Anastasia sprinkled salt and pepper on her eggs. “Butterbrod is sandwich topped with butter or ham.”
“Like an open-faced ham and cheese sandwich without the cheese?” Anastasia nodded in response since her mouth was full. “Sounds good to me.”
Shorty shoveled food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Laramie, meanwhile, approached hers with more caution.
“Is good,” Anastasia assured her. “Try. You will like.”
After Laramie took a tentative bite of her sandwich, the frown lines on her forehead slowly faded from view. “Thank you,” she said when she was done. “I needed that.”
“This is typical Russian breakfast. I am sure ranch cook will include it on menu.”
“Well, all right then,” Shorty said. “Something to look forward to.”
They located their gate and waited for their flight to be called. Anastasia had thought she could control her nerves, but they started to get the best of her after she and the other passengers boarded the plane and settled into their seats.
Shorty was seated closest to the aisle, Laramie was in the middle, and she was next to the window. She turned to Laramie while the flight attendants made their final checks prior to departure.
“Would you like to switch seats with me?”
“Enjoy the view.” Laramie jerked a thumb toward Shorty, who appeared to be dozing. “I’m going to follow his example and try to get forty winks in before we land. I had a hard night last night, remember?”
Anastasia remembered all too well. She hadn’t felt that much stress since the local police had broken up a gay rights rally in Gorky Park by swinging their batons at attendees’ heads. She had escaped injury that day, though some of her friends hadn’t been so lucky. One had ended up with a concussion, another a broken arm.
All the fear and uncertainty she had felt that day returned in droves. When the captain announced they were ready for takeoff, she took a deep breath and tried to slow the rapid beating of her heart.
Laramie took a long look at her. “Is something wrong?”
The plane jerked as the pilot backed it away from the terminal. Anastasia gripped Laramie’s forearm in abject terror. “I have confession to make,” she said as the plane slowly crossed the tarmac.
“Are you afraid to fly?”
“I do not know. I have never been on plane before.”
“Ever? How do you know your way around the airport if you’ve never flown before?”
“I have been here many times with friends. I bring them to airport or pick them up when they return. I keep their cars so they can spend their money on drinks instead of parking fees.”
“Do your friends do the same for you?”
“I have no car and cannot afford to travel by air. I must borrow Mischa’s car or take train.”
Laramie looked doubtful, but Anastasia’s expression must have convinced her that she was telling the truth. “I was a bundle of nerves on my first flight, too,” she said gently. “I didn’t know what to expect. I thought every bump and bang I heard meant the plane was about to crash. I’ve gotten over that, but I still hate flying through turbulence. It’s like being stuck on the world’s worst roller coaster.”
Anastasia’s heart sank. She had always liked roller coasters. Until now. “So the fear never goes away?”
“A little bit of fear is a good thing to have. As long as you don’t let it overwhelm you, it keeps you from taking things for granted. How can you truly appreciate what you have until you face the possibility that you might lose it?” Laramie grimaced. “Sorry. That was an unfortunate analogy.” She squeezed Anastasia’s hand. “The pilots are seasoned professionals. Sit back, relax, and let them do their jobs.”
It wasn’t the pilots that Anastasia was worried about. Aside from the copilot who had intentionally flown his plane into a mountain several years ago, the members of the flight crew often weren’t at fault when disaster struck. Equipment failure was usually to blame. In this part of the world, outside forces were occasionally the cause.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the still unsolved disappearance of the airliner that had mysteriously vanished off the radar in 2014, the plane that had been shot down over Ukraine two years later, or the cargo jet that had stalled shortly after takeoff and exploded in a giant ball of flames after it crashed to the ground. That viral video had haunted her for weeks. Were the passengers onboard this flight about to become another unfortunate statistic?
“Would it help if I closed the shade?” Laramie asked.
“No,” Anastasia said more sharply than she had intended.
If something went wrong, she wanted to be able to see what was coming. Whatever her imagination concocted would probably be far worse than reality. She gripped the narrow armrests with both hands as the plane shook and rattled down the runway.
“Are the engines always this loud?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s normal. The pilot needs to build up enough speed to take flight. When he really hits the gas, you’ll feel like you’re on a rocket ship launching into orbit.”
Anastasia swallowed hard. “I have never thought of myself as cosmonaut.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Laramie said with a disarming grin. “Hold on. Here it comes.”
The plane lurched forward, and gravitational forces pinned Anastasia against her seat. Her adrenaline surged as the plane moved faster and faster down the runway. She started to fear the pilot was going to run out of room before he managed to get the heavy craft into the air. Then the nose of the plane tilted toward the sky and the tail soon followed.
Anastasia’s stomach turned somersaults like she was on a thrill ride at a carnival. The sensation was almost pleasurable.
She sneaked a peek out the window, staring in amazement as the earth slowly fell away. Were they really up that high? The buildings on the ground looked as small as pieces in a board game. She nearly jumped out of her seat when she heard a loud bump.
