars to life, I feel lightheaded from how loud it is. If I’m caught now, they’ll never let me out of their sight until I’m legally Sienna Westfield.

I glance in the rearview mirror. The line of cars that hid me so well stretches out behind me, but frustratingly, there are two in front of me. Just two cars between me and freedom.

No choice. I’ll have to take the grass.

Taking a shaky breath, I grip the wheel and shift into drive. The Porsche lurches forward, and I turn sharply to the right, the tires rolling off the paved driveway and onto the pristine lawn.

“Sorry, Dad,” I mutter under my breath, wincing at the deep ruts I’m leaving behind in the turf.

The road is just ahead. I press harder on the gas, the car bumping and jolting over the lawn until, finally, blessedly, the tires hit the pavement.

I don’t stop. Not to check if anyone saw me, not to think about what I’m leaving behind.

I just drive.

The dashboard clock glows 12:07 a.m. as the miles blur beneath me. My eyes sting, heavy with exhaustion, but I keep going, pinching my arm when I feel too sleepy. I’ve driven for four hours. Four hours of white lines, headlights, and the endless pinging of my phone vibrating in my purse.

It hasn’t stopped since I left the party.

I glance at it now, sitting on the passenger seat like a viper waiting to strike. The sight of Charles’s name on the screen sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me.

I don’t answer. I don’t even touch it. Instead, I focus on the stretch of road ahead.

Finally, I see the sign I’ve been looking for over the last hour.

Rest Area – 1 Mile

Coffee. I need coffee.

I take the exit, pulling into the dimly lit rest stop. I park near the vending machines, cutting the engine. I reach for my purse, digging out my phone.

Oh my God. Forty-three missed calls.

“Jesus,” I mutter, scrolling through the notifications. Charles. My mother. My father. Over and over.

I hover over Charles’s name, my thumb dangerously close to the screen. What if I just...answered?

The memory of his hand on my arm—just a little too tight—flashes through my mind, and I shove the phone back into my purse. No. I made the right choice.

I slip out of the car, my heels clicking against the pavement. I head for the vending machine, desperate for caffeine. I fumble for change, shoving a few coins into the slot and pressing the button for a coffee.

The cup drops, steaming and bitter-smelling. I wrap my hands around the flimsy paper cup, the heat seeping into my palms as I lean against the machine, staring out at the quiet parking lot.

I lift the coffee to my lips, hoping it’ll do the trick, but the instant the bitter liquid touches my tongue, I gag. It’s like drinking ash, some of it dribbling onto the front of my dress. Annoyed, I brush the drops off roughly.

And then, I hear it. Laughter.

I turn quickly, trying to wipe the coffee from my chin, only to find a group of men standing just a few feet away, leaning against the wall near the restroom.

“What's the matter, Your Majesty?” one sneers, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Did you get it on your pretty little dress?”

The others join in, chuckling and muttering snide remarks. My cheeks burn with humiliation, eyes stinging with tears.

But before I can flee, a deep voice cuts through the laughter. “Shut the hell up.”

The command is firm, and the laughter stops immediately. All of us—me and the peanut gallery that was laughing—turn to look in the direction of the speaker.

As soon as I see him, I feel like the world has fallen from under my feet.

He’s tall, 6’4 maybe, with broad shoulders that fill the doorway, his full beard neatly trimmed. He’s dressed simply in fitted jeans, worn boots, and a plain black T-shirt that stretches tight over his chest, revealing the muscles underneath. His posture is confident but not in the arrogant way the other men are.

I’m drawn to him so strongly that I lift my foot to take a step towards him before I catch myself. What in the world is going on?

His eyes are dark, almost black, and they land on the group of men with a coldness that makes my stomach flip.

“Leave her alone,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

The men blink in confusion, clearly taken aback by his sudden presence. One of them mutters something under his breath, but the taller man doesn’t even acknowledge him. His gaze never leaves me.

