Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  She laughed to herself. Even when she tried to occupy her mind with other things, it kept coming back to sex. She didn’t dare look at Anastasia. If she did, she knew the moonstruck expression on her face would surely give them away. If she didn’t spontaneously combust beforehand.

  She felt even giddier than she had before she won her first barrel racing competition. She had come close to taking a win before she finally earned her maiden first place ribbon so she’d known she had it in her to eventually come out on top. Thanks to the oppressive laws governing the society in which she now found herself, she had feared this night would never come. Now it was only a few minutes away.

  “Elena says she has never seen you smile this much,” Anastasia said. “She would like to know what has caused you such happiness.”

  Ignoring the knowing smile tugging at the corners of Anastasia’s mouth, Laramie turned to Elena and said, “I received an updated tracking notification for the steaks I ordered. The shipment should arrive tomorrow. I’ll marinate them overnight so they’ll be perfect for Sunday.”

  “She says she is looking forward to watching someone else cook for a change. Would you like to borrow her apron?”

  “Tell her to ask Shorty. He’s going to be the one manning the grill.”

  Elena’s laugh offered a hint that her reply was a comment about Shorty’s relative lack of height. Anastasia’s translation confirmed it. “She says apron will not fit, but he is welcome to try on for size.”

  Instead of flying off the handle like he normally did when someone kidded him about his stature, Shorty took the joke in stride. “She’ll be singing a different tune after she tastes my meat on Sunday.”

  “Forgive me, but you are gentleman, yes?” Anastasia said. “Comment sounds more…sexual than you might have meant. Would you like me to tell her you said size does not matter?”

  “Hell, no. I don’t mean to offend her, but I sure as shooting don’t want her to think I’m coming up short in other ways, too.”

  “What would you like me to say?”

  “Tell her thank you kindly for the offer, but I should be able to manage just fine.”

  “Spasibo,” Elena said. “No burn steak. Like mine rare.”

  “Don’t you worry. This ain’t my first barbecue.” He speared a piece of chicken with his fork. “She’s really starting to pick up the lingo. I’d better up my game, too. Miss Ana, I would be much obliged if you could teach me a word or two here and there.”

  “I would be happy to. As long as you invite me to wedding.”

  “Let’s not go getting ahead of ourselves. I ain’t even asked the question yet.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Well, now, I think that’s a subject that needs to be discussed between me and her. When the time comes, of course.” Shorty cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Are Duke’s IT people any closer to cracking the password on Yevgeny’s laptop?”

  “Program is still running. Technician says he is making progress. Mischa asked technician to text him if he discovers password so he can return early from date—I mean dinner.”

  Anastasia looked stricken. She visibly relaxed when she saw Vladimir, the only ranch hand who spoke English, was too caught up in his conversation with Fyodor to have noticed her faux pas.

  “Tell Mischa to take his time,” Laramie said with studied calm. “I’ll keep an eye on things while he’s gone.”

  When she wiped her mouth on her napkin and pushed her chair away from the table, Anastasia followed her lead.

  “I will go with you. If technician is successful, you will need me to translate what is in files.”

  “Can’t it wait until morning?” Shorty asked. “The boys and I were hoping you’d pick out a few more tunes tonight. A watched pot never boils, you know.”

  Perhaps not, but Laramie could feel the water in hers starting to heat up.

  “Maybe tomorrow. I’ll let Andrei do the honors tonight.”

  Anastasia went over to him and whispered something in his ear. He beamed when she nodded at his whispered reply.

  “What did you say to him?” Laramie asked after Anastasia joined her at the foot of the stairs.

  “I teach him how to say, ‘May I have this dance?’ in Russian. Perhaps you are not only one who will be getting lucky tonight.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  * * *

  Anastasia trailed Laramie up the stairs. Laramie’s ass looked so good in the tight jeans she favored that Anastasia was tempted to reach up and give it a squeeze.

  When they reached the office, Anastasia closed the door and locked it behind her. She doubted anyone would pay them an unexpected visit tonight, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

  She took a quick look at the laptop to see if Sergei’s IT guy had finally broken into it. Even though she longed to see the files stored on the laptop, she was grateful to see the display was still stuck on the password screen.

  “Now what?” Laramie asked.

  “Now we do what really came here for.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Laramie pointed at Anastasia’s empty hands. “You forgot the rope.”

  “Would have raised too many questions if I brought rope inside.” Anastasia gripped Laramie’s shirt with both hands and backed her against the wall. “Besides, I want you to be able to use hands.”

  Laramie flashed a lazy smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She slid her hands into Anastasia’s back pockets and pulled her closer. Loosening her grip, Anastasia flattened her hands and placed them on Laramie’s chest. Then she slowly slid them down until they rested on the rise of Laramie’s breasts. As Laramie’s breath quickened, Anastasia stared at the rise and fall of her chest.

  Laramie put her finger under Anastasia’s chin and slowly tilted her head up. “My eyes are up here.”

  “Those are beautiful, too.”

  Anastasia could feel Laramie’s hardened nipples poking against her palms. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Laramie parted her lips and bent to kiss her.

