Cowboy’s Healing Heart

1. Pretty Boy

ONE

PRETTY BOY

SHANE

“Shane, this is ridiculous. You can’t just abandon your responsibilities like this.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter as my father’s voice fills the cabin of my pickup truck.

“I’m not abandoning anything, Dad. I told you I need time to adjust to civilian life.”

“Adjust? It’s been months since you left the Marines. How much more time do you need?”

The vast South Dakota landscape stretches out before me, a stark contrast to the suffocating expectations closing in from the other end of the line. I focus on the road ahead, willing myself not to lose my cool.

“As much time as it takes,” I say firmly. “I’m not ready to step in as the CEO of Innoventis. Not yet.”

“This isn’t just about you, Shane. The company needs strong leadership. Your brother?—”

“Noah’s more than capable of handling things,” I cut him off. “He’s been there longer than I have anyway.”

My father’s frustrated exhale irritates me. The fact that he’d expect me to jump right in without regard for my thoughts or the fresh ink on my discharge papers is precisely why I left in the first place.

“That’s not the point. You’re the one who’s been groomed for this position. It’s your duty to?—”

“My duty?” I can’t keep the edge out of my voice now. “I’ve given years of my life to duty, Dad. I need this time for myself.”

“And where exactly are you going to find yourself? Some ranch in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’ll be in touch when I’m ready. Goodbye, Dad.”

I end the call before he can protest further, letting out a long breath as silence fills the truck cab. The tension in my shoulders eases as I take in the open road ahead, the promise of escape growing stronger with each mile.

When I pull up to Silver Creek Ranch, the sun hangs low in the sky. The worn wooden sign creaks in the breeze, a far cry from the sleek modernity I’ve left behind in New York.

This is exactly what I need right now.

A stocky, muscular ranch hand approaches as I step out of the truck, stretching my stiff muscles. His weathered face speaks of years spent working under the South Dakota sun, deep lines etched around his eyes. Graying hair peeks out from beneath a well-worn cowboy hat.

“You must be Shane,” he says, extending a calloused hand. His voice is gruff but not unkind. “I’m Tom. Andy’s out on a supply run but said to expect you.”

I shake his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. It’s a handshake that speaks volumes – firm, honest, no-nonsense.

“Nice to meet you, Tom,” I reply, nodding. “Any idea when Andy will be back?”

Tom’s deep brown eyes assess me carefully. “Could be a couple of hours. You’re welcome to relax in the bunkhouse until then, or if you’re itching to get started, I can point you towards some work that needs doing.”

The thought of sitting idle, letting my mind wander back to that phone call, makes my skin crawl. “I’d rather get to work if that’s alright.”

Tom grins. “Figured you might say that. We’ve got a tractor that needs some attention. KD’s working on it now, but I’m sure she could use an extra set of hands.”

“ She ?”

He nods. “Krystal Duncan. Our lead mechanic. She’s over in the barn.” He points towards a weathered structure a short distance away. “Fair warning though, she can be a bit... prickly with new folks.”

I nod, already moving towards the barn. “Thanks for the heads up.”

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over Silver Creek Ranch.

Expansive pastures stretch out in every direction, dotted with grazing cattle and the distant silhouette of rolling hills. The air is thick with the scent of hay and earth, mingling with the faint aroma of pine from the nearby trees.

I take a deep breath, letting the tranquil atmosphere seep into my bones.

As I approach the barn, I hear the clanging of metal and muffled cursing. The barn door’s wide open, and I step inside, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls. That’s when I see her.

As I approach, I hear the clanging of metal and muffled cursing. The barn door’s wide open, and I step inside, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. That’s when I see her.

Krystal—KD—is bent over the engine of an ancient-looking tractor, her arms elbow-deep in grease and grime. Her curly hair is pulled back in a single braid, a few stray wisps clinging to her sweat-dampened neck. She’s muttering to herself, oblivious to my presence.

I stand back, watching her work.

“Come on, you stubborn old beast,” she mutters, wrestling with the engine’s stubborn parts. “You can’t be this difficult. I know you’ve got some life left in you.”

She pulls at a rusted bolt, grunting with effort. The frustration is evident in her tone, but there’s also a flicker of pleasure as she begins to coax the tractor back to life.

“Just one more turn,” she encourages it, her voice softening. “You used to be reliable. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

There’s something captivating about how she talks to the machine as if it understands her. She wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and leans closer, intent on her task.

“Please start,” she pleads softly now, almost tenderly. “Don’t leave me hanging like this.”

Her fingers dance over the engine components, coaxing them gently as if they’re living creatures instead of mere metal and oil. And I’m transfixed.

