When the guy made a clumsy attempt to stroke Mischa’s face, Anastasia spotted the gun stuck in the waistband of his pants. Mischa must have spotted it, too, because he tightened his grip on her arm.
“Maybe next time.”
They walked out of the club and onto the street. As they walked, they constantly looked over their shoulders to make sure they weren’t being followed. Anastasia doubted the trio would try anything on a crowded sidewalk, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
“Now I know where I’ve seen them before,” Mischa said once they were a safe distance away. He touched her arm, signaling her to slow her pace. “It was in a selfie in my friend Marat’s phone. Those three must have been who he crossed paths with the night he was bashed.”
Three weeks before, Marat’s neighbors had made repeated calls to the police to report a disturbance. When the cops had broken down the door to Marat’s apartment, they had found him beaten and bloodied on his bedroom floor. The official investigation had chalked it up as a sexual encounter that had turned violent. Everyone except the police knew better, even though Marat had been in a coma ever since and had been unable to identify his attackers.
“We should go to the police,” Anastasia said.
“And do what?”
“Describe what those three look like so the cops can arrest them before they attack someone else.”
Mischa lit a cigarette and blew out an angry plume of smoke. “The police don’t care about people like us, Ana. Most of the cops I’ve come across would rather reward people like that than arrest them. They can do anything they want to us. We’re the criminals, remember?”
Anastasia hated the helpless feeling that washed over her when she realized Mischa was right. She looked back at Lyubov. How could a place whose very name meant love be the target of such hate?
She had moved to Moscow in search of a better life. Perhaps one day she could finally find it. If not here, then somewhere she could truly be free. Getting there took money. Money she didn’t have.
“Tell your uncle I’ll take the job.”
Chapter Two
“If I had known I’d have to spend three whole days catching planes in three different countries,” Shorty said as he and Laramie headed to the baggage claim area after their plane landed in Moscow, “I never would have let your mama talk me into following you all the way to Russia to keep an eye on you.”
Laramie tried to determine which of the many luggage carousels corresponded to their flight. As she and Shorty traveled farther and farther east, she spotted fewer and fewer signs that were written in English. She had gotten real good real fast at figuring out what various illustrations were supposed to represent, but she couldn’t make heads or tails out of Cyrillic. The alphabet was filled with so many strange symbols it reminded her of a physics equation, and math had never been one of her strong suits.
“Save the tough talk for Chuck and Grant,” she said as she searched for someone who might be able to lead them in the right direction. “I’ve known you longer than they have so I know all about the tender heart you’re hiding underneath all that bluster.”
Shorty slapped his sweat-stained Stetson against his leg. “Just make sure that’s a secret you keep between me and you, hear? There ain’t no reason for you to run around telling everybody else about it.”
“I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.”
“That’s a promise I doubt either one of us will come close to breaking. Not here, anyway.” He resettled his hat. “I don’t know where the hell we are now, but it ain’t Wyoming, that’s for sure.”
“Welcome to Moscow, Shorty. Tonight, it’s our home away from home.”
He took a wary glance around the bustling airport as hundreds of passengers speaking what sounded like nearly as many languages hustled to and fro.
“Given a choice, I’d rather sleep in my own bunk. At least I’d know what I’m in for.”
“I know what you mean.”
Shorty looked as uncomfortable as Laramie felt. She couldn’t blame him. They had flown from Denver to Chicago yesterday, followed by an overnight flight that had taken them to Frankfurt, Germany. Today’s first leg had taken them from Frankfurt to Saint Petersburg, their second from Saint Petersburg to Moscow. Their final destination was Godoroye, a town nearly three hundred miles away, but the airport that serviced it was so tiny it received flights from Moscow only three days a week. The next available flight wasn’t until Wednesday morning, which meant they would have to check into a hotel for the night after they met with Sergei Ivanov, their new boss.
She was tempted to hop a train to get the final part of the journey over with, but she had heard the Russian transportation system was notoriously finicky and she was too worn out to deal with the added stress. At that moment, all she wanted to do was find someone who spoke English.
After she spotted a uniformed airport employee, she walked over to him and held out her boarding pass. “Can you tell me—”
“Nyet,” he said sternly before she could finish her sentence.
“Do you speak—”
“Nyet,” he said again before he abruptly turned and walked away.
“I take it nyet means no,” Shorty said sarcastically.
“And you thought you weren’t going to be able to understand what anyone was saying over here.”
“If we stay long enough, I’m sure I’ll pick up a few other choice words along the way.”
“Just make sure you don’t teach any. We came to train these boys, not corrupt them.”
Shorty grinned, a welcome sight to see among so many grim faces.
“I’ve got to leave my mark somehow, don’t I? These next three years will seem a lot longer if I have to worry about holding my tongue. If these fellas are real cowboys, they’ll be able to take a good dressing-down without running home crying to their mamas.”
“As long as nothing gets lost in translation.”
“Speaking of which, how can we be sure the translator Ivanov hired is saying what we want him to instead of making stuff up?”
