Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  “What are you doing?”

  “Auditioning to be your assistant. If things work out as well as Laramie hopes, I’ll need another job.”

  Elena nudged her with her elbow when their paths crossed. “Are you trying to earn yourself a new position by costing me mine?”

  “I’m a terrible cook so you don’t have anything to worry about in that regard.”

  “The way I see it, you don’t have reason to fret.”

  Anastasia scraped the remnants of Ivan’s meal into a compost container. “Do you know something I don’t? My finances are in dire straits. I’m counting on this job to make things better. If it ends too soon, I’ll have nothing to show for it.” But she would have a chance to get to know Laramie Bowman, and that opportunity could turn out to be priceless.

  “You’re dating Sergei’s nephew,” Elena said. “As long as you and Mischa are together, Sergei will make sure you’re taken care of.”

  Anastasia bristled. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself. I always have.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But everyone needs a helping hand from time to time. If one is offered, don’t be ashamed to take it. The only person you’ll hurt is yourself. There is no need to be your own worst enemy when the world is filled with so many people who are willing to assume the role.”

  Elena’s voice was as soothing as her words. Anastasia felt a rare sense of peace settle over her as she placed the dirty plates in the dishwasher.

  “You make life sound so easy.”

  “It can be as long as you don’t take it—or yourself—too seriously.” Elena turned her around and gave her a gentle shove. “Go to bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”

  “We all do.” Anastasia tucked the book under her arm, then looked around to make sure she didn’t see Yevgeny lurking in the shadows. “The meeting went well, don’t you think?”

  She had expected the men to take Yevgeny’s side. They had surprised her by pledging their loyalty to Laramie instead. It wasn’t hard to see why. Laramie was something Yevgeny wasn’t: a leader. And the men were willing to follow her.

  Anastasia had seen a palpable change in Andrei, Fyodor, Ivan, and Vladimir’s collective demeanor when Laramie had taken the time to explain the rationale behind her decisions instead of simply telling them that this was how things were going to be. When she had treated them like they were someone she wanted to work with instead of someone she sought to control. When she had shown them that Yevgeny’s way might not be the best way. The only way.

  “Andrei, Ivan, Fyodor, and Vladimir weren’t nearly as upset about the changes as I thought they would be.” Elena lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I loved watching Laramie put Yevgeny in his place.”

  “So did I.”

  Anastasia and Elena shared a laugh. Much too soon, though, Elena turned serious again. “Let’s see how long he stays there.”

  The answer, Anastasia knew, could cement Laramie’s success or begin her downfall. And no matter what the outcome, she would be there to watch it happen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Laramie felt like a hypocrite. During dinner, she had spent several minutes explaining why she wanted everyone to start turning in earlier. Despite some initial resistance, she had managed to convince the ranch hands that her idea had merit. When the meal ended, she and Shorty had gone straight to bed so they could provide a good example for the men to follow. The bunkhouse had been dark for well over an hour now. Shorty and the rest of the ranch hands were probably snoring to beat the band, but she couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep.

  She rolled from one side of the bed to the other as both her body and mind rebelled against her. Her muscles were in knots and her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. She kneaded the back of her neck in a vain attempt to ease the tension. She hadn’t expected every step of this journey to be smooth, but she had no idea the trip would be this hard. And she and Shorty were just getting started.

  She shot a glance at the clock. Nine thirty. Only six and a half hours before her alarm was scheduled to ring.

  “So much for getting eight hours’ sleep.”

  She tossed the covers aside, pushed herself out of bed, and walked over to the window. Outside, the moon was full, shining brightly on the rugged terrain. Some might consider the ranch an eyesore, but she thought it had the potential to be spectacular. One of those fixer-uppers most of the home design shows specialized in on TV.

  She was excited by the opportunity. Perhaps that was why she was so anxious. This was the first time she had a chance to leave her mark on something. No matter how good a job she did at home, the family ranch would always be thought of as her father’s place. In Godoroye, she had a chance to change that.

  Here, she wasn’t Thad Bowman’s daughter or Trey Bowman’s sister. Here, she could be herself. Well, almost. She had to keep quiet about her sexuality, but she was already used to that. Being discreet was a small price to pay for being able to prove she was not only ready to carry on her family’s legacy but craft one of her own.

  She decided to make herself a glass of warm milk, one of her mother’s tried and true remedies to treat sleepless nights. She crept out of the room and tiptoed into the hall. She tried to be as quiet as she could so she wouldn’t disturb Anastasia.

  A sliver of lamp light was visible underneath Anastasia’s door. Was she still awake? Curious, Laramie pressed her ear to the door but didn’t hear any sounds coming from the other side.

  She started to open the door to see if Anastasia had fallen asleep with the light on like her mother was prone to do when she was watching one of the cheesy made-for-cable movies she loved so much. She reached for the doorknob but pulled back when she remembered she didn’t know Anastasia well enough to walk into her room unannounced—or uninvited.

  “Elena?”

  A shadow passed through the shard of light, and Laramie heard footsteps padding toward the door. “Crap.”

