“No, I already have plans.”
“What kind of plans?” Duke asked.
His tone suggested that, depending on Anastasia’s answer, he might ask her to make some adjustments to her schedule in order to accommodate his.
“Mischa is throwing farewell party for me.”
“Of course he is.”
Duke wrapped a possessive arm around Anastasia’s shoulders. She seemed to endure rather than enjoy the attention. Did Duke’s nephew have a similarly outsized personality or did he have other qualities that attracted Anastasia’s interest? Laramie couldn’t help wondering what those qualities might be—and if she possessed them.
“Since I will be keeping you and Mischa apart,” Duke said, “I cannot deny him a chance to give you a proper good-bye.” He gave Anastasia a kiss on the top of her head before he freed her from his grip. “You two enjoy yourselves tonight. I will do my best to make sure our guests are entertained.”
Anastasia caught Laramie’s eye on her way to the door. “Enjoy your evening.”
Once again, Laramie was struck by the depth of emotion behind Anastasia’s gaze.
“You, too,” she managed to stammer.
She didn’t know what kind of entertainment Duke had in mind for her and Shorty, but she could easily imagine him taking them on a tour of Moscow’s finest strip clubs. She didn’t want to watch bored dancers gyrating for tips. She planned to spend the first part of the night sitting in her room with her feet up while she devoured a juicy steak and a nice baked potato accompanied by an ice cold beer. She planned to spend the rest of it trying to convince herself she wasn’t the least bit attracted to a woman who was practically part of her new boss’s family.
* * *
Anastasia was disappointed by the turnout. Mischa had invited plenty of women to her farewell party, but she had already slept with most of them. The rest had either failed to spark her interest or rebuffed her advances. Either way, it was plain to see she wasn’t getting laid tonight. Or any time soon, for that matter.
She told herself it was for the best. She didn’t want to revisit the past and she couldn’t afford to invest in something new. Not when she was only a few hours away from catching a plane that would take her far away from everything she knew and everyone she loved.
Godoroye was a beautiful town, but it was also incredibly remote. Anastasia wasn’t counting on Wi-Fi, but she hoped she would at least have a cell phone signal. If not, she’d be stuck trying to hold a meaningful conversation with a bunch of cows whenever she got bored or lonely.
Unless they were trying to get into your pants, most Russian men only talked to other men. The Americans, thousands of miles away from home with only each other to lean on, would probably stick to themselves, leaving Anastasia where she had always been: on her own. She had never minded it in the past. Now it didn’t hold the same appeal. What she had once called independence now felt like something else. Something she couldn’t define. Something she didn’t want to claim.
The kitchen sink had been filled with ice and converted into a makeshift cooler. As she grabbed another bottle of beer from the dwindling supply, Anastasia found herself wondering what Laramie and Shorty were doing tonight. Was Sergei dragging them to all the businesses he owned to show off some of his vast wealth?
She smiled at the thought of the Americans being subjected to one of Sergei’s infamous nights on the town. She hoped he wouldn’t pull any of his usual tricks. If he did, Laramie might never be the same again. Though she was hard to figure out, Anastasia liked her just the way she was. Liked her perhaps a little too much. If they had met under different circumstances, maybe they could have—
“None of that.”
Anastasia stopped her imagination from running wild. She had no place in her life for what-ifs. Only what truly was. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if she should have offered to accompany Laramie and Shorty tonight. Not to translate but to run interference between them and Sergei. Perhaps Laramie had refused his invitation and decided to venture off on her own. A far more likely scenario, in Anastasia’s opinion.
Would Laramie and Shorty be able to communicate, or would they be lucky enough to find someone who spoke English? Restaurants that served international cuisine had English translations on their menus. Most menus in establishments featuring Russian cuisine, however, were printed solely in Cyrillic.
Anastasia imagined Laramie and Shorty wandering into a local restaurant, blindly pointing to something on the menu, then being presented with some exotic dish they had never seen before. She laughed at the thought of Laramie holding her nose while she tried to eat a bowl of sour shchi, cabbage soup made with sauerkraut.
“Lucky for them, burger and pizza sound the same in any language.”
She doubted Laramie would become fluent in Russian while she was here, but Anastasia hoped she would pick up a few words and phrases. Doing so would make Laramie’s job considerably easier. Her attempt to learn the language would alleviate some of the communication issues she would have to face, but the men she had been hired to train would also view it as a sign of respect. Would they, in turn, give Laramie the respect she deserved? Would they be willing to take orders from a woman? Anastasia had her doubts. She had a feeling Laramie might have a few of her own, both about the job and about her.
She still remembered the look on Laramie’s face when Sergei had said Mischa was her boyfriend. A look that was simultaneously shocked, relieved, and disappointed. She had sensed Laramie’s interest in her even before she had caught her checking out her ass, but Laramie’s forlorn expression after Sergei made his big announcement had confirmed her suspicions.