And for the first time tonight, I feel something other than panic and shame. I feel…warm. Tingly. There’s a pulse between my legs, and my nipples are diamond-hard. He’s protecting me, and…it’s turning me on?

He steps toward me, and I inhale sharply. His eyes soften slightly as he draws nearer, his expression shifting from fierce protectiveness to something gentler. But when I look closer and dare to meet his gaze, I see a mirror image of the strange heat taking me over, a want just as powerful as mine.

“Come outside. Get some air.”

I nod, unable to speak, and follow him toward the door. As he holds it open for me, his eyes flicker briefly to the truckers, and they scatter, not a word exchanged.

He gestures for me to step outside. “I’m Garrett Hayes, by the way.”

Garrett. The name will be meaningful to me. I just know it.

“I’m Sienna.”

Outside, I let out a shaking breath. With all the pressure and attention off me, the sadness rolls back in. Everything is just so heavy, and the universe couldn’t even let me have a good cup of coffee. I wipe my eyes, but the tears come faster than I can stop them.

"Darlin’,” Garrett drawls, a distinct twang to his voice."What's going on? I can’t stand to see a woman cry.”

I know nothing about this man except his name and how magnetic he is, but the second I open my mouth to make an excuse, it all comes pouring out, unstoppable, a flood of everything I’ve been holding in.

“I-I’m supposed to marry him, but I hate him! I didn’t even get a chance to choose. Everything is so fake, so manufactured, but I don’t even know who I am outside my family and the world I was born into.”

I can’t breathe. It’s all spilling out so fast, I can’t catch it, can’t control it. Hiccuping sobs break through each sentence, but I try desperately to keep it together. Then, without warning, Garrett steps forward. He doesn’t say anything but just pulls me in.

His arms wrap around me, warm and solid and real. I stiffen for a second, but then the tears pour harder, this time uncontrollably, as I melt against him, my face pressed into the soft cotton of his T-shirt. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the steady rhythm helping me get control of myself.

I’ve never been held by a man like this before. It’s comforting, in a way I don’t know how to explain, and the connection, this pull I feel toward him, is so strong it almost scares me.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, my voice muffled against his chest. “I know that makes zero sense to you, but I’ve either made an enormous mistake or, at best, left my family for a new life without even a shirt to change into.”

Garrett doesn’t respond right away. He just holds me, one hand smoothing over my back in slow, comforting motions. When I finally pull back, Garrett looks down. “You good now?”

“Yeah. Thank you. Really.”

Garrett gives me a lopsided smile. “How about I take you somewhere for some real coffee? The stuff in there might be hot, but it sure ain’t good.”

It sounds nice, but getting into a strange man’s car in the middle of nowhere? That’s not smart. He radiates a sense of trust, but I can’t be that spontaneous.

I open my mouth to decline, but before I can say anything, he adds, “I don’t have a car, though. It’s a semi-truck.”

“Oh, you’re a trucker?”

His smirk widens. “Yup. Big rig. The real deal. Ain’t no ordinary ride.”

I’m intrigued. I’ve never met anyone like him in my extremely small social circle. “Huh. So you drive across the entire country?”

Garrett shrugs and motions to an enormous, shiny blue truck. “Yeah, long-haul. Been driving for years.”

“I don’t know...” I trail off, feeling more unsure than ever. The idea of climbing into that big rig feels intimidating.

He raises an eyebrow. “Not feeling up for an adventure? How about you drive me in your fancy number over there.” Garrett nods towards my Porsche. “If you’re driving, you’re in control.”

I blink. “Me? Driving?”

“That’s right. You drive me to the nearest town, and I’ll still pay for your coffee and whatever else you want. And if I get on your nerves, you can just toss me out.”

I think about the lonely road ahead and tackling it painfully uncaffeinated and with an empty belly.

“Alright,” I finally say, “Let’s go.”

Garrett’s eyes flash with approval. “Good girl. Lead the way.”