Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  “My father gave me lessons when I was a boy. He taught himself during the Cold War because he didn’t trust the government to accurately depict what the Americans were saying. I have forgotten most of what he taught me, but I never lost my desire to learn—or to teach others. I became a professor so I could watch the light of knowledge shine in my students’ eyes. Now I get to be a pupil again.” His weathered face took on a boyish enthusiasm. “I am excited for the opportunity.”

  “To clean stables and herd cattle? Teaching seems a lot easier. And less messy, too.”

  “I am excited to be able to learn new things. I am excited to be useful. To feel needed.”

  “I don’t understand. Teachers—even the bad ones—are desperately needed.”

  The teachers she’d had at the orphanage often seemed as if they were operating on autopilot instead of truly engaging with their students, but she had felt transported each time she learned something new. Even if the person delivering the information couldn’t seem to care less.

  “One would think, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. I quit teaching because most of my students showed more interest in their various electronic devices than they did in the material. I grew tired of looking out at a roomful of laptops rather than my students’ faces. But enough about me. What did you do before you joined our small but hearty band? Have you always been a translator?”

  Anastasia didn’t know how to answer his question. She wanted to be honest and tell him she spent most of her time fighting for gay rights. In her experience, the most educated people were generally the most tolerant. The more knowledge people possessed, the less likely they were to hate what they didn’t understand.

  She couldn’t come out to Vladimir, for obvious reasons, but she thought she could count on him not to assail her with a slew of ill-informed arguments if she mentioned the subject of homosexuality. She wasn’t quite as certain about the others, though. Andrei, Fyodor, and Ivan had spent their lives toiling in working class professions. They weren’t as erudite or as well-spoken as Vladimir. Therefore, they might not be as accepting.

  As Elena had warned Laramie earlier, the men were too set in their ways to adapt to something new. She couldn’t be a bridge of communication between them and the Americans if they refused to listen to what she had to say.

  “I did as little as possible,” she said. “I would rather spend more time living my life than wasting it working.”

  “Spoken like a true romantic.” Vladimir’s eyes twinkled as he laughed. “I will lend you my copy of the collected works of Lord Byron to read during your stay. The others prefer vodka, but I consider literature to be the best way to while away the evening hours.”

  “I’m afraid I have to side with the others. I like to read a good book every now and then, especially the scary ones that force you to stop every few minutes to make sure your doors are locked, but I have never liked poetry. It’s too highbrow for me.”

  “But you like the songs you hear on the radio, don’t you? Poetry is like a song without the music. You will like Lord Byron.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “After spending almost thirty years in a classroom, I have a knack for reading people. Especially students who, for whatever reason, choose to downplay how bright they are. I trust Lord Byron’s words will not be lost on you.” He cocked his head as if appraising her, then closed his eyes and said, “She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in the aspect of her eyes.”

  Anastasia felt lightheaded as Vladimir recited the poem. The words moved her. Touched her soul. When she tried to imagine the woman the poem described, Laramie’s face swam into view.

  Vladimir opened his eyes, a small smile of self-satisfaction on his face. “Have I got it right?”

  “Yes,” Anastasia said, trying not to stare at Laramie, “you did.”

  “Excellent. I will give you the book after dinner.”

  “I look forward to reading it.”

  And to committing one poem in particular to memory. In time, perhaps she could become equally familiar with Laramie Bowman.

  Shorty was covered in mud from head to toe and Laramie was nearly as bad, but both looked happier than Anastasia had ever seen them. They looked almost content. As if they were fulfilling their purpose. Anastasia wanted to feel something similar. To know she was doing what she was truly meant to do. Her life had meaning, but did it have purpose?

  “The incident with the calf,” she said as she, Laramie, and Shorty slowly walked across the gently rolling land. “Have you experienced such things before?”