I’m tempted to step forward and offer my help. But instead, I stay put, absorbing every detail about her.

She wears a faded flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows. The contrast of her gentle features against the ruggedness of her surroundings strikes me. She’s focused, clearly in her element, surrounded by tools and parts.

Andy had mentioned this place was a refuge for veterans like me, a chance to regain footing after the chaos of military life. He failed to include beautiful women up to their elbows in tractor oil.

I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I’m looking for KD?”

She whirls around, dark eyes flashing with annoyance. “Who the hell are you?”

Her bluntness catches me off guard, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Shane Kennedy. I’m the new hand Andy hired.”

Krystal’s eyes narrow as she looks me up and down, her gaze lingering on my clean clothes and city-boy boots.

“Right,” she says, her tone dripping with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you can do here, pretty boy?”

I raise an eyebrow at the nickname, but before I can respond, her phone rings. Krystal glances at the screen, her face hardening as she answers.

“This is Krystal,” she says, turning away from me. Her shoulders tense as she listens. “Again? I thought we talked about this, Ashanti.”

I shift, feeling like I’m intruding on a private moment. Krystal’s voice drops, and her words are colored by a mix of frustration and concern.

“I know it’s hard, baby, but you can’t keep getting into fights. We’ll talk more when I get home, okay?” She sighs. “I love you too. You know the rule...” She nods, and I see the hint of a smile tipping the corners of her mouth. “Aight, baby girl, I gotta bounce. Mamma got work to do.”

Krystal ends the call, taking a deep breath before turning back to face me. The vulnerability I glimpsed is gone, replaced by a steely determination.

“Look,” she says, crossing her arms. “I don’t have time to babysit some city slicker who thinks ranch work is gonna be a runaway show. If you want to make yourself useful, there’s a pile of fence posts that need mending over by the corral. Think you can handle that without breaking a nail?”

Her dismissive tone should irritate me, but instead, I find myself intrigued. A fire in her eyes draws me in, challenging me to prove her wrong.

I meet her gaze steadily. “I think I can manage. Unless you’d rather I help you with the tractor?”

Krystal snorts. “Please. I’ve been fixing engines since before you probably learned to tie your shoes. Stick to the fence posts, Kennedy.”

I hold up my hands in mock surrender, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

She rolls her eyes, already turning back to the tractor. “And don’t call me ma’am. It’s KD or nothing.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Noted. I’ll get out of your hair then, KD.”

Walking toward the corral, those fierce brown eyes linger in my mind. Her voice, warm and gentle when she talked to her daughter, surprised me. But as I stop in front of the fence posts, I prepare to work.

The posts stand tall and sturdy, weathered by time but still holding their ground. I take a moment to survey the nearby supplies: a pile of fresh wood, a toolbox filled with various tools, and a sturdy hammer waiting for a hand.

I roll my sleeves back to my elbows, feeling the sun’s warmth on my forearms. It’s mindless, physical labor—exactly what I need to quiet the noise in my head. With each post I mend, I feel a little of the tension from that phone call with my father melting away.

I grab the first post and start working, the repetitive motion grounding me. I silently follow Krystal’s earlier instructions, testing my competence as I hammer nails into place. Each hammer swing feels satisfying, a distraction from the expectations that await me at home.

Every time I glance up, I find Krystal watching from a distance. Her presence is magnetic, and I can’t shake the zap of energy that courses through me at each glance.

The denim hugs her curves just right, and her work boots are scuffed but solid. There’s a smear of grease on her cheek, and for a moment, I wonder how a simple mark can make her look even more attractive.

I tell myself it’s just the long day getting to me, but I can’t help letting my gaze slide back to her. Each time I do, it takes longer to focus on my task.

I lose track of time and focus on the rhythm of the work. Only when I notice the lengthening shadows do I realize how long I’ve been at it. I straighten, wiping the sweat from my brow, and that’s when I catch sight of Krystal.

Her expression is unreadable, but there’s a hint of surprise in her eyes as she takes in the pile of repaired fence posts. After a while, I hear her footsteps approaching and brace myself. She inspects my progress, her expression shifting from frustration to appraisal.

“You’re getting there,” she says, her tone clipped but fair. “Just make sure the posts are level. We can’t have any sagging after the next storm.”

I nod, keeping my response brief. “Got it.”

“Not bad, city boy,” she calls out, her tone grudgingly approving. “Looks like you might not be completely useless after all.”

I grin, unable to resist the urge to tease her a little. “High praise indeed. Should I expect a gold star?”

Krystal rolls her eyes, but I swear I see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t push your luck, Kennedy. There’s plenty more work where that came from.”

“Looking forward to it,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I mean it.

