Work Text:
Van had worked at the Taylor ranch for more than half her life. Nothing ever really changed.
After high school, she needed to escape the city. And so, she just started driving west. Eventually, after the gas and food money started running low, she found a job posting at a dingy truck stop diner deep into the desolate plains of middle America (also known as Oklahoma).
RANCH HANDS NEEDED. ROOM AND BOARD PROVIDED.
That was all she needed.
It was stable. It was hard work, but it gave her something to do, and an income. She never really did anything with the money she got. Van enjoyed caring for the horses, cows, and chickens. She found comfort while fixing fences and riding her steed to patrol the ranch perimeter. It was simple, not much ever changed.
Though the Taylors, the owners of the ranch and her employers, were a bit irksome, they never had a problem with Van. They cared for their ranch hands all the same, even if Van was the only woman. When Van was attacked by wolves during a nighttime perimeter patrol, they paid her hospital bills fully. She was still fairly new at the time, and though she bounced back quickly, they never fully dropped the guilty attitude with her. Even after all these years.
But in said years, not much changed. Care for the animals, fix the fences, bale the hay, chop the firewood. Monotonous to some, but it was comfortable.
Every Friday, there was deliveries of feed, groceries, general items from the nearest town over, which wasn’t actually that nearby. Van was always in charge of greeting the delivery driver and unloading the supplies while checking the manifest. Over the years, there had only been 3 drivers. Polite guys, if a bit bland.
Three weeks ago, a new driver took over. A woman, about Van’s age. Long curly hair tied back in a neat bun, sharp features, and deep brown eyes. It’s not that she wasn’t friendly, she seemed incredibly work focused. She had blunt answers to Van’s attempts to start conversation, but she never took it personally.
Her name was Taissa, according to the nametag on her tan work jacket. Though she seemed to have a cold exterior, she was never truly harsh. She was just a woman with work to do, and a drive to get it done.
Van was taken by her. Maybe it was the exhilaration of seeing a new face, a woman who wasn’t Jackie Taylor, the daughter of Van's employer who visited every holiday. But Van had come to look forward to Fridays, dutifully watching for the turquoise supply truck rolling down the road, a tan jacket elbow poking out of the window. She had begun to enjoy the small talk that eventually developed between the two women as they unloaded the supplies, and confirmed the manifest, every week.
-
The next week, a heat wave had begun to sweep through the area, making the already arid atmosphere even more stifling. Every step kicked up fine, dry dust that lingered in the air, made it hard to breathe.
Van—ever the reliable worker—continued on as normal, ignoring the sweat beads rolling down her forehead and cheeks. Her wide-brimmed hat did its best to keep the sun off of her face and neck, but it was barely enough.
On that Wednesday, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor informed the ranch hands that they would be away for a week on “business,” of some sort. The most senior hands were given leadership roles, and that included Van. It wasn’t like this was anything new, the Taylors loved to spend the money they had on extravagant trips and decadent clothing. It was something that was just common knowledge. They were gone the next morning.
Mid-morning on Friday, Van leaned her shoulder against the large white storage barn, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips as she read over the supply manifest for the tenth time, incessantly fidgeting with the pen in her other hand. She spun and clicked the pen, straining her eyes against the bright sun every few minutes to look down the long, empty road that led away from the ranch and into the city. Whether it was impatience or anxiety, the wait seemed longer than usual.
Only a few moments later, a large cloud of dust had begun to gather on the horizon, a sign of an incoming vehicle. Van focused on it as it approached, digging the toe of her boot into the packed dirt on the ground, antsy. She had to squint and look away as the rumbling truck encased in dust came closer, but the air had cleared as the truck pulled into the dirt driveway in front of the barn, letting out a pathetic little honk.
It might’ve been the first time Van had seen Taissa without a jacket on, instead replaced with a denim shirt with rolled up sleeves, not too dissimilar from the flannel Van herself was wearing. It also might’ve been the first time she had seen Taissa greet her with a wide smile as she stepped out of the truck. Van let the cigarette fall from her lips, smothering it under her boot before approaching.
“You seem to be in a good mood.” She greeted, lifting the brim of her hat slightly.
“What, am I not allowed to be?” Taissa teased, turning on her heels to head to the truck bed, Van following closely.
“I didn’t say all that…” She trailed off, her heart jumping a bit at the laugh Taissa let out. The two shared a quick look before delving into the work they needed to do.
After all of it was said and done, Van leaned against the door of the truck, meeting Taissa’s playful glare with a teasing smile.
“Now, I would be a terrible host if I didn’t get you a beer for the road.” Van tutted as Taissa crossed her arms, shaking her head.
“Van, it’s fine, seriously-“ She began, but Van waved a hand at her dismissively, pushing off the truck and moving towards the large ranch house. Despite her protests, Taissa followed.
Van swung the door open, a blast of cold air washing over the two of them like a wave as they stepped in, both muttering their relief at the air conditioning. Van had glanced in a mirror in the entrance, a bit embarrassed to see that her shirt was genuinely drenched in sweat, and began to unbutton it.
“Too many layers for a day like this…” She joked, casually peeling off her flannel shirt, leaving herself standing in a white wifebeater tucked into her jeans.
Taissa couldn’t help but stare at Van, unashamedly drinking in the sight of her strong freckled arms, muscles rippling underneath her damp skin. She made tense eye contact with her, and she couldn’t tell if the pinkness of Van’s cheeks was from the heat or the fact that she was checking her out. Van just snorted and turned on her heels, slipping into the kitchen to grab two cold beers from the fridge before appearing, arm outstretched to hand one to Taissa.
“C’mon. My treat.” Van urged, poking Taissa’s shoulder with the sweating bottle, making her laugh and snatch it quickly.
“Fine, but I owe you. For next time.” She insisted, twisting the cap off easily and taking a slow drink, feeling the other woman’s eyes on her.
“Next time?” Van quirked an eyebrow as she watched Taissa swallow and flash her an assured grin.
“Yup. Pinky promise.”