Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  Because of the nine-hour time difference between Godoroye and Broken Branch, she and her family would probably spend more time reading each other’s text messages than having an actual conversation. After she completed her chores, her family would just be starting theirs. And vice versa. She would find the time somehow. She didn’t want to lose the bonds she had spent her whole life trying to forge.

  “Family comes first,” her mother was always saying. “Everything else comes a distant second.”

  She had never been so far from her family before, but she had never felt closer to them. In a way, they were all in this together. Because she wasn’t here for herself. She was here for them. Her chance to prove herself coincided with an opportunity to help her family when they needed it most. Now all she had to do was make sure she didn’t blow it for everyone with a vested interest in the outcome of what could turn out to be an epic success or a colossal failure.

  “Tarnation.” Shorty’s voice snapped Laramie out of her reverie. “That was some ride.” He slid the door open and gingerly stepped out of the van. He looked like he was tempted to sink to his knees and kiss the ground like the Pope did each time his plane landed in a country he was visiting, but he remained upright. “I think I swallowed half my chaw when we hit that last bump.” He dug out what was left of his chewing tobacco and tossed the diminished wad on the ground.

  Yevgeny said something in Russian and Anastasia provided the translation. “Roads could use improvement.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I hate to break it to you, but the roads ain’t the only things around here that could stand to be improved.” Shorty turned in a slow circle as he took in their new surroundings. “The barn could use a new roof, the fence is so rickety a stiff breeze could knock it over, and if that’s supposed to be the bunkhouse, don’t get me started on that there shoddy piece of craftsmanship. It don’t look fit to house neither man nor beast. The main house don’t look too bad. Then again, I ain’t seen the inside yet. I thought this was supposed to be a multimillion-dollar operation, but what I’m seeing looks like chump change. Does the whole place look this ramshackle, or are these the best bits?”

  Yevgeny’s face colored after Anastasia told him what Shorty had said. “If ranch does not meet your exacting standards,” Anastasia said on his behalf, “you can return to America anytime you wish, cowboy.”

  “Don’t tempt me, comrade.”

  Laramie stepped between Shorty and Yevgeny to prevent them from continuing to hurl insults at each other. Though she agreed with Shorty’s observations, she wished he had taken more care in choosing his words.

  “It’s safe to say we’ve all got our work cut out for us,” she said diplomatically. “Mr. Makarov, why don’t you show us where we’ll be bunking so we can get settled in, meet the men, and take a look around?”

  “You and I will sleep in main house,” Anastasia said after Yevgeny barked a terse reply. “Shorty will sleep in bunkhouse with ranch hands. Elena, the cook, will show us to rooms and tell us about schedule. When she is done, Yevgeny will take you on tour of ranch.”

  “On horseback and not in that godawful van, I hope,” Shorty said.

  “Not on horse. He says ATV is much faster.”

  “Great,” Laramie said. “Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.”

  Chapter Eight

  Anastasia wasn’t a betting woman. If she were, she might have been tempted to research the odds on who was most likely to win the burgeoning turf war between Yevgeny and the Americans. Yevgeny and Shorty’s first battle had ended in a draw, each man having bluster on his side. Laramie could turn out to be the deciding factor. Because she had something Yevgeny and Shorty didn’t: a quiet confidence that seemed to be growing more resolute by the moment.

  Anastasia continued to be impressed by her. If some of her colleagues in the gay rights movement had even a modicum of Laramie’s courage, they might finally start making progress instead of covering the same ground over and over again. She could accomplish every possible goal she had set for herself if she had Laramie fighting alongside her. Instead, she would have to settle for having her across the hall.

  Elena Savchenko, the ranch cook, met them on the porch of the main house and led them inside.

