“And where will he sleep? With you?”
“No.”
Anastasia realized she had said the word more sharply than she had intended because Elena gave her a strange look. Even though she and Mischa would have to keep up the pretense of being lovers during his visit, she didn’t want to do it at the expense of moments like the one she had shared with Laramie last night.
She and Laramie couldn’t be alone if Mischa was crowded in the room. They couldn’t be as open. As intimate. She would feel self-conscious having him there, watching her dance an awkward tango between lust and loyalty.
“My bed is barely big enough for me,” she said, trying to offer a plausible explanation. “Mischa would never fit.”
Elena flashed a conspiratorial smile and returned her attention to the steaming pots on the stovetop. “He shouldn’t need much room if he’s on top of you. I know many things have changed over the years, but some things remain the same.”
“As you said before, it’s been a while since you were on the market. You would be amazed how many new techniques there are.”
Elena’s muscles flexed as she stirred the large pot of porridge. “I’ll leave the new techniques to young people like you. If I ever give that foolishness another chance, I will stick to what I know best.”
“I’m sure Shorty will appreciate it, no matter what you do.”
Elena banged the lid on the pot of pelmeni. “Don’t start that nonsense again. He seems to be a nice man, but I barely know him.” A look of regret washed over Elena’s face. “We don’t even speak the same language.”
“Tongues weren’t made only for speaking, you know. They can be used in a wide variety of ways. Would you like me to show you some of them?”
Elena frowned. “Be careful before someone hears you talking like that. You don’t want anyone getting ideas about you, do you?”
The lightness Anastasia had felt all afternoon grew heavy. She mentally chided herself for feeling too comfortable around Elena. Elena was straight and had lived in small, conservative towns all her life. Anastasia should have known she would be able to push a risqué conversation with her only so far before she found resistance.
“What kind of ideas?”
She knew what Elena was hinting at, but she wanted—needed—to hear her say it.
Elena turned away as if she couldn’t bear to look at her as she said the words. “Ideas that you might be interested in women as well as men.”
Anastasia pressed her lips together to remind herself to phrase her response carefully. “I can assure you I am only interested in one of the two.”
Elena sighed in obvious relief. “That’s good to hear, but you know how people talk. Yevgeny’s already whispering about…” She jerked her head in the direction of Laramie’s room.
Anastasia felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. Anxiety began to eat away at her. “What is he saying about her?”
“A woman who’s strong, good with her hands, and can do a man’s job just as well as if not better than he can? What do you think he’s saying?”
The van keys rattled as Anastasia’s hands started to shake. “Do you believe him?” she asked, tightening her grip to muffle the sound.
“She is not my daughter, so I do not care one way or the other.”
“And if she were your daughter?”
As Elena gave the question some thought, Anastasia hoped to hear her say she wouldn’t care who Laramie slept with as long as the person made her happy.
“I would still love her, of course,” Elena said without seeming to mean it, “but I would make sure she knew I did not approve of her choices. Laws exist for a reason.”
Anastasia clenched her hands into fists as if she were preparing for a fight. “Laws should exist to punish criminals, not prevent two people from loving each other.”
“Why are you getting so upset? You’re straight. You have a boyfriend. It’s not like you’re one of them.”
But I am.
The words resounded in Anastasia’s head and her heart, but she couldn’t force herself to say them out loud. Elena’s opinion of her mattered, and she didn’t want it to change. She didn’t want to lose the acceptance that had been so readily given. Even if, as she knew now, Elena’s acceptance was based on the idea of her being something she wasn’t.
“Are you ready to go?”
Laramie’s voice startled her. She was so happy to hear it, she almost ran for the door.
“Yes, please.”
“Did I interrupt something?” Laramie asked as they walked to the van. “You and Elena seemed to be in the middle of a rather serious conversation.”
Anastasia climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She waited until Laramie buckled herself in the passenger seat before she said, “Yevgeny told Elena he thinks you are a lesbian and she does not like it.”
Laramie propped her arm in the open window like she didn’t have a care in the world. “Which part? The fact that Yevgeny is talking about me behind my back, or the fact that I’m a lesbian?”
Anastasia eased the van through the front gate and turned onto the main road. “Does it matter?”
“No, because I can’t control either one. People are going to say whatever they want to say about me, and there’s nothing I can do about it except continue to live my life the best way I know how. If Elena or anyone else has questions they want to ask, they know where to find me. But if you’re expecting me to gather everyone together, stand in front of them, and make some dramatic coming-out speech, don’t. Because that’s not going to happen. Not now. Not ever.”
“Don’t you want people to know who you are?”
“When people look at me, I want them to see a person who lives her life with honor and integrity. Who I sleep with is my business, not theirs.”
A sharp pang of disappointment pierced Anastasia’s heart. “I thought you were out and proud.”
“I am, but we apparently have different interpretations of the concept.”
Anastasia dragged her eyes away from Laramie’s face so she could focus on the rutted road.