At the time, she had longed to correct Sergei’s statement. She still did, but she was unable to do so. Revealing the truth about her relationship with Mischa—revealing the truth about her—would result in negative ramifications for both of them. She would lose the job she so desperately needed and he, just as certainly, would lose his family.
Mischa was her best friend. More than that. He was like a brother to her. She knew how important each member of his family was to him. His parents. His sister. His aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins. Even though he complained about them from time to time, he loved them all. She could hear it in his voice when he told one of his famously long-winded stories about them. She could see it in his face when he talked to them on the phone.
She couldn’t willingly cost him something he held so dear. No matter what price she had to pay, she would continue to keep his secret—and hers.
She wandered through the apartment she and Mischa shared, stopping every now and then to make small talk with friends she hadn’t seen in a while. Even though she hadn’t officially moved out yet, she felt disconnected. Like she didn’t belong. The feeling was heightened when she discovered two different couples having sex in her bed.
“Great party, huh?” Mischa asked when she returned to the living room and flopped next to him on the couch.
Anastasia felt like the excuse that had brought everyone together, not the reason they were here.
“I should leave every week.”
Mischa visibly brightened at the idea.
“We could make that happen. You can catch the train home every Friday and we’ll throw a party every Sunday before you head back.”
“If it wouldn’t end up costing me a fortune in train fare, I’d do it.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Stop. Don’t make me cry.” He fanned his hands in front of his face. “I’ll ruin my makeup.”
“We can’t have that.”
“Tell me about the Americans.”
“I already told you.”
“I know, but tell me again. The only Americans I’ve ever come across are tourists asking for directions to some landmark or another. Some were nice. Others were rude to me because my English isn’t that great. They thought speaking louder and slower would help me understand them better. Are Shorty
and Laramie nice? Are they like the cowboys in the movies Uncle Sergei’s always watching?”
“Shorty is. He reminds me of the guys who end up playing the sidekick. He knows how to do the job, and he knows what it takes to be a leader, but he prefers to have a secondary role.”
“And Laramie?”
Anastasia considered the question.
“She’s not like anyone I’ve ever seen. The women in those movies always need a man to save them. She doesn’t seem like she needs anyone.”
“Wrong. She needs you.”
“For what? I’ve never ridden to anyone’s rescue.”
“That doesn’t stop you from trying.”
He glanced at one of the marriage equality flyers on the coffee table. Flyers she had helped create and disseminate. She would miss being on the front line of the movement. Perhaps she could continue the fight a different way. And from a distance.
“Laramie already has the right to get married. She doesn’t need me to help her do that.”
“She needs you to help her get her point across. She might know everything there is to know about ranching, but it won’t matter if she can’t find the right words to pass on that knowledge to someone else. That’s where you come in.”
“You’re making my role seem much more important than it is.”
“Am I? Or are you choosing to downplay it because you don’t want to recognize the responsibility you’ve been given?”
The enormity of the situation had started to become clearer to her over the past few hours. As each minute ticked by, she felt the weight on her shoulders grow heavier. The job she had agreed to perform wasn’t the lark she had initially considered it to be. It wasn’t just a chance to make some easy money while she stood around and watched the grass grow. Sergei’s ranch was part of a multimillion-dollar corporation. Laramie would play a vital role in ensuring its success. So, by extension, would she. Any mistake she made could prove costly in more ways than one.
She took a sip of her beer as she weighed her options. It was too late to back out, but did she have what it took to move forward?
“I’ve never been important to anyone except you. I’m not used to having people depend on me. I don’t want to let you down, Mischa. I don’t want to let myself down.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve never seen you want anything as much as you want this. You’ve been waiting for a chance to prove yourself and this is it. Take it.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. His gesture of affection was identical to his uncle’s, but her reaction to it was vastly different. She welcomed Mischa’s touch, but she had wanted to squirm away from Sergei’s. Like most of the things he did, the kiss had seemed more like an attempt to impress his audience rather than express a genuine emotion. Had Laramie bought the act, or had she seen right through it? Laramie’s expression hadn’t betrayed her inner thoughts. Anastasia wished she knew what they were. What did Laramie think of her? Of the whole situation?
I’ve got three years to find out.
Mischa’s words of encouragement made Anastasia feel better. She lifted her head as her spirits followed suit.
“I grew up not knowing who I was. Maybe it’s time for me to find out who I am.”
* * *
As Laramie had expected, the multiple shots of vodka he had downed before the meeting put Shorty down for the count. He passed out as soon as they checked into their respective rooms. Grateful he had saved them from being subjected to what Duke considered “entertainment,” she pulled off his boots, tossed the covers over him, and left a bottle of water by the bed in case he woke up parched during the night.
Once she got Shorty squared away, she set out to find something to eat. The peanuts she’d had on the flight from Frankfurt were long gone. She could use some serious protein. A few carbs wouldn’t hurt either.
