The cowboys secret, p.14
The Cowboy's Secret, page 14
Her pussy tightens around my shaft as she experiences one final orgasm. Afterward, I lay beside her in a state of awe. “I knew we would be good together.”
Claire’s light laugher fills the room. “You were definitely worth the wait.”
I glance at the doorway and see the pup staring at us, wagging his tail. “Hopefully, we haven’t scarred that little guy with our energetic romp.”
She smiles at the little dog, announcing, “I’ve decided to keep him.” Turning to me, she adds with a glint in her eye, “I think I’ll name him Brad.”
When spring break arrives, I get ready to head back to Colorado. Despite all the hours I’ve put in at school, I still haven’t found a solution, but I’m not giving up.
In the meantime, I plan to spend any scheduled time off working on the ranch to help Pop.
The truth is, I can’t wait to see my family again. They are a source of strength for me, and I never laugh as hard as I do when the six of us get together.
I grin as I get on the plane, wondering what’s in store for me this time—because life with my family is never boring.
Motherly Love
My mother surprises me the morning after I arrive. “Brad, I’ve been thinking about your Russian friend a lot lately,” she tells me as we enjoy our morning coffee together.
“You mean Durov?”
“Yes. My heart aches for him…losing his mother in such a heartbreaking way.”
I sigh heavily, unable to imagine such a thing as I look at my sweet mother. “It’s extremely sad.”
She holds her coffee in both hands and takes a sip before slowly setting it down. “I’d like him to come for a visit.”
“You sure, Ma?” I wonder if it’s a good idea, knowing how stretched our family is financially and emotionally. Pa is working himself to the bone, and Christina is still not talking.
She smiles at me confidently. “I need to give him a hug. I also think it will do us a world of good. I’ve talked it over with your father and he agrees.”
Knowing that Pop is on board gives me hope the tide might be turning for our family. “You got it, Ma, but Durov’s an extremely busy man. Don’t be upset if he declines.”
Ma pats my hand gently. “It’s okay if he says no, sweetheart.”
Noting the time difference between Colorado and Moscow, I wait a few hours before I call, fully expecting him to turn down the invitation.
“Hey, Durov, my mama has been thinking of you and would love for you to come for a visit.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I figure he’s thinking up an excuse. His voice is gruff with emotion when he answers, “I look forward to it.”
“So, you’ll come?” I ask in surprise.
“Da.”
“Great! I’m here now for spring break, but I’ll be working here all summer so you can pick a date that works for you.”
“Expect me tomorrow,” he states. “I can only stay a few days.”
The fact that Durov is so quick to accept my mother’s invitation is a testament to her mothering instincts. “Okay, I’ll let her know.”
“Tell her I will be bringing ingredients to teach her my mamulya’s dishes. Only authentic Russian ingredients will do.”
I chuckle, knowing she’ll be thrilled. “My mother will be very happy to hear that. She can’t wait to meet you.”
“Tell her I feel the same, cattleman.”
After hanging up, I turn to my mother, dumbfounded. “He says he’s coming tomorrow.”
Her eyes light up. “I can’t wait to wrap my arms around that sweet boy!”
My mother has no idea that Durov is a world-renowned sadist, and I sincerely hope to keep it that way.
Ruthie walks in, and Ma tells her about Durov coming for a visit. “That’s exciting! I wonder if he’ll go fishing with me?”
I suddenly imagine the Russian alone with my beautiful and impressionable sister, and it makes me shudder. “Ruthie, it would be best if you keep your distance from Durov. He’s is an extremely private person and needs his space.”
She pouts. “Darn. We had so much fun with your friend Thane when he came to visit us.”
I laugh, remembering the epic prank we played on him.
Ma wraps her arms around Ruthie. “This boy lost his mama, sweetheart. If that has made him unapproachable, we have to respect that.”