“I would love to trade places with you for just one day. You have ability to walk down street holding lover’s hand without having to worry about who might see you. You can kiss her without fear of being arrested. If I want to show affection to woman I love, I must hide behind closed doors like I am doing something wrong. You have everything I want—everything I am fighting for—and it means nothing to you. How can you let such valuable opportunity go to waste?”
“Because being gay is only part of who I am,” Laramie said. “I’m a woman. I’m a rancher. I’m a daughter. I’m a sister. And, yes, I’m a lesbian. Despite what you might think, I’ve never shied away from any of those labels. Why are we arguing about this anyway? You’re the one who shot me down before I could even think of making a move on you. Why should I put myself at risk when you’re not willing to do the same?”
“I am activist. I put myself at risk every day. I cannot count number of protests I have planned, marches I have participated in, or flyers I have disseminated. I have been arrested. I have lost jobs. I have even lost some friends. But, still, I keep going. I keep fighting for what is right, no matter how steep the cost.”
“I applaud you for your efforts, but what have you really accomplished if you’re still living a lie?”
Anastasia wanted to counter Laramie’s argument, but she couldn’t. Most people thought Mischa was her boyfriend, and she did her part to continue the ruse. Only those she trusted most knew the truth. Most of them were in the closet, too, hiding their true selves for fear they would be ostracized or reported to the authorities. The few who were out had paid the price for their bravery. A price she didn’t have to pay as long as she had Mischa at her side.
“I guess you and I are not so different after all.”
She took Laramie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Laramie briefly returned the pressure, then let go. Anastasia immediately miss
ed the contact.
They drove in silence for a while before Laramie said, “I’m thinking of making a change.”
“Another one?”
“Yes, another one.” The mood had been so dark for most of the ride, Anastasia was glad to see Laramie smiling again. “This one, I think everyone will like.”
“What is it?”
“I want to turn Sunday into family day. We’ll still have chores to take care of, but everyone can invite their families to the ranch for lunch.”
“Family day is good idea. I am sure the men would love to spend time with their wives and children—to show them around ranch and let them see what they do for work every day—but Elena’s family is too far away to make the journey.”
“Tell her anyway. Maybe they’ll decide to surprise her one weekend. I’d like to meet her family. I’d love to see if she inherited her height from her mother or her father. Does she have brothers and sisters? Do they look alike, or, like me and Trey, are they as different from one another as night and day? I’m curious about everyone else’s family, too.”
“So am I. I can’t wait to see what poor devil has agreed to spend the rest of her life with Yevgeny.”
“If the steaks I ordered arrive in time, we can fire up the grill and have a cookout this Sunday. Do you like your steaks underdone, overdone, or done done?”
“There is difference?”
Laramie looked at her as if she had said the sky was green instead of blue.
“Stick with me, Ana. There are so many things I need to teach you.”
And Anastasia couldn’t wait to learn.
Chapter Eighteen
At the train station, Anastasia parked the van and shut off the engine. She waved when she saw Mischa standing on the crowded platform. Laramie almost didn’t recognize him because he was dressed much differently than the last time she had seen him.
His makeup was gone. So were the sequined T-shirt and brightly colored jeans. Instead, he was wearing a brown cardigan, matching corduroy pants, and a white dress shirt. He looked conservative but uncomfortable. His personality seemed different, too. Muted as opposed to outgoing. To say he wasn’t himself was an understatement.
His dour expression changed as soon as Anastasia jumped out of the van and ran toward him. Smiling broadly, he dropped his bags and wrapped her in a huge bear hug as if he hadn’t seen her in months rather than a few days.
Laramie could sense the genuine affection they had for each other. No wonder it was so easy for them to convince people they were lovers.
They kissed each other on both cheeks, then walked toward her arm in arm. As they approached her, Laramie idly wondered if their close friendship would be a help or a hindrance if one of them met someone else. The person they fell for would undoubtedly find themselves in a relationship with not only their lover but their lover’s best friend as well.
“Whoever it is, I hope they like threesomes.”
None of the women she had been involved with had ever been forced to compete for her attention. Not with her friends anyway. The long hours she put in on the ranch had often gotten in the way, preventing her from establishing relationships that were more than superficial. She had gotten close once, but it hadn’t panned out.
She and Claire Snowden had grown up together. Their families knew each other and they shared the same ideals. It was perfect. Laramie had pictured them settling down together one day, either on her family’s ranch or on a place of their own. Except Claire had different aspirations. She didn’t want to watch the sun set over the mountains. She wanted to move to California and watch the waves roll in on the beach. She had no concrete plans about what she would do for a living once she got there, but she didn’t care as long as she didn’t have to be a rancher’s wife. She had said the words as if the job was the worst thing in the world, but Laramie couldn’t think of anything better. Her mother was the best woman she had ever known and she would consider herself truly blessed if she could find someone with half as much intelligence, backbone, and tenderness.
Claire had asked Laramie to move to San Diego with her, but Laramie had declined. The beach was a nice place to visit, but she didn’t want to live there. She preferred the prairie. She needed the wide open spaces. Big cities made her feel trapped. Hemmed in. Exactly how Claire had felt before she left Broken Branch.