Krystal studies me for a moment longer, her gaze intense. I meet her eyes, feeling a spark of... something... pass between us. It’s gone in an instant as she turns away, calling over her shoulder, “Get cleaned up. Dinner’s in an hour in the main house.”

She turns to leave, and I catch myself watching her go. There’s a sharpness to her movements, a no-nonsense attitude that makes it hard to look away.

As I head towards the bunkhouse to clean up, I feel lighter than I have in months. With its open spaces and honest work, the ranch already feels more like home than the gilded cage I left behind. And Krystal, with her sharp tongue and hidden depths, presents a challenge I’m eager to take on.

For the first time since leaving the Marines, I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be.

The main house is a weathered two-story structure, its wraparound porch dotted with mismatched rocking chairs. As I approach, the smell of home-cooked food makes my stomach growl. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now.

I hesitate at the door, suddenly aware of how out of place I must look. While dirty from work, my clothes are still a far cry from the worn jeans and flannel shirts I see through the window. Taking a deep breath, I push aside my doubts and step inside.

The kitchen is warm and inviting, filled with the chatter of ranch hands gathering for dinner. Andy, a burly man with kind eyes, spots me and waves me over.

“Shane! Glad you made it,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “How was your first day?”

I smile, genuinely pleased to see him. “Good. Busy. Thanks again for inviting me and giving me a chance, Andy.”

He waves off my gratitude. “Any friend of Jake’s is welcome here. Besides, from what I hear, you’ve already made yourself useful.”

I look around the dining room, searching for Krystal. She’s not here. Something in my chest tightens, but I ignore it. I fill my plate with pot roast and potatoes, focusing on the task at hand.

“She doesn’t eat with us,” Andy says, appearing at my side.

I keep my face neutral. “Who?”

Andy’s eyes crinkle. “KD. She keeps to herself.”

I nod, not offering more. We sit at a worn wooden table, joined by Tom. The food is simple yet hearty. It’s different from what I’m used to, but I find I don’t mind.

“Ready for tomorrow, Shane?” Tom asks between bites.

I meet his gaze. “I can handle it.”

Andy chuckles. “We’ll see. KD’s tough on new hands.”

“I’m not worried,” I say flatly.

Andy leans back, studying me. “What brought you to Silver Creek?”

My jaw tightens. It’s a fair question but one I’d rather avoid. “Needed a change after my discharge,” I say after a moment.

Tom nods, accepting this. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

The conversation shifts to ranch business. I relax, grateful for the change in topic. As we finish eating, Tom stands with a groan.

“Turn in early,” he advises. “5 AM comes fast.”

Andy claps my shoulder as he leaves. “Don’t be late. KD won’t like it.”

I nod, watching them go. A man I haven’t met yet approaches, his dark skin gleaming with sweat from the day’s work.

“You must be Shane,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Kelvin.”

I shake his hand, noting his firm grip. “Nice to meet you.”

“First day tomorrow, huh?” Kelvin grins. “You in for a treat with KD.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So I’ve heard. Is she always this tough?”

Kelvin laughs. “Tough, yeah. But fair. She knows her stuff.”

Tom rejoins us, settling back into his chair. “KD’s the best mechanic we’ve had. Just don’t expect any hand-holding.”

I nod, processing this. “Good. I’m not here for that.”

Kelvin eyes me curiously. “What are you here for, then?”

I pause, considering my words carefully. “A fresh start,” I say finally.

Tom nods approvingly. “Aren’t we all? This place has a way of giving that to folks.”

We fall into an easy conversation about the ranch and the work ahead. I find myself relaxing slightly, drawn in by their straightforward manner. There’s no hidden agenda here, no power plays. It’s refreshing.

As the night wears on, I feel the day's labor settling into my bones. I stand, stretching. “I should turn in. Early start tomorrow.”

Kelvin nods. “Smart move. See you out there, man.”

Tom gives me a knowing look. “Sleep well, Shane. You’re gonna need it.”

They leave with a chorus of goodnights, and I’m left alone at the table. The dining room empties quickly, the sudden quiet almost oppressive after the din of dinner.

I make my way to the bunkhouse, my footsteps crunching on the gravel path. The night air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of hay and distant pine. It’s peaceful here in a way I’ve never experienced before.

The bunkhouse is a simple barn with private rooms, a single bed, and a four-drawer dresser. I claim the first empty room I see and set my duffel bag just inside the room. Down the hall, other ranch hands are settling in for the night, their quiet conversations a low hum in the background.

As I lie back on the thin mattress, staring at the wooden beams above, my thoughts wander to Krystal. Her absence at dinner nags at me, though I tell myself it shouldn’t matter. I’m not here to make friends or get involved. I’m here to escape, to find some peace away from the constant pressure of my family’s expectations.

