Stubborn

by Jeanne Arnold

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  STUBBORN

  A Novel

  Jeanne Arnold

  Stubborn is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, brands and dialogues in this book are either of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Jeanne Arnold

  www.jeannearnoldbooks.com

  Cover design by Jeanne Arnold

  Second Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Produced in The United States of America

  Dedicated to the loving memory of my father

  and the fingerprint of creativity he left in my life.

  One

  I was pretty confident the vulgar obscenities scribbled across my forehead with black indelible marker got me this righteous seat on the Empire Builder heading to the flat, endless, barren nowhere land of the Midwest. But I could have been wrong. I was known to be wrong.

  I’d inadvertently kicked my ferocious texting habit cold turkey and wiped out all my summer plans in one unfortunate, random weekend. My parents wouldn’t listen when I swore to China and back that I was sober at my best friend Janie’s end-of-school party when some drunken joker, whose lame advances I probably shot down a gazillion times, decided to use my face as a canvas. I insisted that I simply fell asleep following a demanding cross-country meet.

  I failed to see what was so horrible.

  I failed to see why I was being punished.

  On top of that, it wasn’t my fault I got caught cutting the last week of my junior year of high school after somebody spread a venomous rumor about me that I couldn’t stomach to repeat.

  Since my original outburst when I learned I would be spending the summer of my seventeenth year with my Aunt Meggie in North Dakota, I held silent, communicating only with gestures and grunts. I could hardly swallow the truth. They were sending me to help out in the wake of the oil boom. Whatever that meant. Don’t get me wrong, Meggie was my favorite aunt, but who in her right mind would want to spend summer vacation maintaining a boardinghouse for lowly oil field hands?

  Those thoughts ran through my mind as I stood on the platform in Syracuse, waiting for my train to nowhere.

  “Boom!” my sister’s high-pitched voice squealed. “Boom, boom!”

  I held Brianna’s squirmy body in my arms for the last time. She wore her fairy princess dress and talked excitedly with her chubby hands, which flailed like angry birds, until she found my ponytail and yanked hard.

  “Banana, hush,” I whispered sadly. I would disappear out of her life in a matter of minutes. “Will you call me on the phone, Banana? I’ll miss you so much. Give sis a hug and a kissy.”

  She angled my face, her tiny fingers splayed over my cheeks. Her lips pecked at mine. Thank goodness she couldn’t read my forehead.

  I set her down on the bench and avoided my mother’s evil glare. I’d given up asking for a sibling long ago, perfectly content with my only-child status. Still, I fell in love with my baby sister the second I met her, despite the fifteen-year age difference, thanks to my parents’ carelessness.

  The grinding, squealing train came to a halt.

  Brianna smacked her palms against my bare knees. “Boom, Avy, boom!”

  A burst of resentment shot through me. I sprang off the bench and hurried for the train, catching sight of my father strapping an arm around my mother like a belt.

  “Avy! Go to the boom!”

  “Avery! Avery Norah Ross. Get back here, young lady!” my father bellowed.

  I streaked up the steps wearing a self-satisfied grin and boarded the train. I wasn’t going to let my parents fold me into a phony hug. God only knows what I would have said. They were making me leave my sister, my YMCA job, and my friends, spoiling any chance I had to find a real boyfriend before my senior year.

  I didn’t shed a tear when the train took off, although my eyes pooled with anger as I waved to my three-year-old sister from the hazy window. I scowled spitefully at my parents, irritated by what they’d done to me, for making such a rash decision to send me to the middle of freaking nowhere for two months.

  That’s when I began plotting the most outrageous payback in the history of the world. It would take me a little time, but I would give them something to really cry about.

  * * *

  I opened my newest issue of Glamour and unsealed the perfume samples, hoping to diffuse the smell of mothballs and Windex that suffocated me after switching trains in Chicago. I flashed a glance at the source of the odor—a frail elderly woman asleep in the window seat. My gaze widened on several empty seats. Could I get into one and stretch my long legs for the last twenty-something hours of my journey? The passenger compartment was relatively quiet, barring a few outbursts in the rear. I nodded off, but awoke feeling fidgety. I played with my bangs, chopped straight across to hide the remnants of the stubborn artwork.