“What was that?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Laramie said. “The landing gear retracts during the flight to make the plane more aerodynamic. The pilot will put it down again when we start to descend.”
When the plane reached cruising altitude a few minutes later, Anastasia finally released her death grip on the armrests. All around her, people were conversing, sleeping, or reading like they were riding the train to work rather than flying thirty thousand feet in the air. They had ignored the flight attendant’s safety demonstration as well, while she had hung on to every word.
“How could anyone ever take this for granted?”
“Some people take flying too seriously. Others don’t take it seriously enough.” Laramie folded her arms across her chest, sank down in her seat, and closed her eyes. “Everyone has different coping mechanisms,” she said with a yawn. “In time, I’m sure you’ll find the one that works best for you.”
Perhaps, Anastasia thought, she already had. And her name was Laramie Bowman.
* * *
Laramie felt refreshed after she woke from her nap. The extra sleep, combined with the hearty breakfast she had eaten before the flight, had her feeling like herself again. She vowed not to repeat last night’s mistakes. From now on, she would be drowning her sorrows in something other than alcohol. By the time her contract ended, she would not only be wealthier than she had ever been, she would also be healthier. Not to mention hornier, but that went without saying.
The plane had started to descend, bringing about a change in the cabin’s air pressure. She opened her mouth wide to get her ears to pop, then checked her watch. It had taken almost three full days for her to get to Bryansk. Provided the flight was on time, she was a little more than thirty minutes from finally reaching her destination. Yevgeny Makarov, the ranch foreman, was supposed to pick them up at the airport and drive them to Godoroye. After he introduced them to the ranch hands, he planned to take them on a tour of the property.
Laramie wanted t
o see the land she would be living and working on for the next three years, but she was more interested in inspecting the cattle. They were the reason she was here, and she was anxious to see if she would be tending to quality stock. If not, she might have to suggest selling their current herd and starting over. Starting from scratch would make her job more difficult but not impossible. Good thing she hadn’t expected the gig to be easy.
She straightened in her seat and looked over at Anastasia. Anastasia’s panic attack, if that’s what it had been, appeared to have taken the wind out of her sails. As she flipped through the in-flight magazine, she seemed quiet and distant. Almost brooding. Laramie was tempted to ask her what was wrong, but she decided to give her some space.
She tried to see things through Anastasia’s eyes. She wasn’t the only person who had made sacrifices to be here. Anastasia had made sacrifices as well. Moving three hundred miles away from her family and friends in order to take on a job she had never performed couldn’t have been easy for her.
Perhaps she and I have more than one thing in common. Too bad we can’t do anything about it except commiserate over a campfire.
Trying not to imagine how beautiful Anastasia would be with the flickering flames of firelight dancing in her eyes, Laramie stared out the window. The view wasn’t much to look at, but the acres and acres of rolling pastureland offered a refreshing change from the skyscrapers and drab scenery she had been surrounded by for the past few days. Even though she hadn’t landed yet, it felt good being out of the city and back in the country again. She couldn’t wait to feel the grass under her feet.
As the plane’s rate of descent increased, Anastasia looked up from her magazine and glanced out the window. “This is what your home looks like?”
Laramie leaned closer to get a better look at a series of crystal clear lakes. “We’re missing a few mountains, but yes.”
“Have you never wanted to live anywhere else?”
“I like visiting other places, but when it comes to putting down roots, I would rather do that in Wyoming.”
Evidently finding the discussion they were having more interesting than the article she was reading, Anastasia closed the magazine. “Wyoming is that beautiful?”
“More than that. It’s home. Each time I leave, I can’t wait to return. My family is there. My life is there. My heart is there. Don’t you feel that way about your hometown?”
Laramie realized she hadn’t asked Anastasia if she had been born in Moscow or if, like most inhabitants of big cities, she had moved there from somewhere else.
Anastasia’s expression darkened. “I do not have home, which means I do not have roots.”
Laramie felt like she had been offered a hint to the turmoil behind Anastasia’s gaze, though she was still searching for the true cause. Would Anastasia eventually feel comfortable enough to confide in her, or would she leave Russia knowing as little about her as she did now? Knowing they wouldn’t be confined to the same small space for much longer, she took a chance.
“But you do have roots. You have Mischa.”
“Yes,” Anastasia said with a small smile, “I will always have him. He has been good friend.”
“So have you, by all accounts.”
Anastasia turned to face her. “You have been talking about me?”
“I’ve been listening to Natalia.”
“What did she say about me?”
Laramie thought about some of the comments Natalia had made about Anastasia’s relationship with Mischa and the one Anastasia had once shared with her. “Nothing of consequence. I would rather hear that from you.”
Anastasia yelped in surprise when the plane’s wheels thumped against the tarmac. She looked out the window, then turned back to Laramie. “Did you carry on conversation to distract me while plane was landing?”
“No, but did it work?”
Anastasia reached for her carry-on bag instead of providing an answer. “Gather your things. We have much work to do.”