  Curious cows looked up as they approached. A few skittered away from the sound of the ATV’s engine, but most quickly returned to grazing or napping in the warm sun. Some trotted over to the fence and poked their noses at Andrei’s hand like dogs begging for treats. He chuckled like a proud father as he petted their furry heads. Anastasia couldn’t reconcile his obvious love for animals with either his former or current professions. Perhaps he was trying to make restitution in some way in order to clear his conscience.

  “Too many times to count,” Laramie said. “Sometimes, I feel more like a member of a search and rescue squad than a rancher.”

  “I know what you mean.” Shorty spit out a dark brown stream of tobacco-infused saliva. The stream landed squarely on the side of the ATV. Accidentally or on purpose? “Remember the time we almost had to call the fire department to lend us a hand? That steer was stuck so bad it took us nearly half a day to dig it out.”

  “Everybody was tuckered by the time we were done,” Laramie said. “I slept like a log that night.”

  “Tonight should come a close second,” Shorty said. “That calf was trapped pretty good.”

  Laramie nudged him with her elbow. “So were you, as I recall.”

  “Next time, I’ll get one of our newfound friends to jump in the hole to see if he can do any better.”

  “They seem to pick things up pretty quickly.”

  “They’re eager to learn, that’s for sure,” Shorty said. “They’ve just been waiting for someone to teach them.”

  Anastasia didn’t bother translating Shorty’s last sentence, which seemed to be a critique on Yevgeny’s efforts—or lack thereof.

  “What would have happened if you had not been able to free animal?” she asked instead.

  Laramie’s smile faded, a dark expression taking its place. “We would have had to put it down.”

  “You mean kill it?”

  “If we had left it there, the predators in the area would have been attracted by its cries. They would have ripped it to pieces. We had only two choices: free it or put it out of its misery.”

  The pool of wetness gathered in Laramie’s eyes let Anastasia know she had also performed that odious task on countless occasions as well.

  “How can you kill something you care for?”

  Laramie looked off into the distance as if the answer to Anastasia’s question could be found there. Anastasia suspected, however, Laramie was searching her soul rather than the horizon.

  “Sometimes,” Laramie said, “you do what hurts you because you know it’s the best thing for someone else.”

  Friends and lovers alike had often accused Anastasia of being selfish rather than selfless.

  “Mischa’s always saying I put my own needs ahead of those of other people.”

  “Is he right?”

  “That depends on what I am doing at the time. At certain moments, I make sure someone else is satisfied before I think of myself.”

  Laramie’s tanned cheeks reddened at Anastasia’s risqué comment. She reminded Anastasia of the horses Shorty so frequently mentioned: strong and reliable but filled with a coltish energy. A spirit that couldn’t be broken. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t found the right rider.

  Yevgeny glared at the large tobacco stain on the side of the ATV. “What would they like to see next?”

 
“Tell him to take us to the stables,” Laramie said.

  Anastasia felt her own cheeks warm at the thought of finding out if she had what it took to stay in the saddle while Laramie took her on the ride of her life.

  “If that day ever comes,” she said to herself, “I’ll bet Shorty won’t be the only one holding on to his hat.”

  * * *

  Laramie smelled the stables long before she walked inside. The earthy odors of hay and horseflesh assaulted her senses. She took a deep breath, drawing the aroma deep into her lungs. Anastasia covered her nose as if she wished she had a gas mask.

  “Is this too much for you?” Laramie asked.

  As a city girl, Anastasia was probably more accustomed to the smell of car exhaust than horse manure. She looked like she could use some fresh air.

  “Thank you for asking, but I am fine.”

  Anastasia’s answer was unexpectedly formal and also an utter fabrication, but Laramie admired her stubbornness. Among other things. Anastasia had a nimble mind and thought quickly on her feet. She instinctively knew when to share what Laramie and Shorty were saying and when to keep it to herself. If they worked this well together on their first official day on the job, Laramie couldn’t wait to see how they would perform after they had known each other for a while. Then again, Anastasia already seemed to know her better than most. She could read her moods. Anticipate her needs. How could a virtual stranger see her more clearly than some of her oldest friends?