  When their lips met, Anastasia forgot how to breathe. All she could do was feel. Laramie’s hands on her ass. Laramie’s tongue in her mouth. Laramie’s body pressed against hers.

  Laramie gasped when she broke the kiss. “Why did you stop?”

  “Because you are wearing far too many clothes.”

  She unbuttoned Laramie’s shirt and pushed it over her shoulders. Though the room was warm, goose bumps formed on Laramie’s skin as Anastasia slowly trailed her fingertips down her arms.

  Laramie held her arms over her head to allow Anastasia to remove her undershirt. Anastasia reached for her belt next.

  “Wait,” Laramie said when Anastasia started to unzip her jeans. “Let me make this easier for you. Now,” she said after she kicked off her boots, “where were we?”

  Anastasia pushed Laramie’s jeans down and waited for her to step out of them. Laramie stood before her clad in only her sports bra, socks, and boxer briefs.

  “Better?” Laramie asked.

  “You tell me.”

  Anastasia parted the fly of Laramie’s boxer briefs and slipped her hand inside. Laramie’s eyes darkened as Anastasia cupped her mound in the palm of her hand. Laramie’s clit was hard and she was so wet Anastasia could tell she was already close to coming.

  Anastasia wanted to go slow, but she couldn’t afford to take the chance. Mischa could return from town unexpectedly, and either Elena or the ranch hands could come upon them at any moment.

  Laramie groaned deep in her throat when Anastasia began to massage her clit. Undulating her hips, she began to move against Anastasia’s hand. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed.

  “I go inside you?” Anastasia asked.

  Laramie’s reply came through gritted teeth. “God, yes.”

  Anastasia slid her fingers between Laramie’s folds and slowly entered her. The sound Laramie made was just short of a primal scream.


  “Kiss me,” Laramie said. “Or pretty soon everyone’s gonna come runnin’.”

  “Only person I want to come is you.”

  “Keep that up and you’ll get your wish.”

  Anastasia pinched one of Laramie’s erect nipples. Before Laramie could cry out again, she covered Laramie’s mouth with her own.

  Laramie groaned again and pulled her closer. Laramie was trembling from head to toe. Anastasia could feel her nearing the edge. Desperate to take her there, she increased her pace.

  “Oh, Jesus, I’m about to—”

  Laramie squeezed her eyes shut and arched her back. Her head bounced off the wall, but she didn’t seem to feel the pain.

  Anastasia could feel Laramie’s smooth muscles gripping her fingers, pulling her deeper. She kissed her until the spasms subsided. Until Laramie’s rapid breathing gradually returned to normal.

  “That was amazing,” Laramie said. “Now it’s my turn.”

  Laramie led her to the leather couch and knelt before her. She unzipped Anastasia’s jeans and hooked her thumbs inside Anastasia’s underwear. Anastasia lifted her hips, allowing Laramie to drag her jeans and boy shorts down to her ankles.

  Laramie pulled Anastasia to the edge of the couch and closed her mouth around her clit. Now it was Anastasia’s turn to cry out. She buried her hands in Laramie’s hair, holding her in place. She needed her to remain exactly where she was: at the center of her need.

  Laramie varied her pace. Picking up speed. Slowing down. Bringing her to the precipice. Then pulling her back. Anastasia felt like she was on the ultimate roller coaster. She lay back and enjoyed the ride.

  When it was over, her body was spent, but her heart was full.

  “I have been dreaming about this since I met you,” she said, finger-combing Laramie’s tousled hair. “Is even better than I imagined.”

  Laramie rested her head in Anastasia’s lap. “Ditto.”

  Anastasia heaved a contented sigh as she stroked Laramie’s back and shoulders.

  “Did you bring the book?” Laramie asked.

  “I don’t need it.”

  Anastasia recited her favorite poem from memory. Laramie lifted her head when she was done.

  “One day, you’re gonna have to tell me what the words mean.”

  “I can tell you now. They mean that I—”

  She stopped speaking when she heard Yevgeny’s laptop emit a series of electronic chimes. She looked up and saw dozens of icons displayed on the monitor.

  “Hold that thought,” Laramie said. “We’re in.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Laramie took the steaks out of the refrigerator and carried them outside so they could start coming up to temperature before Shorty placed them on the grill. When the case of boneless rib eyes arrived yesterday, Andrei had requested an opportunity to inspect the contents.

  “Good marbling,” he had said, running a finger over one of the plastic-wrapped cuts. “Looks tender. Like it will practically melt in mouth.”

  Anastasia had blushed a bit as she translated the last sentence. Laramie had avoided looking her in the eye so she wouldn’t devolve into a fit of giggles.

  She had been deliriously happy since she and Anastasia had made love. She tried not to let it show, but the feelings welling up inside her were almost impossible to hide.

  “Tell him that’s what we’re aiming for,” she had said, trying to keep her mind on business. “If we get there, we’ll be able to corner the market in this part of the world.”

  “He asks if you truly believe we can compete with Khachanov brothers or if you are simply trying to make him feel good,” Anastasia had said.

  “Tell him I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”

  Anastasia had fixed her with a gaze that was unmistakable in its intentions. “I will keep that in mind, especially considering things you said to me last night.”