  I was crossing eight states on rails.

  Alone.

  After crossing the North Dakota border at Fargo, the train’s atmosphere changed. The calm of the Empire Builder transformed into a bustling scene out of a Wild West bar at happy hour. Not that I had ever been to a bar at happy hour. The still compartment shifted to a lively buzz of deep voices and chaos. My neighbor, the elderly woman, disembarked at Grand Forks. She shouldered her petite body through the crowd of burly men, but not before handing over a little spray bottle of liquid.

  “Ammonia, sweetie. Best used on the eyes. But if they swallow it—it’s just as lethal. You’re too pretty to be sitting defenseless amidst these rascals. You need this more than I do,” she said.

  I shrugged my shoulders into a light roll.

  The woman’s gaze cut away to a man making shifty eyes at me from his pose in the doorway. “Don’t let your guard down, dear.”

  I chuckled inwardly, laughing off her words. She must have thought I was a lone sheep in a ravenous pack of wolves.

  The empty seats filled up.

  Black gold, Bakken play, Three Forks, hydrofracking, mineral leases, landmen...

  My ears burned at the constant talk of oil recovery. Testosterone thickened the stale air, more than I could handle, and that was something I never thought I’d say. During the years, my Aunt Meggie relayed how the influx of the oil industry flipped her life upside down, how Williston’s male population was quadrupling. There were more jobs than people could fill. The entire Wal-Mart parking lot had turned into a permanent RV park for oil men. A company called HalRem was taking over, and landowners were hitting it big, morning, noon, and night.

  I’ll admit I was a bit intrigued.

  I was the only girl left in the train car, so I pulled on my favorite hoodie and drew the zipper until it covered my tank top entirely. I pushed my headband up my forehead, swung my pack over a shoulder, and headed to the snack bar, slithering my body through a jungle of tan arms, trucker caps, and work boots.

  My neck cranked over my shoulder and my throat narrowed at the sound of a macho squawk. “Where ya going so fast? Can I get a closer look?”

  I caught a glimpse of a man firing a cat call in my direction. My eyes drew tight with a mix of curiosity and
anxiety. As I pushed through more bodies, my heart rate gunned.

  The walkthrough to the next car was jammed with men, so I used my bag to nudge my way through when my polite requests fell on deaf ears. Blood boiled in my cheeks after a hand grazed my back and slid daringly low. I just about let a steel fist fly when something yanked my ponytail. But I wasn’t exactly sure if I got it caught between my back and the wall or if the same someone pulled it. My skin crawled as several pairs of male eyes narrowed in on me. I moved on with watchfulness. The snickers continued. Once free of the man zoo, I threw my gaze around the room and spotted the snack counter.

  The stormy train, a sea of ruthless oil field hands, was the second to last place I wanted to be. Williston, North Dakota, I was pretty damn sure, was the last.

  The gangly kid behind the snack counter sported a lopsided grin when I stepped up to order an iced tea. I decided on two more bags of chips and a Hershey bar and handed over a ten.

  He held onto the bill and continued ogling me.

  “What the heck is so amusing?” My annoyed mumble snapped him out of his funk.

  He blinked, dropped his gaze, and made my change. Then he attempted to clear his throat with a cough.

  “Uh...your forehead.” His cheeks were red.

  Oh crap.

  My hand flew up to my bangs, swept back under my headband. I grimaced, stomach churning. That explained the stares and the crowing in the passenger car. They must have read the vile words. My shaming.

  I grunted. “Yeah, sick prank, huh? I got punk’d.”

  I swiped my change off the counter and left.

