“Not with the insulation and heaters you built for me.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Did I build that?”
“Yes, for my birthday. You were very generous. See the path?” She pointed to the concrete walk that led from the front porch to the dovecote, utterly clear of even the light layer ofsnow that covered the rest of the property. “It’s heated. I don’t even have to shovel it.”
“Good.”
Anna was too old to be shoveling snow, but she was terrible about hiring staff. Both Tatyana and Oleg had pestered her about it, but she insisted that she didn’t need any domestic help save for Marko and Marie, who lived in the guesthouse behind the barn.
She turned and waved him in the house. “I’m letting out all the warm air with the door open. Come inside or leave before Pushkin starts yelling.”
Oleg walked inside. “And how is Tatyana’s cat?”
“He’s mad at me because I won’t let him go outside in the snow.”
Pushkin jumped on the end of the couch and immediately pushed his fuzzy head under Oleg’s hand.
“Why not? Why no snow, Pushkin? I see you are a forest cat, are you not? A wild beast in need of roaming.” He smiled a little bit as the feline began a loud, satisfied purr.
“Pfft,” Anna muttered. “What roaming? He gets muddy and wet, then decides he wants to jump on my lap.” She shook her head. “I should send him to her house.”
Anna would never. She adored the cat even though she griped about him constantly.
Maybebecauseshe griped about him constantly.
“Are you a government inspector or something?” she barked. “Take off your coat.”
Oleg did so and hung it on the hooks near the door. “I am supposed to be at a fancy party, but I am ignoring my responsibilities.”
“Why?” She walked over and picked up a hand bellows to puff at the fire in the hearth.
“Really?” Oleg walked over, put another log on the fire, and snapped his fingers, making the flames jump.
“Now you’re just showing off,” Anna muttered.
“Your daughter hates it when I show off.”
“Of course she does.” Anna looked Oleg up and down. “My father raised her, and he was a humble man.”
“Then she was lucky to have him.” Oleg leaned on the fireplace, looking at the family pictures lined up like soldiers on the dust-free wooden mantel. He pointed to a faded color photograph of an older couple with stoic faces standing in front of a familiar farmhouse.
A little girl with braids stood in front of them, looking off to the side.
“This is them, yes?”
Anna nodded. “We spent every summer at the farm. She was their only grandchild.”
“They look like very steady people.”
“They were.”
Not the sort prone to emotional outbursts. Not the type to spark in anger. But he could see the fine lines around the grandfather’s face.
Despite his stoic expression, this was a man who liked to laugh.
“Your daughter is angry with me because I made a scene at a party last night. I was bullying one of my brothers and made a show of it.”
“Why make a show of it?” Anna asked. “Did you have a reason?”