Her spirits flagged when she tried to place an order with room service. The employee she spoke with said the kitchen was out of steak due to “supply problems.” Laramie didn’t recognize any of the other dishes on the menu so she decided to visit the concierge desk to see if there were any good restaurants close by that served something she wouldn’t have to venture out of her comfort zone to eat.
“There is a good burger place a short distance from here,” the concierge said. “It isn’t a very long walk, but I could call a taxi for you if you like.”
Laramie flashed back to the testy encounter Shorty had experienced with a cab driver that afternoon. They hadn’t gotten stuck with the same one during the drive from Duke’s office to their hotel, but she didn’t want to risk having recent history repeat itself.
“No need to call a cab. I’d like to stretch my legs, and tonight seems like the perfect night for a stroll. What’s the name of the restaurant?”
“It’s called Beef. Govyadina in Russian. Take a right after you exit the hotel and keep going straight until you see this sign.” He wrote the restaurant’s name in Cyrillic on a piece of hotel stationery and slid it toward her. “If you get confused, look for the line out front. There’s usually a thirty-minute wait.”
“Is the food that good?”
“Until recently, most of the meat served in local restaurants was imported from other countries. The restaurants that serve Russian beef are very popular. We can never keep enough of it in stock.”
An unfortunate fact Laramie had discovered firsthand.
“I guess that explains why I’m here.”
“And we’re happy to have you. Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you.”
Laramie tipped her hat and headed outside. The night air was cool but pleasurably so.
“Not bad for mid June.”
The temperature was somewhere between fifty-five and sixty degrees Fahrenheit, if she had to hazard a guess. In that respect, it was just like being at home. Except home was nothing like this.
She took in all the strange sights, sounds, and odors as she slowly walked along the crowded sidewalk. Shops and restaurants lined both sides of the street. Anything she could possibly want was on sale. Storefronts were filled with everything from jewelry to high-end electronics to samples of various exotic-looking dishes. She walked past crispy Peking ducks, pungent cabbage rolls, and fragrant stews. Her stomach growled louder and louder with every step.
Finally, she came across a restaurant with a sign whose lettering seemed to match the note in her hand. The line to get inside was about ten deep.
“Good thing I’ve got plenty of time on my hands.”
The flight to Bryansk International Airport wasn’t scheduled to take off until tomorrow morning. The trip itself was supposed to last a shade over ninety minutes, the car ride to the ranch another thirty. Three days of traveling had almost come to an end. Laramie couldn’t wait for the “getting there” to be over so the real journey could begin.
As she waited her turn in line, she tried to remember the most important parts of the meeting she and Shorty had had with Duke that afternoon. The logistics appeared to be the same, despite the change in locale. The personnel, however, couldn’t have been more different.
Except for the trainers, none of the men Duke had hired had any previous ranching experience. All had toiled at various jobs in Moscow until they had seized a chance to earn a steady paycheck in their hometown. One had been a butcher, one a history teacher, and one a plumber. The rest of the employees in the personnel files had similar stories: no prior experience and no proven ability to do the work.
When she finally got inside, the greeter showed her to a table and handed her a menu. A black-clad waitress whose bright pink hair was pulled back into a ponytail approached her a few minutes later.
“My name is Natalia. What would you like?”
Anastasia ordered a burger and fries and a bottle of beer.
“What kind of beer?”
Natalia’s eyes never left the note pad in her hands. She seemed more int
erested in taking orders than in the people placing them.
“Whatever’s coldest.”
Natalia flashed a wry smile, then shook her head as if she had heard the line a million times before. “Do you like light or dark beer?”
“I like it all.”
The comment finally elicited a flicker of interest. When Natalia looked up from her notepad and met Laramie’s eye, her smile soon changed from wry to knowing. Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded to acknowledge their unspoken kinship. When she spoke again, her voice was considerably less frosty.
“We have many brands of beer. Which one is your favorite?”
Laramie was glad to find someone she could be herself with, even if she couldn’t completely let down her guard. “Just bring me the one you think is the best.”
“You are American, yes?”
Laramie nodded.
Natalia jotted something down on her note pad. “I will bring you Stary Melnik.”
Laramie’s favorite bar back home had added a few craft beers and imports to its list of staples, but she had never heard of the brand Natalia had suggested. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t want to waste her money on something she didn’t like.
Natalia must have read her expression because she smiled warmly and said, “I am told it tastes like Budweiser. The king of beers, yes?”
When Laramie took a sip, she didn’t think the beer tasted like Bud, but it did remind her of everything she had left behind. She closed her eyes as a wave of homesickness washed over her.
“Is good?” Natalia asked.
Laramie opened her eyes. “It’s the best thing I’ve had all day.”
Unfortunately, the food wasn’t nearly as good as the beer. The burger wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly memorable either. She took another bite and chewed slowly as she tried to figure out the mystery. All the flavors were there, but something was missing. It finally came to her as she reached for another French fry. Though the meat was supposedly fresh-ground, it tasted more like the frozen dreck that ended up in most fast food restaurants.
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