  Six quarter horses filled the stalls. Two thoroughbred types, two bulldog types, and two intermediate types. The bulldog type of quarter horse was instantly recognizable because of its huge muscles, large hindquarters and shoulders, and its substantial barrel. The other two types of quarter horses were not nearly as powerful but possessed greater speed and agility, both valuable assets when they were needed to cut or rein in cattle.

  Laramie’s favorite horse was an intermediate named Sorghum, a palomino mare who was strong and durable enough to ride on the ranch and fast enough to enter in barrel racing competitions. Chuck and Grant had promised to give Sorghum plenty of exercise while she was gone, but Laramie was looking forward to once more being the one putting her through her paces.

  Shorty walked up to a stall occupied by a sorrel-colored mare. “Who’s a pretty girl?”

  Laramie looked at the horse’s ears to judge her body language. When a horse’s ears were flickering or pinned forward on its head, the horse was alert and paying attention to what was in front of it. If a horse pinned its ears back, that meant it was angry about something and was apt to lash out in some way, either through biting or kicking. When its ears were lowered, it was relaxed, bored, or not feeling up to par. Laramie wished women’s moods were as easy to read.

  Shorty scratched the mare between her flickering ears and offered her a handful of grain from the feed bucket hanging on the outside of her stall. The mare shook her large head, then lowered it to feed from Shorty’s palm. Shorty beamed.

  “Like I said, nothing beats a good horse.”

  Andrei stepped forward and said something in Russian.

  “That is Raisa,” Anastasia said. “The brown stallion next to her is Nikita. The dappled roan on the other side is named Dimitri. The large ones are Yuri and Viktor.”

  “What about this one?” Laramie approached a mare with a shiny black coat, a wavy black mane, and eyes the color of midnight. “What’s her name?”

  Anastasia flashed a curious smile as she listened to Andrei’s response. “Her name is Krasota, which is Russian word for ‘beauty.’”

  “Fitting.”

  Laramie ran her hand along Krasota’s long neck and gave her a pat. When she pulled away, Krasota ducked her head, rested her chin against Laramie’s shoulder, and drew her closer.

  Anastasia gasped, fearful the horse was about to attack, but Laramie laughed and enthusiastically scratched the animal’s neck. As her strong hands dug into the horse’s flesh, the mare pawed at the hay-covered floor of her stall and heaved what sounded like a contented sigh. Anastasia was transfixed by the scene.

  “I think someone likes you, Laramie.” Even though Shorty lowered his voice to a whisper, Anastasia heard his words loud and clear. “Then again, you’ve never had a problem convincing pretty things to throw themselves at you.”

  Anastasia felt a pang of jealousy as she remembered how Natalia kept touching Laramie in an overly familiar way at her farewell party. How many women had Laramie slept with in the past? Did she have a lover now? Did she prefer one-night stands or long-term relationships?

  Anastasia didn’t know the answer to the other questions, but the answer to the last one was fairly obvious. When Laramie took a woman to bed, it wasn’t for the night. It was in the hope that it would be forever. Anastasia didn’t like putting that kind of pressure on a sexual encounter. Sex was supposed to be hot. Sex was supposed to be fun. It wasn’t supposed to make you want to send out wedding invitations and spend holidays with each other’s parents. It was supposed to make you long for more, not something you never had.

  “They have seen the ranch,” Yevgeny said, interrupting Anastasia’s thoughts. “What do they want to do next? Spend even more of Sergei’s money?”

  “No, they would like to see how you have been spending it.” Anastasia recalled the conversation Laramie and Elena had shared in the main house. “She would like to see the accounting ledgers and all the documentation on the animals so she can make sure the records are in order.”

  Yevgeny’s face blanched and his mouth fell open in shock. “Sergei invited the Americans here to show the men how to do their jobs. He didn’t invite them here to tell me how to do mine. Why does this—this woman need to see the ledgers?”