  She hastily moved away, but too late. Anastasia opened the door before she made it more than a couple of steps down the hall.

  Anastasia was dressed in an outfit similar to the one she had worn while she slept on Laramie’s hotel room couch in Moscow: a tank top and a pair of boy shorts. Laramie avoided checking out her legs this time, but it took a serious act of will.

  “Oh, Laramie. I did not expect to see you. I promised to help Elena learn English. She is so eager to begin, I thought she might have come by for first lesson.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “No, I am glad you are not her. I have not had chance to prepare. I need time to make cards I plan to use during lessons. If I write down English word for objects she sees every day and tape cards around house, she can practice even when I am working with you.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “It is not my idea. I saw it in movie once. With Whoopi Goldberg. The Purple Color, I think it was.” Anastasia folded her arms in front of her chest as if she were self-conscious. “Do you need my help with something?”

  “No, I was just passing by. I couldn’t sleep and I was about to head to the kitchen to…” Feeling like she was babbling, Laramie allowed her voice to trail off. “It’s not important. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  She turned to leave, but Anastasia’s voice drew her back.

  “Is no bother. Would you like to come inside for few minutes, or would we get into trouble for breaking curfew?”

  Laramie laughed. Even though the joke was at her expense, the jibe seemed playful rather than malicious. She followed Anastasia into the room.

  “I didn’t know you had such a sense of humor.”

  Anastasia closed the door behind them. “There are many things you do not know about me.”

  Suddenly, Laramie wanted to know everything. “Such as?” she asked, taking a seat on the storage bench at the foot of the bed.

  “Such as I have new appreciation for poetry.”

  Anastasia picked up
a book resting on the nightstand. Laramie recognized it as the tome Vladimir had given Anastasia earlier. She couldn’t read the title, though, because the words were printed in Cyrillic. “What’s that?”

  Anastasia ran a finger along the book’s spine. “The collected poems of Lord Byron. Vladimir thought book would appeal to me.”

  “Does it?”

  Anastasia blushed and looked away. “Very much.”

  “Read it to me.”

  “All of it?”

  Anastasia sounded so shocked Laramie couldn’t help but laugh again. “Not the whole book. Pick one of your favorite poems and read it to me. In Russian, not in English.”

  Anastasia looked at her quizzically. “Why? Is my English not good enough? I know I am out of practice. I do not get to use it every day. I will try to do better.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re doing fine. Your English is much better than my Russian, that’s for sure.”

  Laramie had never been very good at expressing her feelings, especially when she was put on the spot. Like her father, she preferred to leave things unsaid. They didn’t need words as long as their intentions were understood. She couldn’t do that here. Not with both language and cultural barriers in the way.

  “You seem different when you’re speaking your own language,” she said. “More relaxed. More at ease. I don’t know. More you.”

  She recalled how laid-back Anastasia had appeared when she was with Mischa, and how tense she often seemed around her. She and Anastasia were strangers, yes, but Anastasia and Elena were strangers, too, and they already seemed to have attained a level of comfort she and Anastasia had yet to reach.

  She leaned closer, drawn to Anastasia in a way she couldn’t begin to explain. Attraction certainly had something to do with it, but desire only skimmed the surface of what she was feeling. She wanted more. More of what she knew she couldn’t have.

  “Let me see you, Ana. The real you. Just for a little while. Please?”

  Anastasia was struck. She and Laramie had found themselves in several intimate situations in the short time they had known each other—first in Moscow and now here—but Laramie had never addressed her in such a familiar way. She had never called her Ana before. The longing she heard in Laramie’s voice pierced her heart like an arrow.

  She wanted to go to her. Caress her face. Stroke her hair. Take her in her arms and feel the strength exuding from her tight, firm body. But she couldn’t. Not when there was so much at stake. Laramie had her family to think of, and she had Mischa.

  I hope he appreciates the sacrifice I’m making for him.

  She opened the book, found the poem that had quickly become her favorite, and began to read. What would Laramie do if she knew the poem made Anastasia think of her? Would she smile and say, “Thank you, ma’am,” in that strange accent of hers, or would she forget words and let her actions speak for themselves?

  She could feel Laramie’s eyes on her as she recited the words. She couldn’t meet Laramie’s gaze. If she did, she knew she would lose her resolve and do something they might both regret. Not tonight. But tomorrow and all the days that followed.

  “That was beautiful,” Laramie said when she was done.

  Anastasia closed the book. “Did you understand a single word I said?”

  “No, but I didn’t have to.” Laramie’s face was filled with emotion. Her eyes glistened as if the poem had touched her as deeply as it had affected Anastasia the first time she’d heard it. “Can we do this again sometime?”

  Anastasia told herself to say no, but when she opened her mouth, something entirely different came out. “Of course.” She walked Laramie to the door. “Come see me next time you have trouble sleeping. You will be so bored you will not be able to keep eyes open.”

  And I won’t be able to keep my eyes off you.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Yevgeny was a no-show at breakfast. The missing bottle of vodka provided a probable reason why. If he had polished off the rest of it, chances were good he was nursing a monster of a hangover. Laramie had felt like crap for hours after drinking four shots of vodka. If Yevgeny had downed half a bottle of the stuff, he might be out of commission for a whole lot longer.