Laramie smacked Shorty’s leg to rouse him from his slumber, then heeded Anastasia’s advice. She was here to work, she reminded herself, not make friends. If Anastasia wanted to keep her at arm’s length, that was exactly where she would remain. Whether she liked it or not.
Chapter Seven
Anastasia could tell Yevgeny Makarov was going to pose a problem as soon as she laid eyes on him. She had seen his type too many times before: a middle manager who acted as if he possessed more power than he had actually been granted. As he stood in the ground transportation area holding up a placard with the name of Sergei’s ranch printed on it in both Cyrillic and English, he looked like he wished he had assigned the job to someone else.
After she raised her hand to get his attention, he tossed the cigarette he had been smoking and ground the butt under the heel of his designer shoes. He worked on a start-up ranch in the middle of the Russian heartland. How could he afford five thousand dollar shoes on his salary?
“How was your flight?” he asked in Estonian-accented Russian.
“Blessedly uneventful.”
“These are the Americans Sergei hired?”
“Yes, their names are Laramie Bowman and Pernell Johnson, though he prefers to be called Shorty.”
Yevgeny reached to shake Shorty’s hand first. “Yevgeny Makarov.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Shorty said, “but let’s get something straight from the jump. I’m not running this here show. She is.”
“What did he say?” Yevgeny looked stunned after she told him he had directed his attention to the wrong person. “Sergei hired a woman to train the men? I hope he knows what he’s doing.”
“He must,” she said. “Unless they receive an inheritance from a dead relative, not many people become billionaires by accident.”
“You’re quick to defend him. Is that why he hired you, or because you’re screwing his nephew?”
Anastasia’s temper flared, but she didn’t take the bait. The encounter felt like a test of some kind. A test she couldn’t afford to fail.
“He hired me because he thought I could do the job. Why are you here?”
Yevgeny smiled, revealing two uneven rows of nicotine-stained teeth.
“The locals who applied for my position didn’t have any experience managing a business this large. I did. I used to be in charge of one of the biggest chocolate factories in Moscow. At its peak, more than two hundred people reported to me.”
Anastasia thought he looked vaguely familiar. Now she knew why.
“Didn’t I read about you in the paper? Weren’t you fired after rat droppings were found in one of your company’s orders?”
“Quality control was someone else’s responsibility, not mine,” Yevgeny was quick to point out.
“If that’s true, why wasn’t that person terminated instead of you?”
Caught in a web of lies, Yevgeny abruptly changed the subject. “The van is parked not too far from here. Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.”
The luggage cart Shorty was pushing was laden with all their belongings, and Anastasia made a mental note to tell Laramie about all the professional baggage Yevgeny was carrying. Laramie needed to know the kind of man she was dealing with so he couldn’t try to shift the blame to her if he proved to be as inept at his current job as he had been at his previous one.
“Then wait here until I come back to get you.” He looked Laramie and Shorty up and down. “Talk about a waste of money. They had better be worth the price Sergei is paying them.”
“They’re not,” she said. “They’re worth more.”
“For your sake as well as mine, I hope your loyalty isn’t misguided.”
“Is it me he doesn’t like,” Laramie asked after Yevgeny left, “or Americans in general?”
“He sees you as threat.” Anastasia told them about the scandal that had tarnished Yevgeny’s reputation. “If he fails at this job, he might not get another.”
“I never judge a
man by his mistakes,” Shorty said. “I judge him by how he recovers from them.”
“I’ll keep an open mind, too,” Laramie said. “Please make sure he knows we’re here to help him, not replace him.”
“I will try my best,” Anastasia said, “but I do not think he will believe me, no matter what I say. You need to make effort, too. Flatter him. Make him feel important. Make him feel like his opinion matters.”
Shorty pulled a package from his pocket and pressed a wad of tobacco into his cheek. “We raise cattle, little lady. We don’t stroke egos.”
“In Russia, that is how things work,” Anastasia said. “If you wish to accomplish task, you need two things: money and influence.”
“Then that puts us in a bit of a bind,” Laramie said. “Because I’m running short on both.”
* * *
Laramie couldn’t decide which the van needed more—a thorough cleaning or a new set of shocks. The outside of the dented vehicle was so caked with mud she couldn’t tell what color metal lurked underneath the grime. Thanks to the half-empty fifty-pound bag of fertilizer taking up room in the cargo hold, the interior was even more fragrant than a hog pen in mid August. The ride itself wasn’t anything to write home about either. Yevgeny didn’t miss a single pothole as he traversed the thirty-five miles from Bryansk to Godoroye. After he turned onto a deeply rutted dirt road and drove through the gates of Sergei Ivanov’s ranch, Laramie knew how Trey must have felt when that whirling dervish of a bull slammed into him a few weeks ago.
She wished she could talk to Trey and ask him how he was doing, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. He was worse than their father when it came to admitting he was hurting. He could be carrying a severed limb in his hands like one of those unfortunate creatures on The Walking Dead and he would still swear he was as right as rain. If she wanted honest answers to her questions about his health, she would have to ask her mother about him the next time she called home.
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