  “Yevgeny sleeps in the master bedroom on the second floor,” she said as she took them on a tour of the three-story structure. Anastasia translated as she continued to talk. “The attic is mainly used for storage. The kitchen, dining room, and three guest rooms are located here on the first floor. My room is closest to the kitchen and has its own bathroom. The rooms on this end of the house have to share facilities. Both rooms are the same size. You can decide which one you would like to claim.” She opened the doors to both rooms so they could see inside. “Maria, the bookkeeper, used to sleep in this room.”

  Laramie peered inside the room facing the front of the property. “Where is she now?”

  “She married an electrician she met online and moved to Minsk last November. Yevgeny takes care of the accounting duties now. He has an office upstairs. He spends more time there than he does anywhere else. He’s either very good at math or very, very bad.”

  “I’ll need to see the ledgers and all the documentation on the animals so I can make sure all the records are in order.”

  “Yevgeny keeps them locked in a safe in the office. He doesn’t let anyone touch them since Maria left, but I’m sure he will provide them to you if you ask.”

  “So it’s just you and Yevgeny rattling around this big house?” Shorty asked after he and Laramie shared a look.

  Neither seemed to like Elena’s comment about Yevgeny being the only person allowed to handle the ranch’s business affairs. Anastasia agreed with them. That was too much power for one man to have. Especially a man like Yevgeny, who was quick to take credit and even quicker to avoid accepting blame.

  Elena, who appeared to be in her mid to late forties, tucked a stray lock of dark blond hair behind her ear, then placed her hands on her hips. She was tall and big-boned. The skin on her oversized hands was dry and cracked, as if it was constantly exposed to water or harsh chemicals. Anastasia could tell Elena was no stranger to hard work. She seemed happy to have a purpose, though. Despite the frown lines etched between her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth were turned up into a smile.

  “In case Yevgeny gets any ideas he shouldn’t, I keep my door locked and a Taser next to my bed. Do I need to keep another one on hand for you, too?”

  “That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Shorty said after Anastasia translated what Elena had said. “I never go anywhere I ain’t invited.”

  While Anastasia relayed Shorty’s words, Elena looked at him curiously. The top of his head barely came to her shoulder, yet they seemed to be standing on equal ground.

  “Are you married, Mr. Johnson?”

  “No, I’ve never had the pleasure, ma’am.”

  “A little man like you?” Elena said with a grin. “How much pleasure could you provide?”

  Shorty bowed as if he were greeting a member of royalty. “You’d be surprised, ma’am. You’d be surprised.”

  Elena laughed good-naturedly and waved her hands to shoo him away. “Wait on the porch while the girls get settled. I will send them out to you when they’re done.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I sure will.” As he walked away, Anastasia heard him say, “That tall drink of water is making me a mite thirsty.”

  Even though she didn’t know exactly what he meant, she thought she had a pretty good idea. Shorty was smitten. Despite her protestations, Elena seemed intrigued by him, too. Anastasia didn’t know if anything would come of their flirtation, but it might be fun to watch. There wasn’t much else to do around here. She had to keep herself occupied somehow. Watching a soap opera play out right in front of her might be a good place to start.

  “Which room would you like?” Laramie asked. “I’ll be up before dawn and in bed with the chickens, so it doesn’t matter to me.”
<
br />   Anastasia shrugged. Neither room had a jaw-dropping view, so she would have to take other factors into consideration. “That room faces east and this one faces west. I would rather watch the sun set than hide from the glare while it rises.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Laramie placed her luggage and saddle in the room facing the rear of the property and began making herself at home. Anastasia deposited her belongings in the room Laramie hadn’t chosen. The furnishings were spare, limited to a bed, dresser, nightstand, and small table lamp. The mattress had been stripped, but a comforter and a set of freshly laundered sheets were folded on top of the storage bench at the foot of the bed.

  Elena leaned against the doorjamb while Anastasia set her bags on the floor. “Your accent sounds familiar. Where are you from?”

  “I live in Moscow, but I grew up in Drezna.”

  “I knew it!” Elena clapped her hands in delight, then gave Anastasia a crushing hug. “Drezna is my hometown, too. When did you move away?”