That was one of many unpleasant scenarios running through Laramie’s mind. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since they’d left Wyoming, her thoughts preoccupied by everything that could possibly go wrong. She was used to taking orders, not giving them. She was starting to wonder if she was ready for the increased responsibility. She had felt certain she could handle the challenge when she left Broken Branch, but more and more, doubts crept in the farther she found herself from home.
It’s too late to second-guess yourself. You’ve already jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.
And she was starting to feel the heat.
At thirty-one, she was too old to need looking after, but she was glad Shorty had decided to make the trip with her. It would be nice having someone familiar to lean on when she felt like she was about to fall flat on her face.
“I guess we’ll just have to lead by example,” she said, trying to allay Shorty’s concerns as well as her own. “Most of what we do can’t be taught. It has to be learned from experience.”
“Sounds like we’re going to be spending most of our time playing charades,” Shorty mumbled under his breath.
“Let’s hope we have better luck in the future than we are today.”
“Are you American?” someone asked after a second employee walked away without giving Laramie the information she needed.
“Yes, I am.”
Laramie was so grateful to hear someone besides her and Shorty speaking English she barely noticed the thick accent in which the words were delivered. What she couldn’t miss was the beauty of the woman who had sought her out.
The woman’s dark hair was styled for comfort rather than fashion. She was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt with a picture of a defunct boy band on the front. Laramie wasn’t too keen on the woman’s taste in music, but she liked what she saw.
The woman’s eyes were so blue they reminded Laramie of t
he sky back home. One of them, at least. Her left eye had an imperfection similar to the one sported by an actress on one of Laramie’s favorite TV shows. A birthmark that made it appear that her pupil had blown. The image was arresting.
“This is you?”
The woman pointed to the sign she was holding, a laminated piece of paper with Laramie’s and Shorty’s names printed on it.
“Yes, it is,” Laramie said with a sigh of relief. She felt like she and Shorty were finally starting to make progress.
“I am Anastasia Petrova,” the woman said. “I am translator. After you get luggage, I take you to office of Mr. Ivanov so he can discuss job with you.”
Laramie was anxious to get the meeting behind her so she and Shorty could do what they had come here to do: work.
“Laramie Bowman. Pleased to meet you.”
Laramie held out her hand. Anastasia regarded it for a moment before giving it a tentative shake. She did the same when Shorty removed his hat and extended his hand.
“You are Pernell Johnson?”
“You can call me Shorty, ma’am.”
“Shorty?”
Anastasia said the word as if trying it on for size. She must have liked the fit because she flashed a shy smile as she released Shorty’s hand.
“Don’t be fooled by my small stature,” Shorty said with a wink. “I make up for it in other ways.”
“I will…how you say?” Anastasia scrunched her face into an adorable frown as she tried to come up with the appropriate phrase. “Ah.” Her face lit up when she finally found the phrase she had been searching for. “I will take your word for it.”
“Well, all right then.” Shorty leaned to whisper in Laramie’s ear. “I don’t know how good of a translator she is, but she’s got spunk, I give you that.”
Anastasia certainly had something, though spunk wasn’t the word Laramie would have used to describe it. She had been told she and Shorty would be provided with a translator, but she had no idea who that person would be. She had been expecting someone who looked as rough-and-tumble as the land she and Shorty would be ranching, not someone who seemed so slight she would probably blow away in a stiff breeze.
Anastasia looked like she was in her mid to late twenties, but her eyes belonged to someone several decades older. Laramie wondered what sights had left her with such a haunted look. She quickly banished the thought from her mind. She hadn’t flown halfway around the world to chase after a woman, no matter how intriguing. She was here to make enough money to keep her family’s ranch going and earn enough leadership experience to be able to run it one day. She couldn’t allow anyone to get in the way of her goals. Her family’s future depended on it.
“May I?” Anastasia reached for Laramie’s boarding pass. She examined it for a minute or two, then said, “You will follow me, yes?”
“You bet your sweet ass—” Shorty quickly turned apologetic after Laramie shot him a look. “I mean, yes, ma’am, we sure will. Lead the way.”
“You never told me your real name was Pernell,” Laramie said as they trailed Anastasia through the maze of carousels.
Shorty screwed his Stetson back in place. “What did we say about keeping secrets?”
“You will find bags here.”
Anastasia pointed to a carousel that had already started ferrying luggage from the plane to the terminal. Laramie recognized a few of the people surrounding it as passengers from her flight. The middle-aged man wearing white knee-high socks and black sandals had been seated in front of her. He had inclined so far he had practically slept in her lap the last two hours of the trip.
She relaxed a little, knowing she and her belongings would soon be reunited. Having tangible reminders of home made her feel less like a stranger in a strange land. She didn’t care about her clothes. She had brought jeans and work shirts. Nothing fancy. She could buy more if she had to. But she would be lost without her saddle. She’d had the same one since she learned to ride, and she longed to put it to use now. To strap it to a decent mount and spend hours tending to the herd.
Did the men she would be training even know how to ride a horse? Lord, she hoped so. Because if they didn’t, she and Shorty would have to teach them how to do that, too. One more thing to add to her growing list of duties.