But there’s something about her that intrigues me. The way she challenges me refuses to be intimidated. It’s been a long time since anyone’s treated me like just another person, not Shane Kennedy, heir to Innoventis.

I close my eyes, willing my mind to quiet. Tomorrow is another day, another chance to prove myself. To show Krystal and everyone else that I belong here and can hold my own.

Sleep comes slowly, and when it does, my dreams are a confusing mix of boardrooms and open fields, of Krystal’s fierce gaze and my father’s disapproving frown. Then, a gunshot rips me from the bed.

I blink, disoriented. The unfamiliar surroundings send a jolt of panic through me.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a trapped animal yearning to break free. Sweat forms on my brow, chilling me, and my palms clam up, trembling as I fight for composure, willing my breaths to even out.

I blink, forcing my eyes to focus on the room around me. The wooden beams above. The faded quilt on my narrow bed. My duffel bag, still unpacked, sitting at the foot.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

The scent of pine and hay drifts through the open window. A gentle breeze stirs the curtains. Outside, I hear the distant lowing of cattle. The creak of a windmill. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

My hands unclench. I flex my fingers, pressing them against my thighs.

On the nightstand, a battered alarm clock ticks steadily. It's 3:37 AM—nearly time to start the day. I focus on the rhythm, matching my breathing to its predictable beat.

My heart rate slows. The adrenaline fades, leaving me drained but present.

This isn’t a war zone. It’s a ranch in South Dakota. I’m here by choice. To heal. To find some peace.

I stretch my muscles tight from tension.

My gaze falls on the window. Beyond the glass, the sky is lightening. Dawn approaches, chasing away the shadows of night.

I move to the small desk, examining its scarred surface. How many others have sat here, fighting their own battles? There’s comfort in that thought. I’m not alone in this struggle.

The room is sparse and functional, as is mine. A space to breathe, to rebuild. To remember who I am beyond the soldier, beyond the life waiting for me back in New York, beyond the heir to Innoventis.

I grab my running shoes. The familiar routine of lacing them up settles me further. One step at a time. That’s all I need to focus on right now.

As I open the door, cool morning air rushes in. It promises a new day—new challenges, yes, but also new possibilities.

I step outside, leaving the lingering ghosts of my dream behind. They’ll be back, I know. But for now, I’m here. Present and accounted for. Ready to assume some sense of normalcy after twenty years of survival.

The gravel crunches under my feet as I start to jog. With each step, I feel more solid. More real. The ranch comes alive around me as the day’s work begins.

A flicker of movement catches my eye as I round the corner of the barn. I slow my pace, squinting at a figure sitting on the porch of a cabin, her back to me. Even from a distance, the curve of her shoulders and her relaxed posture look familiar.

It’s Krystal.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, focused on something in the distance. For a moment, I consider jogging past, but then she turns, her eyes widening as she spots me.

“You’re up early, Kennedy,” she says, her voice clear and relaxed.

I come to a stop at the edge of her porch, my breathing and heart rate settling. Krystal sits there with a cup of coffee, taking her time with the morning. There's an edge to her, but at this moment, she looks calm.

The ranch is quiet, allowing me a brief reprieve from the noise in my head. I watch her as she brings the cup to her lips, seemingly unfazed by the world. There’s something reassuring about her stillness.

I don’t know what to say, but I keep my gaze steady while taking in the scene. It’s just another morning, but it feels different. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to leave just yet.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I reply simply.

Krystal nods, a flicker of understanding passing across her face. “Yeah, I get that.”

We stand in silence for a moment, the sky gradually lightening around us. I notice the shadows under her eyes and the tense set of her jaw. Whatever brought her out here this early wasn’t peaceful sleep.

“So,” I say finally, “what’s on the agenda for today?”

Krystal’s lips quirk in what might be a smile. “Eager to get started, huh? Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty lined up to keep you busy.”

There’s a challenge in her voice, one that sparks something in me. I meet her gaze steadily. “That’s why I’m here.”

She studies me for a long moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Then she nods, almost to herself. “Alright then. Let’s see what you’re made of, Kennedy. How about I give you a quick tour?”

“I’d like that.”

The hum of the ranch greeting the day rolls over the pastures, and cattle roam in the distance. It’s peaceful.

But as we reach the barn door, a shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence between us. Krystal tenses, her hand flying to her pocket. She pulls out her phone, glancing at the screen—all hints of solace drain from her face.

“I have to take this,” she says, her voice tight. Before I can respond, she’s striding away, her words floating back to me on the breeze.

“Jordan, what the hell do you want?”