Ruthie sighs. “I totally get it, but I was looking forward to meeting a real live Russian. I was hoping he could teach me a few Russian words while he was here.”
I have to keep from rolling my eyes, thinking about all the other things he could teach my sister. Durov had better be a gentleman around my sisters.
I decide to sharpen a few tools in the barn to relieve some tension. After all, a big brother can never be too protective when it comes to his little sisters.
Durov waltzes off his private jet like a man who owns the world. I suppose he does—at least a part of it.
Ruthie giggles with girlish excitement when she spots him. “I’ve never met a knight before!”
I immediately correct her, “He’s not a knight.”
“Not true. I looked up the meaning of his title.”
I snort. “He just calls himself that. It has nothing to do with actually being a knight.”
“Well, he sure looks like one to me!” Megan exclaims. “Just look at that fancy jet.”
“Jets have nothing to do with being a knight,” I mutter.
Ruthie smirks. “He certainly has the confidence of a knight.”
“He certainly does…” my mother agrees.
Ah, hell.
I can’t believe the females in my family are already smitten with the guy. Looking out at the tarmac, I watch as Durov strides up to us, his dominance radiating from him like some kind of beacon.
He walks up to my father first and holds out his hand. “It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Anderson.” He glances at the rest of us. “You have a beautiful family.”
My father shakes his hand firmly—not intimidated by Durov’s confidence or his wealth. “God has blessed us richly.”
Durov nods in agreement. “That He has, Mr. Anderson.”
He then turns his attention on my mother, taking her hand and kissing the back of it lightly. “Photos don’t do you justice, Mrs. Anderson. You’re even more beautiful in person. Your husband is a lucky man.”
My mother’s modest giggle causes Durov to smile. He turns to my three sisters next. Nodding respectfully, he tells Megan, “I hear you are as talented as your brother in the practical joke department—possibly better.”
Megan blushes. “I do enjoy a good practical joke.”
I shake my head, interrupting their little exchange. “Megan doesn’t have time for practical jokes these days. She’s got her college assignments and a doting boyfriend to keep her occupied.” I decided to mention her boyfriend, wanting to remind Durov that Megan is off-limits.
He addresses Ruthie next. “You are quite the fisherwoman, I hear.”
Her smile is beguiling when she asks, “Do you like to fish, Mr. Durov?”
He chuckles. “Actually, I’ve never been.”
I can see the excitement in her eyes when she hears his confession and I want to smack myself in the head. None of this is going according to plan. As a brother, I’m going to have to keep my guard up. Durov is far too charming to be trusted.
When Durov turns to her, Christina looks up at him shyly. “Your brother told me once that you like stuffed animals, so I brought you one from Russia.”
Her eyes light up.
Damn…
I can’t believe Durov remembered that—it’s the surest way to win over my youngest sister.
Because he’s only here for a couple of days, we plan to pack in as much as we can in that short amount of time to make his visit count.
Naturally, it begins with a home-cooked meal lovingly prepared by my mama. The kitchen table has been set with a blue gingham tablecloth, and Pop opens the window to let in the fresh breeze.
I gesture to Durov to sit next to my father while I help set the table. Each of us kids has a task. It’s been that way since I was young. Christina sets out the plates, Ruthie is in charge of the glasses, Megan lays down the utensils and napkins, and I pour everyone a tall glass of cool water.
We then grab one of the many side dishes that my mama includes with every meal and put them on the table. We four children are a well-oil machine, working so efficiently that it takes no time at all to fill the table with the bounty my mother has created.
We all sit down, waiting in anticipation as my mother carries the platter of meat to the table and proudly places it in the center. My sisters ooh and ahh, while I sit back to appreciate what my mother has done. Under normal circumstances, we would have had a fat, juicy steak for everyone in the family to celebrate Durov’s visit, but with things being as tight as they are, Ma has taken two thick steaks and cut them thinly, laying them decoratively on the platter with fresh greens bordering the platter in an attractive display.