  Two little-used picnic tables had been brought out of storage, given fresh coats of paint, and put into use for today’s get-together. While Mischa and Pavel spread linen cloths on the tables, Anastasia followed behind them, positioning napkins and silverware at each place setting.

  Laramie watched her work. She could still feel her. She could still taste her. And, oh, how she wanted more.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to borrow one of Elena’s aprons, Shorty?” she asked as she set the tray of marinated steaks on the expansive work area next to the grill.

  “Don’t start,” he growled as he held a hand over the grates to check the temperature of the coals. With a nod of satisfaction, he closed the lid so the briquettes could retain their heat. “You missed a real good shindig last night. The boys did a folk dance. You know the one where they fold their arms, squat like they’re about to let one rip, and kick their legs out like they’re trying to get up but can’t?”

  “It’s called the Cossack dance. I’ve seen it on TV a time or two. I was tempted to try it once, but I didn’t want to blow out my knees.”

  “I didn’t think Vlad and Ivan were going to be able to pull it off either, but they managed it somehow.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “You don’t look too broken up about it.” Shorty took a long look at her. “You don’t have to bother telling me why. It’s plum written all over your face.”

  Laramie had always been honest with him so she didn’t opt to change their dynamic now. “You don’t expect me to apologize, do you?”

  “Of course not. I just want you to tell me you’re happy and promise me you’ll be careful. I’ll do everything I can to protect you—same as I always have—but we both know this ain’t Wyoming. The rules are different here.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Thanks for agreeing with me, but I’m still waiting for you to tell me what I need to hear.”

  “Yes, I’m happy, and yes, I’ll be careful.”

  “Good. I know we ain’t blood kin, but you’ve always been like family to me. Not to mention your parents would never speak to me again if I let anything happen to you.”

  “I’ll try not to give you cause for concern.”

  “You best not. Otherwise, you’ll have me to answer to, and neither of us wants that.”

  “No, we don’t.” At times, Shorty had been harder on her than either of her parents had. She was grateful for his tutelage. She wouldn’t be where she was now without it. “Aside from the floor show, how was your night? Did you and Elena cut another rug?”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it.” In fact, he sounded almost wistful. “Did something happen?”

  Shorty looked across the yard. Elena and her two sisters sat at one of the picnic tables, chatting happily while they nursed cans of soda. One was two years older than Elena, the other five years younger. Despite the disparity in their ages, the three looked so similar they could have passed for triplets.

  “You can tell a lot about a woman by the way she dances,” Shorty said as if lost in thought. “How she moves. How she holds herself.”

  “What did you learn from Elena by dancing with her?”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t learn a consarned thing.” He poked one of the steaks with a two-pronged fork so the marinade could seep into the meat. “She seemed like she was enjoying herself, but she didn’t want to enjoy herself too much.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s like she’s holding something back. Like she’s afraid of something. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she’s so skittish.”

  “Maybe she’s been hurt before and she doesn’t want to take a chance on getting hurt again. Maybe she thinks you’re just looking for a little fun.”

  “I’m not the love ’em and leave ’em type.”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t.” She tapped the back of her hand against his chest. “Have you thought about telling her so?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t speak the same langu
age. And I’m not about to ask Anastasia to translate that for me. When it comes to matters of the heart, some things you have to say for yourself.”

  Elena looked over at them and said something to her sisters. All three burst into raucous laughter and simultaneously turned away.

  “I tell you one thing, though,” Shorty said. “I’m gonna keep knocking on that door until she lets me in. ’Cause that tall drink of water—”

  “Makes a man a mite thirsty. You’ve said that before.”

  “I thought it was a sentiment that bore repeating.”

  Duke strolled over to them. He was wearing the same designer boots he had sported during their meeting in Moscow. Today, though, he had paired them with a colorful Western-style shirt and a pair of crisply ironed jeans instead of a tracksuit. He looked more like a rodeo cowboy than a rodeo clown. Laramie liked the change.

  “May I talk to you for a moment?” he asked with no hint of his usual bombast. “In private.”

  “Sure.”

  Curious, she followed him a few steps away.

  “I am told you do not like being center of attention, so I will not mention you in speech when I address workers. When I hired you to be trainer, I did not expect you to become my savior as well.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “No, is true. You saved my pork.”

  “I did what? Oh, you mean I saved your bacon.”

  “Yes, that is what I said. Bacon is pork. You saved my pork. Thanks to records you found on computer, my people managed to track down Yevgeny about an hour ago. He had trashed van and spent some of money, but we convinced him to return rest and repay what he owes.”

  Laramie didn’t ask what methods had been used to persuade Yevgeny to make restitution. “So he was in Siberia after all.”

  The laptop had contained several stored internet searches focused on the area.

  “Yes, we caught him while he was lying on beach working on tan.”

  “I thought Siberia was a place people were sent for punishment, not a destination they sought for pleasure.”

  “Is true weather is quite bad in winter. In summer, is very popular resort area. But enough about Yevgeny. He is old news. I am ready to move on to new and better things. I was hoping I would be able to do such things with you.”