  I found my way to the observation car. My eyes panned the room for an empty seat. A heavy odor of chewing tobacco lingered in the air. I avoided eye contact with other passengers and settled into a swivel chair. The wall of windows glared. I squinted and adjusted to the bright light as the train passed gigantic grain elevators and silos that reminded me of oatmeal canisters standing in a row. I wasn’t much impressed with the scenery. I wasn’t hungry.

  The man to my left wore a HalRem cap. He read a newspaper with the headline “Oil and Gas Drilling Marathon Persists.” I glared at a similar article on the seat beside me titled “Economic Growth Flourishes in the Dakotas.”

  All I wanted to do was text my friend Janie and have her figure out how to get me out of my nightmare. I hoped the late June sun would lull me to sleep. My sweatshirt started to suffocate me, but I didn’t dare unzip it.

  The conductor’s voice cracked over the loudspeaker, announcing departure at Stanley.

  My eyelids flew open. I flattened my spine against the seat. “Huh?”

  I’d slept for four hours. Stanley was the last stop before Williston. Unease filled me. I had one hour to go. My stomach growled. I wasn’t in the mood to find the diner car and eat alone. I’d be asking for undue attention. So I collected my bags and headed back to my seat for the last leg of my journey. More than food, I longed for a hot shower and some clean clothes. Maybe a clever tattoo to conceal my forehead.

  The domed entrance to the passenger car was blocked. I elbowed my way through, doing a double take as I spied a man occupying my seat with his leg in the aisle. I repeated my seat number in my head to make certain.

  “This is my seat. That’s my stuff. You’re in the wrong one.”

  I played with the zipper on my hoodie, running it up and down, and studied his poker face. He didn’t flinch, except to remove his HalRem hat and set it on the armrest.

  I softened my voice. “Excuse me. You’re in my seat.”

  A wicked slyness gleamed in his eyes. He crossed his leg over his knee, grazing my leg with his boot heel. I drew back.

  “This is your seat? Are you sure, little lady?”

  I knew immediately where we were headed. A snicker behind me made my fist tighten into a ball.

  “You mind getting up?” I tried to appear unemotional. I rarely showed my cards, especially with guys. The tomboy in me wasn’t very shy.

  His eyes shifted. The sides of his mouth turned up. Then he cleared his throat and stroked his broad chest with open palms. “Why don’t you take a seat right here? There’s plenty of room.” He waggled his overgrown eyebrows. His hands slid to his lap and ironed the top of his jeans.

  A chuckle erupted at my side. A pair of male eyes turned up front. I couldn’t make out the full expression. The eyes were definitely smiling.

  I was outnumbered.

  “Right here, darling.”

  Bile burned my throat. I stared vacantly as the blood rushed out of my face like water down a drain. In my bag beside his foot, I kept the spray bottle safely tucked away. He looked as if he could benefit from an ammonia bath, though an eye spritz of habanero sauce would have done the trick.

  My voice stuck in my throat and then released evenly. “I’m not interested in games. I just want to sit down.” I congratulated myself for appearing unflustered. If I let him see I was shaken, he’d win. “It’s my seat, all right?”

  His hand reached out, cupped the back of my bare calf and squeezed. I trembled and shook it off fast. A teasing smile spread across his face.

  “Feisty, aren’t ya? C’mon now, have a sit on your seat.” His gaze swept over his lap.

  I scanned the train car and to my horror all eyes, all male, all fixed on me.

  In a small voice, I mumbled, “Get the hell out of my seat or...”

  I had a jarring realization we could go on and on. He seemed a little more stubborn and a little older than the high school boys I was used to contending with.

  “Or you’ll what, hot stuff?”

  His hand slapped my hip, and I grabbed at his thick wrist with my pointy fingernails, but he was faster and pulled away. I lost my balance and stumbled against a seat. Another hand gripped my arm from behind. Chuckles arose in the already noisy car. Panic coursed through my veins, and I narrowed my gaze on the exit.

  Then the man whispered, “I could use a lady like you. I’ve been on the road a long, long time, sugar.”