“Have you been working for Mr. Ivanov long?” she asked as Anastasia returned her boarding pass.
“No, today is…how do you say? My first day.”
“So I guess we’re both still learning the ropes, aren’t we?”
Anastasia frowned as she considered the question. “I am sorry. I do not understand. What are you meaning by ropes?”
“Huh?”
Laramie felt like they were talking in two different languages even though they were allegedly speaking the same one.
Looks like the ranch hands aren’t the only ones who’ve got a lot to learn.
* * *
Anastasia didn’t know what to make of the Americans. Shorty’s gruff exterior provided a stark contrast to his impish sense of humor. He lacked sophistication, but she liked the fact that he was unpretentious. He seemed to have nothing to hide, which meant she would always know where she stood with him. She definitely couldn’t say the same as far as Laramie was concerned. Shorty made his feelings and intentions clear. Laramie’s thoughts were harder to discern.
Try impossible.
At least Shorty allowed his true personality to shine through. Laramie seemed so caught up in making a good first impression she couldn’t relax and be herself.
After their initial meeting, Anastasia was left wondering if Laramie ever thought about anything other than work. Did she ever go dancing, have a drink, make love, or do anything remotely resembling fun? She was so dedicated to her job she probably never did anything that didn’t involve the care, feeding, or marketing of cattle.
Anastasia could be single-minded, too, when the cause was dear to her heart, but she wasn’t immune to succumbing to an attractive distraction every now and then.
Laramie might consider herding cows an enjoyable diversion, but Anastasia could think of much better ways to pass the time. She could be doing several of them right now. Instead, she was being forced to shepherd two complete strangers through the streets of Moscow so they could spend the afternoon meeting with Mischa’s eccentric uncle. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to babysit them tonight, too. Mischa had planned a surprise going-away party she wasn’t supposed to know about, and she wanted to enjoy every second. It was her last night in a real town for the foreseeable future, and she wanted to make it a night to remember.
After Laramie and Shorty located their possessions, Anastasia grabbed a luggage cart so they could pile their suitcases and saddles onto it. She couldn’t believe they had dragged the bulky saddles all the way from America. The well-oiled leather certainly smelled good—like a mixture of sweat and sunshine—but the only horse she had ever ridden was on a merry-go-round, and she intended to keep it that way. If she wanted to risk life and limb, she didn’t have to travel all the way to Godoroye for that. She could stay in Moscow and do it for free.
Chances were she would be working for free, too, since no company she knew wanted to be associated with an out lesbian, and the gay rights organizations she did volunteer work for couldn’t afford to pay her a decent salary.
She would have been lost without Mischa. She was grateful he had put in a good word for her with his uncle. Sergei had been more than happy to hire his favorite nephew’s “girlfriend.” Would he have been so generous if he knew the truth about their relationship? Probably not.
Now she had to find a way to be true to herself without betraying Mischa in the process. She couldn’t out herself without casting suspicion on him, too. Her family had already turned their backs on her. She would never wish the same fate on her friends.
Shorty pushed the heavily laden cart through the crowded airport as Anastasia led the way to ground transportation. For such a small man, he was stronger than he looked. Was
there also more to Laramie than met the eye? While Laramie’s attention was diverted by a group of Lithuanian tourists in tie-dye T-shirts squabbling over which sight to see first, Anastasia give her a once-over.
Laramie was at least a head taller than Shorty. The tips of her shoulder-length blond hair were bleached nearly white from constant exposure to the sun. She wasn’t wearing a hat today, but she must wear one when she worked because the top half of her forehead was bone white and the rest was as tanned as her handsome face. She had broad shoulders and the thick thighs of a footballer, though Anastasia suspected the well-developed muscles had come from hours spent gripping a horse’s sides while riding at full gallop rather than running after a soccer ball for ninety minutes at a time.
The mental image of Laramie astride a horse like a Valkyrie from Norse mythology gave Anastasia an unexpected rush of pleasure. Powerful women always got her going, and Laramie exuded strength from every pore. Anastasia was wildly attracted to her, but she knew nothing could possibly come of it.
If she and Laramie slept together even once, they would have to keep the encounter a secret from everyone in the company they both worked for. If they made it a common occurrence and successfully managed not to draw attention to themselves, that didn’t change the fact that Laramie would be returning to Wyoming after she imparted the knowledge she had been hired to share.
Why should Anastasia literally risk her life on something that wasn’t meant to last? On someone who would walk out of her life as easily as she had sauntered into it?
She hoped Mischa had invited more women than men to tonight’s party. She wanted a pleasant memory to hold on to while she spent the next three years silencing her own voice in order to act as someone else’s.
When she, Laramie, and Shorty reached the sidewalk, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to Sergei Ivanov’s office, which was located in a skyscraper in Moscow’s commercial district. Laramie and Shorty climbed in the back seat of the cab. She took the front. She would be sharing quarters with them soon enough. Until then, she needed some space.
Comrade Cowgirl Page 3