Crave

By

Jordan Sweet

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Jordan Sweet.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or redistributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission of the publisher.

CRAVE

CHAPTER 1

I’m running at full speed to catch a train, my lungs gasping for air, legs burning as I try desperately to keep up with the railroad cars as they begin to gain more and more speed.  The train has only just begun gathering momentum, and already I feel like I can’t keep up.

In the movies, I’d have hopped on by now like it was nothing and my hair would still be perfect. 

But this is different.  I’ve got about one minute left before my body gives out and my last chance to get out of this wasteland pulls away from me forever.

The only thing left to do is catch up to that one open stock car door and jump like my life depends on it—which, given my luck, it just might..

I look down to get my bearings and I see blood.  My big toe nail is split.  It feels like someone shoved a needle all the way through it.

My heart pounds harder.  And harder.  I am not giving up on this, I keep telling myself.

The cows are making a terrible ruckus from inside the other compartments.  And the smell is like nothing I ever knew back in the small town of New Bedford.  That awful smell.  That muddy farm and manure smell. 

I saw the sign on the front car back when it first approached: “Colson Cattle- Wyoming’s Finest Livestock”.  Of all the trains, in all the United States, I get cattle.

This trip couldn’t get any better.  Really.

Somehow, I force more effort out of my protesting legs, ignoring the pain, ignoring the signals telling me to stop running and give up.  With the last effort I can manage, I finally get close enough to the open stock car to get a glimpse inside.

It’s mostly empty, with some boxes and what looks like a few scattered piles of hey on the floor.  But what’s most surprising is that there’s actually another person in there.

At first, I’m so startled that I don’t jump inside. 

Instead, I fall back a little bit.  “Shit,” I say, although it’s a gasp that comes out of my mouth, I can barely hear myself speak.

The train is really pulling away from me now.  I blew it.

Stuck.  Stuck with nothing but a broken-down car, no money, no way to get anywhere and nothing in sight to get me to where I’m going. 

But just as I’m about to finally give up and fall to my knees, an arm reaches out of the open stock car and a hand opens up.  “Come on, grab my hand!” a powerful voice calls to me.

“I can’t!” I yell, but who knows if my voice even reaches him amidst the noise and racket around us.

Suddenly, the man is hanging off the train like Spiderman, half of him holding onto the door, the other half leaning towards me, trying to bridge the gap as I fall behind.

He’s risking his life to help me, I realize.

If he can risk his life, I can certainly run a little faster.  And so, despite the fact that I already had nothing left in my weary limbs, I somehow begin trying harder to reach the stranger.

What if we don’t connect?  I’ll hit the ground and all will be lost.  And I might be killed if I roll under this train.

When we get to the intersection and I hit pavement, my speed increases.  I’ve come up a level now from the rocks and I can feel the end of this race.  I reach higher than ever before focusing in on the stranger’s hand.

“You can do it!” he yells out, as I finally get close enough to grab hold.

With shocking strength, the stranger hauls me inside like he was picking up a pillow, pulling me inside.

As I land on my feet, our hands are still locked.  I first see the part of his forearm, revealed by an unbuttoned sleeve.  And then a little higher the flesh of his chest between the open collars of his jean jacket.  As his head starts to come up, I can see the stubble around his chin flaring up each side of his jawline.  Rugged.

His eyes meet mine and I’m shocked to find that the stranger is handsome.  No, he’s beyond handsome—he’s gorgeous.

His sky blue eyes are intense, but he offsets the intensity with a small grin.  “What are you, some kind of stuntwoman?”

I can hardly speak, I’m so flustered. 

We’re alone in this smelly stock car that’s trundling along the countryside.  The guy can hardly be a year or two older than me, and he looks like he just stepped out of a Country Music Video. 

“Thanks for helping me,” I say, trying to smooth down my hair, which feels like it just went into a blender.

“My pleasure,” he says, and then he bends down and picks up a white cowboy hat, brushing it off and putting it on his head.

“You have no idea how much you just saved my butt.”  My heart pounds- half from the frantic run and half from this man who just made my day.  My week.  My year.

“Have some of this water and try to relax,” he says, pulling a canteen from a small satchel sitting on the floor next to him.  “The name’s Everett.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say.  I take a big drink and almost choke trying to get it down between breaths.  “Where’s this train taking us, Everett?” 

“You just randomly hop trains not knowing where they are going?” he returns.

“Only when my life depends on it,” I say.

“So what would make your life depend on going west?”

“Well, mainly because there’s no reason to go back east.  Nothing left there for me.  But out west I’ve got a friend and a college to look into.”

“Ah, the college girl. You’ll fit right in in Pacific Heights.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Where’s Pacific Heights?”

“That, my friend, is the end of this line. That’s where all these cows get off.”

Mention of the cows reminds me how starving I am.  “I could eat one of those cows right now,” I tell him.

“They’re delicious, no doubt, but not ready for eating just yet. How’d this granola bar do ya?” he says, pulling it out of his front pocket like a magician.

“Perfect,” I say, reaching for it.

Pulling it back ever so slightly, he tilts his head lower, raises his right eye brow and says, “Well, hold on just a minute there. Since we’re both starving and I’ve only got but one granola bar, how are we going to go about sharing it?”

Taken aback by his offer and his refusal then to pass it along, I say, “Well, you shouldn’t just go offering things up and then back out of them, but considering the circumstances and the fact that you already did me one favor,  I guess perhaps we just split it down the middle and call it even.”