  Anastasia relayed Yevgeny’s question so Laramie could speak for herself. Laramie was silent for a long while. As if she were trying to find the right words to get her point across without driving the wedge between her and Yevgeny even deeper than it already was.

  “Shorty and I are here to help in any way we can. Tomorrow, Shorty, Ivan, Fyodor, and Vladimir will start working on some much-needed repairs and improvements. While they’re doing that, Andrei and I need to inventory and tag the herd. In order to accomplish those tasks, I need to review the records. All the records.” Laramie paused to allow Anastasia to translate what she had said, but she didn’t give Yevgeny time to raise any objections. “I’m told your official accountant quit several months ago.”

  The muscles in Yevgeny’s jaw crawled as he tried to figure out who had given Laramie the information she was using against him. Anastasia was having so much fun watching the confrontation, she almost forgot to do her job.

  “I’m sure you’ve done an adequate job in Maria’s absence,” Laramie continued, “but you’re only human. Mistakes are inevitable, especially when you’re working on such a large scale. A second set of eyes can prevent a small mistake from turning into a much bigger one. I’ve handled my family’s business accounts for years. I know how to save money, which you seem to have a keen interest in. If I can find ways to run the ranch more efficiently, we all win. And if I can’t, well, you’ll be no worse off than you are now and you can be the first to say, ‘I told you so.’”

  Even though Shorty had said he and Laramie didn’t stroke egos, she was doing a fine job of it. Instead of criticizing Yevgeny, she offered flattery. Slowly, her words began to have an effect.

  “The sales and immunization records are a mess,” Yevgeny admitted. “Maria tried organizing them but could never make much headway. Perhaps you can have better luck. I will give you access to those records tomorrow. When you are done with them, then you can see the ledgers.”

  Laramie nodded as if she agreed with everything Yevgeny was saying. He had agreed to fulfill one of her requests, but he was dragging his feet on fulfilling the other. One way or another, she would get her hands on those ledgers. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be sitting around twiddling her thumbs in the meantime. From the sound of it, she and
Andrei—and everyone else—had their work cut out for them.

  “He would like to know if there is anything else you require today,” Anastasia said. “Men have work to do.”

  “I won’t keep them from it,” Laramie said. “We can have a team meeting after dinner.”

  “He says try not to ruin anyone’s appetite.”

  “No can do,” Laramie said. “I never make promises I might not be able to keep.”

  Chapter Eleven

  After the tour of the property ended, Yevgeny went for a joyride on the ATV. Andrei, Fyodor, Ivan, and Vladimir stayed behind to feed and water the herd. Anastasia accompanied Shorty and Laramie to the main house so they could get cleaned up for dinner. Elena held out both hands like a police officer directing traffic when she saw them coming.

  “Stop!”

  Even though Elena uttered the command in Russian, Laramie and Shorty pulled up short.

  “I just finished mopping the kitchen,” Elena said at a slightly lower volume.

  “Tell her we don’t have any intention of tracking mud on her clean floors,” Shorty said. “All we need is a hose and a spigot with good water pressure.”

  Elena led them to the back of the house and pointed to a rubber hose coiled in the yard.

  “I will get some towels they can use to dry off. Tell them to give me their clothes when they’re done. I normally do laundry every Friday, but I will make an exception in this case. The longer I wait, the more work it will take to get those stains out.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Laramie said after Anastasia repeated what Elena had said. She tossed her hat aside and unbuttoned her denim shirt, revealing a form-fitting white tank top underneath.

  After Laramie peeled off her dirty work shirt, Anastasia admired the sight of her toned arms and narrow waist. Even though she wanted to continue staring, she forced herself to look away so no one, Laramie included, could see the desire she felt burning in her eyes.

  “Do you plan to bathe out here?” Her voice sounded so strange she almost didn’t recognize it.