  “Twelve years ago. How about you?”

  “Close to twenty years ago now. No, almost thirty. Time certainly does fly when you’re not paying attention. That explains why you and I have never met. Then again, I’m probably old enough to be your mother. It’s not likely we would have the same set of friends.”

  Elena’s mention of her mother reminded Anastasia that she had never had one. She tried to remain positive, but she felt her mood begin to sour.

  “Your family must be so proud that you speak English well enough to earn such a good job,” Elena said. “I have always wanted to learn English, but I never had a chance. Will you teach me?”

  Elena sounded almost bashful as she made the request. Anastasia found it hard to believe that a woman who looked so strong could seem so vulnerable.

  “I’m not much of a teacher, but I would be happy to share what I know.”

  “Excellent.” Elena’s bright smile banished some of the dark clouds that had started to form on the edges of Anastasia’s psyche. “Where is your family? Are they in Moscow or are they back in Drezna?”

  Anastasia focused on the task at hand as she made the bed. “I never had a family.”

  “Nonsense.” Elena helped Anastasia fit the sheets onto the lumpy mattress. “Everyone has a family. Just because you’re not close to yours doesn’t mean they’re not your family.”

  Anastasia straightened. She could tell Elena meant well, but she was tired of people making assumptions about her life.

  “If you’re from Drezna, you know about the orphanage there. The one on Petrov Street. That’s where I grew up. That’s the place I ran away from when I was old enough to support myself. Not only do I not have a family, I have nothing to call my own. Not even my name. The janitor who discovered me thought I bore a faint resemblance to the daughter of Tsar Nicholas II, so he named me Anastasia. My last name isn’t my family name. It’s courtesy of the street where I was found. Where my parents dumped me because they were too busy living their lives to raise a kid. Do you want to stand here and reminisce about the town both of us abandoned long ago, or do you want to do your job and finish telling us how things work around here?”

  Elena’s smile vanished as she absorbed Anastasia’s verbal assault. She looked pained. Anastasia recognized that look: pity. She longed for the day when she wouldn’t have to see it directed at her.

  “I heard shouting,” Laramie said after Elena turned and fled from the room. “Is something wrong?”

  “Elena and I had argument over proper way to tuck corners on sheets. It is my bed so I prefer to make it my way.”

  Laramie looked skeptical. Anastasia felt awful about lying to her, and she felt even worse about upsetting Elena, but she was too stubborn to say it out loud. In time, when her emotions weren’t quite so close to the surface, perhaps she would have a chance to make it up to both of them.

  “Disagreement was personal. It had nothing to do with work.”

  “I don’t care what started it,” Laramie said firmly. “If you’re in the wrong, do what you need to do to make things right.”

  Anastasia hated being told what to do, even if—as she suspected was the case now—the person delivering the orders was well-meaning.

  “You are not my boss. I report to Sergei, not you.”

  She enjoyed the sense of freedom that gave her in an environment that could prove constricting.

  “I’m not trying to be your boss,” Laramie said. “I’m trying to be your friend. Whether you follow my counsel or not is up to you. It don’t make no nevermind to me.”

  Anastasia started to say she had enough friends, but she held her tongue. In a place as lonely as this, she could use all the friends she could get.

  * * *

  Laramie didn’t know what had transpired between Anastasia and Elena, but she could tell the encounter had left both women shaken. Neither seemed herself as Elena stood in the middle of the kitchen and discussed the ranch’s schedule. Elena’s arms were folded across her chest in a classic defensive posture, and Anastasia looked glum as she paraphrased what Elena was saying.

  “She serves breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at eight,” Anastasia said. “She stands on porch and rings bell to let everyone know when food is ready. They eat all meals together. Like—Like a family.”

  Laramie glanced behind her at the long wooden table that could provide seating for up to a dozen people. Her family had a communal table back home, too. Depending on the hour, the conversations around it could be muted or spirited. Even though the primary language spoken would be different, she suspected it would be the same way here.