“Call it even?  No, that wouldn’t be calling it even.  Nope, not even close,” he says, turning his head away, acting like the offer is off the table now.

Son of a bitch, I think. What is this guy’s problem?  I’ve never seen anyone do that.

He turns back to me, with that grin and continues, “Even-Steven? Well, let me think about that for a minute… hmmm…”  And as if divine inspiration strikes him, all at once he raises a finger to the sky and says, “Yep, that’s it, we’ll just have to make a bet for it and see who gets it.  We won’t split the thing, we’ll go for all of it.  What say ya?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t know how they treat girls where you come from, but I can tell you right now, not even in the South End of New Bedford would that-“

“-So, the bet then, we’re on?” he interrupts.

He might have the look of a fine country gentleman, but I do wonder where his head is at on this. It
is
kind of intriguing me now what he wants to bet.

“What have you got?” I say.

“Okay then,” he says, rubbing his hands together, winking at me, and pulling that grin even higher up both sides of his face.  His excitement is contagious and even though I questioned his treatment of girls, I can’t stop looking at his face. His gorgeous face.

“So, here’s what we’re going to do.  This train is heading west and on the way there may be dozens, hundreds of stops for all we know.  You’ve never been on this kind of train, I reckon, and it’s sure enough my first time riding in this kind of car, so let’s have us some fun.”

He stops and thinks, hands still going, eyes sparkling as he turns toward me again.  “Now, it’s a simple bet.  Nothing to it really.  We’ll just do this.  I don’t even know your name yet.  And before you tell me, I’m going to guess the first letter of it.”

“What a stupid bet,” I say, “There’s no way you’re going to guess which of the twenty-four letters starts my first name.”

“You’re very quick to count me out.” he says, smiling and winking.

“Well, do you want to give yourself a better chance? That’s almost unfair.”

“I’m good,” he says.  His eyes lower and lock with mine.  The corner of his lips drop and he leans in close to me.

He is close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath on my face. God, he is even more gorgeous up close.  I want him to forget about the bet now and just kiss me.  I ready myself for that.

Instead, he leans in further and whispers, “Now, here’s what we’ll do.  If you win, I give you the granola bar….

Okay, fair enough.

“And when I win, you have to kiss me.”

Kiss you… wait, what?  I draw back. 

That is a long way from the bet I had in mind.  Not even the pangs in my stomach can stop me from what I say next.

“Ha! That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.  I don’t even know you.  What kind of a bet is that?”

“Well, that’s what makes it such an easy bet for you to take. We’ll likely never see each other again.”

“Okay, yeah, so I’ll just smooch with you cuz we’ll never see each other again,” I say, brushing my hair back over my shoulder.”

“Well,” he says, “Here are the rest of the facts: this granola bar is good, really good.  There’s nothing else to eat in this car.  In your condition- and considering the fact that the next town is likely three hours away on this route- I’m saying you’re going to want to eat this granola bar.”

He sits back now, and by the look on his face, is very pleased with himself.  It’s such a stupid bet.  Kiss
me
?  Not a chance.

But part of me wants to just go for it. If he wins, so what.  He
is
so super-hot.

And no one will ever know the difference.

“Okay, this is ridiculous, but since the probability is hugely on my side, I’ll take your bet,” I say, half shocked, half excited, half hoping… he wins.

He claps his hands together, stands up, and says, “Now that’s the kind of girl I like.  A risk-taker.  I knew there was something about you when you got into this here rail car.”

“Okay,” he continues, “So, your first name, let me think-“

The pangs in my stomach are relentless now.

“-Wait,” I interrupt. “I want to be very clear about this.  When you are wrong, I get the granola bar.  The WHOLE granola bar.  Not a split.”

“That’s right.  And I don’t have to repeat what I get, now do I?” he says.

“Okay, take your guess,” I say, as the pangs in my stomach turn to butterflies.

“Okay, then,” he starts.  “Here I go…”

He turns his head up, puts his fingers to his chin as if he is thinking deeply and then points at me, shaking his hand up and down.

“I know…” he concludes, “Your name begins with a ‘C’.”

I turn my face to the side, in shock, wanting to hide the red flames that have come across my cheeks.

How on earth did he get that right?  Twenty-four letters.  He gets the one.

I can’t face this reality. I can’t.  I’m about to overheat.

I turn to him.  Think Cora, THINK, I tell myself.

“A… Nope,” I say.  “It’s an ‘S’.”

“An ‘S’, he says, turning his head slightly, eyes coming down closer to inspect mine.

The heat doesn’t leave my face and I turn shyly to the right.

“And what would that be for?” he inquires.

“It’s Sally,” I say sheepishly.

“Sally,” he says.  “Okay Sally, here’s your granola bar.”

He sits back against the side of the car now.

I open the granola bar to take a bite and the guilt overwhelms me.  Should I just come clean? 

But I can’t.  I can’t just go kissing some stranger I just met on this train, in what, that bed of hay over there?

I feel sick.  But I eat the granola bar anyway.

“You ought to get some rest,” he says to me.

He takes off his jacket, rolls it up, and pushes it over to me. “Use this as a pillow.”

I take the jacket, relieved that he isn’t still talking and lay my head on it.

I wake up, what feels like fifteen minutes later, and see that the train is stopped.

Everett is standing in the open car door looking out.

I see nothing from where I sit except a small clearing and then trees beyond him.

He turns to me, tips his hat, and says, “This is my stop.”

“What about your jacket?” I say, picking it up, and moving toward him to hand it off.

“Keep it,” he says, “It’ll be a good pillow for the rest of your ride.”