It looks as impressive as any five-star restaurant.
My father looks at my mother appreciatively. “It looks spectacular, my dear.”
He then bows his head to pray. I notice Durov immediately bows his head along with the rest of us.
“Dear Lord, we thank You for bringing Mr. Durov to us safely from Russia and pray for Your blessing upon every interaction we have during his visit. As always, we thank You for Your continuous bounty…” He then squeezes my mother’s hand and adds, “And an extra thank you for blessing me with such a resourceful and beautiful wife.”
I glance up to see my mother blushing and my sisters smiling to themselves.
Pop has always been shameless about singing my mother’s praises—much to her chagrin—but I admire that about my father.
“Let’s dig in,” my father exclaims, grabbing the heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.
When I notice Durov is just sitting, watching us, I poke him in the ribs. “We serve ourselves here, nothing formal.” I pass him the basket of rolls after taking two for myself. “Feel free to take as much as you like.”
I wink at my mother. “Ma always makes enough for seconds.”
For the next few minutes, the table is silent except for the clanking of utensils as we fill our plates with my mama’s down-home cooking. From her famous yeast rolls and creamy whipped potatoes to the variety of vegetables harvested from the garden, you’ll find nothing better.
The simplicity and freshness of each dish is elevated by my mother’s skill in the kitchen. There is no finer cook in the world, and I will stand by that statement until the day I die.
“Truly, a meal fit for a czar!” Durov states after dinner, leaning back in his chair as he pats his stomach appreciatively.
My mother blushes. “I’m certain czars are used to much fancier food.”
He leans forward and smiles. “It is the skill of the cook, the freshness of the ingredients, and the love that infuses the meal that determines the quality of the dish. Mamulya taught me that.”
I see tears form in my mother’s beautiful green eyes. “Your mamulya was a very wise woman.”
Durov nods. “She was, Mrs. Anderson.”
The word “was” hangs in the room and the mood suddenly changes to one of sorrow.
Turning to my father, Durov asks, “Could you pass me another roll, Mr. Anderson?”
To his surprise, my pop launches the roll into the air. The Russian has quick reflexes and catches it before it flies off the table and hits the floor. He looks at my father in astonishment, then bursts out laughing.
The entire table breaks out in laughter, and the atmosphere instantly lightens. Ma gets up from the table and returns carrying her signature dessert, apple crisp.
Even though I’m full, the enticing scent of apples and cinnamon makes my mouth water.
“Our neighbors the Nelsons gifted us a basket of their first harvest of the season. I’ve always believed the first apples are the sweetest,” she tells Durov.
“Do you have apple crisp in Russia?” Ruthie asks, as my mother starts dishing out the dessert onto small plates, adding a spoonful of vanilla ice cream to each.
Durov shakes his head. “We do not.”
Megan takes the largest piece and smiles as she places it before him. “Our guest always gets the biggest piece.”
Durov nods to her in appreciation, then slices into the crisp with his fork while we all watch. He takes a portion of the melting ice cream and adds it before taking a bite. Chewing the forkful slowly, he breaks into a smile.
We all immediately dig in, wanting to experience that delicious combination for ourselves.
“What do you think, Mr. Durov?” Ruthie asks between bites.
“Cinnamon is not a common spice in traditional Russian dishes. However, I particularly enjoy this combination and will take the recipe home to my cook if your mother is willing to share it.”
“Of course,” my mother replies, “I would be honored.”
My mama never hoards her recipes the way some people do. She believes you share recipes as freely as hugs. She sees it as another way to spread her love.
After supper, I take Durov to meet Kiah. Knowing that he isn’t a pet person, I wonder how he will react to our beautiful Kuvasz.
The moment we leave the house, Kiah comes bounding up. Durov instantly backs up.
I get down on one knee and start petting her while I chide him, “You’re not scared of dogs, are you?”
Durov keeps his distance. “Scared? Nyet.”