  “If she doesn’t serve breakfast until seven,” she asked, “what time do the men begin their chores?”

  Anastasia relayed Laramie’s question and waited for a response. “Most days, they get started at eight. If they have had too much to drink the night before, it can be later. Maybe nine or ten.”

  “That will never do. Shorty and I need to change that mentality first off. At home, the ranch hands and I are out of bed by four a.m. and in the fields by five. We grab a bite to eat at noon if we can spare the time. If not, we keep working. We sit down for supper each night at seven and we’re in bed by nine. Sometimes eight. And there’s absolutely no drinking on a work night.”

  She didn’t feel the need to point out that on a ranch or a farm, every night was a work night.

  Elena laughed uproariously when Anastasia told her what Laramie had said. “She says you can try to implement changes you speak of, but men are too set in ways to adapt to something new. And they will sooner give up breathing than they would nightly glasses of vodka.”

  “They’ll change their tunes if I add the language into their contracts. Once they sign on the dotted line, they’ll be obligated to abide by the rules.”

  “You can do that?” Anastasia asked.

  “We’ll see.”

  Duke had hired her to improve operational efficiencies and help bring the ranch up to speed before the first batch of cattle went to market. He had granted her tremendous leeway, but he hadn’t given her complete free rein. She could make suggestions, but it was up to Yevgeny to accept or reject her recommendations. As ranch foreman, he could overrule her whenever he chose. Based on her and Shorty’s initial encounter with him, she doubted he would be too willing to see things their way.

  “Unless you have more questions, Elena says she has work to do. Yevgeny is waiting to show you around ranch.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Laramie put her hat on and began to head out of the kitchen. She stopped walking when she noticed Anastasia hadn’t moved from her spot at Elena’s side. “Aren’t you coming? Shorty and I can’t do this without you, you know.”

  “I will be there in one moment. I need to make amends first.”

  On the porch, Laramie watched through the screen door as Anastasia said something to Elena in Russian. Elena’s face and body language were hard at first, then she slowly started to so
ften. The change began with her eyes, which turned from icy to glowing. Almost maternal. Elena nodded, whispered a reply, then accepted Anastasia’s offer of a hug.

  “What’s going on?” Shorty asked as he tried to see what had so thoroughly captured her attention.

  Laramie turned her back to give Anastasia and Elena some privacy, then directed Shorty to do the same.

  “You might want to mark this day in the history books.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “Someone took my advice and it didn’t blow up in my face for once.”

  “The day’s still young. You’ve got time to muck things up.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  She turned at the faint sound of an engine. In the distance, she could see a large all-terrain vehicle heading their way, a thick cloud of dust trailing in its wake.

  “Here comes our ride.”

  “Yep. Let’s go make sure he and his friends haven’t mucked up this ranch so badly that we can’t fix it.”

  “You don’t sound too confident in his abilities.”

  “Do you?”

  “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  “My sentiments exactly. If the books are in as bad a shape as the rest of the place, we’ll have even more work to do.”

  “You said a mouthful.” Shorty scratched his chin, a tactic he used whenever he needed time to think. “You have a better head for numbers than I do. I’ll leave that part of the patch job up to you. Give me a set of tools and some building supplies, and I’ll take care of the rest. A little touching up, and this place might turn out to be something to write home about. Provided the men are worth their salt and the cattle looks halfway decent, that is.”

  “You sound like Russia is starting to grow on you.”

  Shorty smiled as Elena and Anastasia slowly walked toward them. “It has its charms.”

  “Yes, sir, it certainly does.”

  Chapter Nine

  The all-terrain vehicle Yevgeny was driving had two rows of seats, a roof to protect him and his passengers from the elements, and a large storage area in the back. It was in much better shape than the van he had driven to the airport, and smelled a whole lot nicer, too. He pounded the steering wheel with the heels of his hands after he braked to a stop in front of the main house.