  I froze. Sugar my ass.

  His hand reached out again and pulled at my lower back. Something fierce overcame me. I spit in his face, hitting him smack in the eye. Straightaway he surged to his feet, scowling. He towered over me by a good six inches. He was the same jerk who spewed nonsense earlier. I turned to bolt, but he snagged my backpack, restraining my movement. I slithered out of the straps, about to call out to security, or a conductor, or someone who wasn’t ignoring our disagreement, when an anonymous voice piped up.

  “Let her go.” The demanding voice held a deep southern inflection. “Let her go, dammit...right now.”

  I thanked the sky above. Somebody had some decency. I flashed a look over my shoulder. No sign of my savior.

  The man still held me back. His forehead creased, but amusement danced in his eyes. “Sugar here just wants to sit down. I’m giving her my seat.”

  He yanked harder. The pack left my arms and snagged my sweatshirt, choking me as it dug into my neck like a noose.

  “Hey! Let go, you jerk,” I gasped, reaching for my throat.

  The scumbag tugged harder.

  “Let. Her. Go,” repeated the voice.

  I felt his presence at my back. I twisted to steal a glance. The guy was remarkably tall, striking and lean. His jaw was set. He looked ready for anything. His brilliant hazel eyes pierced through me like darts. Without warning his balled fist flashed through the air like a fly ball and punched my offender smack in the jaw, knocking him clear across the seats until his skull hit the window with a bang.

  I stumbled forward into the exit, pausing in the observatory near the bathrooms. Would I get a chance to thank the attractive stranger? I knew the jackass in my seat wasn’t going to pull anything criminal in front of a car full of witnesses. Still, he managed to rattle my nerves. I waited and wondered if anything else went down besides his wretched body. Did hazel eyes throw another punch?

  An older man wearing an Amtrak uniform marched past me
into the passenger train and reappeared with my bag. Gratitude filled me.

  I couldn’t believe I was minutes from my stop. Even though I’d dreaded the moment of arrival, all I could think about was getting off the moving frat house. Regrettably, the journey had delved far beneath my lowest expectations.

  The announcer broke my concentration. “Attention ladies and gentlemen! Our next scheduled stop this evening is Williston, North Dakota. Williston in five minutes. Please note our stop is extended fifteen minutes. Thank you and good evening.”

  Relief set in. I slid my back down the wall and squatted on my limp duffle bag. I was a lousy packer in general, and it didn’t help that I invested all of my energy spiting my parents, taking valuable time away from planning. During the two-day voyage, I’d created a mental list of items I’d forgotten to pack. The Ben Franklin my parents gave me would last two weeks, if that. I assumed my aunt would pay for my services.

  * * *

  “Ross! Hey kiddo!” Aunt Meggie shouted the moment my toe tapped the ground of the train station in Williston.

  Margareta Meghan Paulsen, my mother’s younger sister, practically bounced off the pavement. I shot a quick glance around to see if the boy with the arresting hazel eyes followed me.

  “You really grew tall and out. Uff-da, Avery, you were half this size four years ago. How about that? C’mere, gorgeous.” She flapped her arms around me and squeezed.

  I cringed when she used her corny Norwegian slang. Nobody talked like that back home. It was definitely a Midwestern thing.

  “Where’s the rest of ya?”

  My mother once described my Aunt Meggie as kooky. That about summed her up. Granted, my mother was always jealous of her sister for having a slim body and athletic talent. She often commented that I took after Meggie. And Meggie was definitely the funnier sister. Nobody would ever guess she served in the U.S. Air Force with two back-to-back tours in Saudi Arabia.

  “Lemme see that face.” She grabbed my head to sweep up my bangs with her fingertips. “I’ll be damned. No wonder your poor mom flipped her lid. Those are some nasty words, kid. On such a pretty face too. Well, it’s my luck she did. I’m so pleased you’re here. I’m gonna need you. C’mon. Let’s get you some dinner.”