Kiah eyes the stranger cautiously, picking up on Durov’s discomfort.
Out of respect to her, I make formal introductions. “Kiah, this is my friend, Durov. He is staying with us for the next couple of days.”
I turn to him, “Durov, this is our lead herd dog, Kiah. She protects our family and cattle.”
Durov nods. “I respect the dog’s dedication to your family.”
I smirk. “You can call her Kiah.”
He rolls his eyes. “I am not talking to an animal as if it’s a person.”
“Maybe you should. She’s a lot smarter than a lot of humans I know, present company included.”
Durov snorts.
I stand up, telling him, “They are the most protective and loyal companions you’ll ever find.”
“I will never understand people’s fascination with animals.” His tone suddenly changes when he asks, “Anderson, is your youngest sister naturally mute?”
I sigh, not wanting to talk about our family’s crisis, but I still want to be honest with him. “Christina is going through a stressful time and handles it by not talking. I did the same thing when I was a kid, after my best friend died.”
Durov nods thoughtfully. “I am sorry to hear she is struggling.”
“She’s improving day by day, but thank you for your concern.”
He is startled when Kiah comes up to him and noses his hand. She looks up at him expectantly. Durov gazes down at her but doesn’t pet her despite her open invitation.
“You’re a hard nut to crack, Durov,” I say, chuckling as I give Kiah another pet. “Even Thane was fascinated by our dogs.”
Durov shrugs. “I am not a man easily swayed by furry things unless it’s between a woman’s legs.”
I give Kiah an extra hug. “Don’t take the Russian’s indifference to heart, girl. He’s my friend and I owe him.”
She wags her tail, looking up at me with pure trust and adoration. The exact same feelings I have toward her.
I feel sad for Durov. By ignoring the unconditional love that animals give freely, he is truly missing out—but that’s something he’ll have to discover on his own.
Early the next morning, I come downstairs to find Durov already in the kitchen with my mother.
He announces proudly, “Today, you will experience a traditional Russian breakfast, cattleman.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I let out a yawn. “Can’t wait.”
I sit down at the kitchen table to watch the show.
Durov opens the chest he’s brought and begins taking out the ingredients. I see basic staples like flour, sugar, kosher salt, oil, onions, and potatoes, but also specialty items like Farmer’s cheese, Russian sour cream, Siberian honey, a variety of jams, and four different kinds of caviar.
After he sets them all out, Durov stares at the ingredients for a moment and a profound sadness seems to fall over him.
My mother walks up to him with her arms outstretched. “Come here, sweet child.”
A lump forms in my throat as I watch Durov lean down and accept my mother’s hug. When I hear his quiet sobs, I silently get up from the table and leave the room.
It’s easy to forget, despite his bravado, that Durov is no older than I am. Despite his immense wealth and world travels, he is still just a hurting boy who misses his mama.
More than an hour later, Ma calls us all to join her and Durov for breakfast.
When I walk into the kitchen, I find Durov covered in flour and wearing a grin on his face. “Come in and sit down, Anderson Family. It’s time to experience Russia in the morning.”
While we make our way to the table, he returns to observe my mother as she fries up the first item on the menu.
“Is this the color you are looking for?” my mom asks him.
He puts his hand on her shoulder as he leans in to examine the food frying in the pan. “It is perfection. I could never get the right color. Mamulya would be proud of your work.”
She smiles and continues cooking while Durov returns to the table with condiments. “The first dish is called syrniki. It is similar to a pancake but much better. We typically put sour cream or jam on them.
He sets a large bowl of sour cream on the table. “Russian sour cream is nothing like the sour cream you are used to here. It’s much creamier and sweeter.” He then lays out three jars of jam and points to each of them. “I brought lingonberry, which is similar to cranberry; blackcurrant, which has the flavor of passionfruit with floral notes; and gooseberry, which tastes like a combination of grapes, apples, and strawberries.”