The two of them had stayed in touch for a while, then Claire had fallen for a woman she had met on the way to her favorite yoga studio one day. Since then, their conversations had been few and far between. Laramie missed her every once in a while, but Claire had a new life now. The life she had always wanted. Laramie was already living hers. One day, perhaps she would be able to meet someone she could share it with. Until then, she could only keep doing what she was doing: working to secure her and her family’s future.
“It is good to see you again.” Mischa spoke hesitantly, but his handshake was firm.
“You, too. Did Anastasia tell you what we need you to do?”
“Yes, she said you need me to look over books and let you know if I find any abnormals.”
“Abnormalities,” Anastasia said, gently correcting his mistake.
Mischa placed a hand over his lips apologetically. “So sorry for my English. Ana speaks it much better than I do.”
“Sometimes, I think she speaks it better than me, too.” Laramie played up the country bumpkin angle to make him feel better. When she saw him relax a bit, she returned to the subject at hand. “Does Duke normally give his business managers such free rein?”
“Yes, he owns so many companies he must delegate day-to-day responsibilities to other people. His accountants audit bank statements to make sure there are no unusual expenses.”
“I told him ranch accountant quit seven months ago and Yevgeny has been in charge of books since then,” Anastasia said.
“A business associate originally recommended Yevgeny for job,” Mischa said. “According to friend I know in Uncle Sergei’s office, Yevgeny has kept costs low and there have been no complaints.”
“The men are too afraid to speak out against him,” Anastasia said. “They do not want to draw attention to themselves and lose jobs.”
Laramie noticed Anastasia and Mischa share a look that hinted they’d had a similar conversation themselves.
“Perhaps Uncle Sergei trusted Yevgeny more than he should.”
“Perhaps,” Laramie said.
In business, as in life, trust went only so far.
“What would you like me to do if I find something out of order?” Mischa asked. “Should I tell you or my uncle?”
“It’s Duke’s money. If some of it’s missing, he deserves to be the first to know. Just between you and me, though, I wouldn’t mind being a close second.”
“I will do my best.”
Laramie hoped his best would be good enough to uncover whatever it was Yevgeny was trying so desperately to keep under wraps. Then she could discover if the truth was better or worse than she had imagined.
* * *
When they reached the van, Laramie climbed in the back and ceded the seat next to Anastasia to Mischa.
“Why is she sitting back there?” Mischa asked in Russian. “Did you two have a fight before I arrived?”
Anastasia smiled to herself as she noticed Laramie had made a point of sitting in the very back of the van, leaving the other two rows of seats empty.
“No, she lost a bet.”
“What kind of bet?”
As she drove back to the ranch, Anastasia told him about the race she had won that afternoon. She also filled him in on everything that had happened since she had arrived. Almost everything. She told him about the book Vladimir had let her borrow, but she didn’t tell him she had read one of the poems to Laramie. It wasn’t like her to keep secrets from him, but some memories were too precious to share. This one she would treasure like a flower pressed between the pages of a scrapbook, returning to it time and time again even as the once-vibrant color
s began to fade.
“You’ve had more adventures in a few days than I’ve had all year,” Mischa said. “And you thought this job was going to be boring.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Now I almost wish I had taken it.”
“You wouldn’t like it. All of the ranch hands are straight, and none of them is your type.”
“Aw, I was looking forward to sneaking off to the bunkhouse with a strapping cowboy while I was here.”
“Ivan looks like a cross between Dolph Lundgren and Jean-Claude Van Damme without the muscles and spray-on tan. Is that close enough?”
“Only if his bank account looks like theirs, too. It looks like you get to have all the fun.” He took a quick glance behind him. “Does she mind us speaking Russian? I don’t want her to feel like we’re intentionally excluding her from the conversation.”
Anastasia took a peek in the rearview mirror. Seemingly impervious to the lingering smell of manure, Laramie was staring out the window with a peaceful look on her face.
“She’s fine.”
Mischa shifted his weight and turned toward her. “Then tell me what it’s really like working for her. Is she as tough as she looks? I’ll bet she can be really mean when she loses her temper. She reminds me of a teacher I once had in school. When she was having a bad day, she would take it out on everyone. We could tell what kind of mood she was in just by the way she greeted us when we walked into the room. If she said ‘good morning,’ it was going to be a good day. If she stared at us without saying anything, we knew we would be in for it.”
“She’s tried really hard not to lose her temper. I haven’t seen her go off on anyone yet, though I’m sure Yevgeny has tempted her a time or two. She gets her point across without yelling.”
“How is she as a trainer?”
“I thought she would be a stern taskmaster, especially when she started making all sorts of changes no one was expecting, but she isn’t like that at all. She shows people how a job should be done, then gives them a chance to do it. If they mess up, she lets them try again until they get it right. She’s so encouraging, you find yourself wanting to do anything you can to please her.”
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