  The mood, she observed, was noticeably lighter without him. Despite the early hour, everyone laughed and joked with one another as they ate the “typical American breakfast” Elena had prepared: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and a heaping platter of hand-cut breakfast potatoes.

  Elena said something, then looked at Laramie expectantly. Laramie turned to Anastasia to find out what Elena had said. Anastasia’s hair was still wet from the shower. They had taken turns using the bathroom that morning. At Anastasia’s insistence, Laramie had showered first. Anastasia had claimed it took her longer to get ready and she didn’t want Laramie to sit around waiting for her to finish her preparations, but Laramie suspected she had simply wanted a few extra minutes of sleep. The nap must have done her good because, like the ranch hands, Anastasia looked eager to face the day.

  “She researched American food on internet,” Anastasia said, reaching for another fresh-baked biscuit. “She wants to know if she got it right.”

  “It’s perfect. Thank you, Elena.”

  “All that’s missing is some ketchup,” Shorty said. He typically covered his potatoes and eggs in so much of his preferred condiment his plate looked like a crime scene by the time he finished eating.

  “She says she will remember that for next time. Will you need some when she prepares steak, too?”

  Shorty looked at Elena and Anastasia like each of them had just said something bad about his mama. “No, ma’am,” he said firmly. “A good piece of beef don’t require no adornment. It’s plenty flavorful on its own.”

  Elena’s reply drew laughs from Andrei, Ivan, Fyodor, and Vladimir. Even Anastasia was forced to hide her smile when she said, “In that case, she will be sure to have plenty of ketchup on hand.”

  “Is good beef that hard to find around here?” Laramie asked.

  “Not if you can afford to pay for it,” Anastasia said. “Best beef is imported, which costs more. Elena is reluctant to buy from local producers because she does not want Sergei to think she favors his competitors over him.”

  Laramie decided to have a case of steaks shipped from her family’s ranch so her new co-workers could taste what they were missing.

  “Ivan asks if you have brother,” Anastasia said. “I told him yes. He would like to know if brother is older or younger than you.”

  “Trey is four years older than I am.” Old enough to know better than to perform most of the stunts he pulled but too young to care about the consequences if they went wrong.

  “If brother is older, why are you here instead of him?”

  Laramie wasn’t offended by Ivan’s question because his query seemed to have more to do with her age than her gender. The ranch hands were older than she had anticipated. Aside from Fyodor, who was in his mid thirties, the rest of the staff, Yevgeny and Elena included, were well over forty. She and Anastasia were the youngest ones here. She wasn’t used to being the baby of the bunch. Not when Wyoming was crawling with high school and college kids dying to be shown the ropes.

  “Unless you want to learn how to ride bulls rather than take care of them, you’re better off working with me than my brother.”

  “Your brother does rodeo?” Anastasia asked.

  “He did before he got hurt. His career’s on hold until he heals up.”

  “Do you ride bulls, too?”

  “No, I used to barrel race every once in a while, but I haven’t competed since Trey got hurt.”

  “Does that mean your career is…on hold, too?”

  “For me, barrel racing is a pastime, not an occupation. I’m not cut out to travel the circuit for weeks and months at a time. I’m more of a homebody.” She explained the term in case Anastasia didn’t know what it meant. “I prefer to stay in one place rather than roam the countryside.”

 
; “I would like to watch you compete.”

  Laramie felt a surge of excitement at the idea of winning an event while Anastasia looked on. She wanted to see the expression on Anastasia’s face while she showed off her skills. She wanted to feel how Trey felt each time some groupie screamed his name. She always seemed to perform better when someone she cared about was in the audience. Had Anastasia become one of those people?

  “You’ll have to come to Wyoming sometime. We would be happy to have you.”

  “Perhaps Miss Elena could accompany you,” Shorty said, joining the conversation. “There’s plenty of room on the ranch for visitors. Especially pretty ones like you two.”

  Elena smacked Shorty on his shoulder as she passed by him on her way to the kitchen.

  “She says you should get to work instead of sitting at her table telling lies,” Anastasia said.

  Shorty wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed the soiled cloth on his empty plate. “We do have a long day ahead of us. I can’t deny that. We need to start shoring up the fence before half the herd makes a break for Moscow. Where do you fellas get your wood from? I’m assuming there ain’t no Lowe’s or Home Depot around here.”

  Anastasia translated Fyodor’s response. “There is lumber mill about twenty kilometers away. They have all kinds of wood. Oak, pecan, walnut. Quality products, but not too expensive.”

  “Now you’re talking my language. I took some measurements yesterday so I have a ballpark idea of how much wood we’ll need for slats and posts. Does he know where we can find barbed wire and nails?”

  Fyodor nodded fervently after Anastasia relayed the question.

  “Then you’re my new best friend, Freddy.”

  Fyodor placed a hand on his chest and slowly said his name. “Fyodor. My name is Fyodor,” he said in halting English.

  Shorty waved a hand. “Fyodor. Freddy. Close enough.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Ivan asked.