Cowboy’s Healing Heart

2. All We Have

TWO

ALL WE HAVE

KRYSTAL

The phone buzzes in my pocket, and my stomach drops. Another call from Ashanti’s school.

I step away from the tractor I’ve been working on, wiping my greasy hands on my jeans. The cool metal of the wrench I’ve been using presses against my thigh, a reminder of the work I’m leaving unfinished.

“Ms. Duncan? This is Principal Hawkins.”

I close my eyes, bracing myself. The familiar knot of anxiety tightens in my chest. “What’s she done now?”

“I’m afraid Ashanti’s been in another fight. We’ve had to send her home for the day.”

My hand grips the phone tighter. This isn’t my daughter. Not the Ashanti I know. The sweet girl who used to curl up next to me on the couch, her head on my shoulder as we read stories together. The child who’d beam with pride when she brought home perfect test scores. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I end the call, my mind racing. Ashanti’s always been a good kid. Straight A’s never caused trouble. But since we moved to Ironhaven? It’s like she’s a different person.

The relocation was supposed to be a clean slate, an opportunity to leave behind the shadow of Jordan’s meddling and create a new life. But instead, it feels like our family is coming apart at the seams.

I glance at my watch. It’s barely past noon, and I’ve got a mountain of work to get through. The tractor behind me sits half-repaired, its innards exposed to the dusty air of the barn. Tools are scattered around it, a sign of the work I’m leaving behind.

But Ashanti comes first. Always.

As I scan the yard for Tom or Kelvin, my mind drifts back to how I ended up here at Silver Creek Ranch. It wasn’t that long ago that I was bouncing from ranch to ranch, never staying in one place for too long. I was always looking over my shoulder, waiting for Jordan to catch up with us.

But then I heard about Andy’s ranch, a refuge for veterans and others looking for a fresh start. It seemed like the perfect opportunity—a chance to put down roots and give Ashanti some stability.

But stability, it turns out, is harder to come by than I thought.

Instead of Tom or Kelvin, I spot Shane carrying a toolbox toward one of the barns. His t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, damp with sweat from the morning’s work.

Perfect.

Shane walks toward the barn, his dark hair hidden beneath his cowboy hat. He’s tall—damn near towering over the equipment—as he moves with a combination of grace and strength.

I shake my head, trying to clear the heat rising in my cheeks. I refuse to get tangled up in how he looks or how my stomach does a Texas Hold’Em when my eyes catch the deep blue of his.

“Kennedy!” I call out, not recognizing my own voice. “Let me holler at you.”

He turns, those blue eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I forget what I'm about to say. There’s something in his gaze that throws me off balance. Then I shake it off.

You’re not interested, I remind myself, watching his approach.

“What’s up, KD?” He asks, setting down the toolbox. The metal clangs against the packed earth, punctuating the tension in the air between us.

I gesture to the tractor behind me. “I need this engine overhauled by the end of the day. Think you can handle it?”

His eyebrow quirks up, a challenge in his eyes. “That’s a big job for one afternoon.”

“You saying you can’t do it?” I challenge, crossing my arms. The fabric of my work shirt pulls tight across my shoulders, reminding me of how tense I am.

Shane’s lips twitch, almost a smile. It softens his features, making him look younger and more approachable. “I didn’t say that. I’ll get it done.”

“Good.” I turn to leave, then pause. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “And Kennedy? Don’t half-ass it. I’ll be checking your work.”

He steps closer, his posture relaxed but attentive. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I raise an eyebrow, wanting to challenge him while feeling the undeniable spark in the air between us. “I hope you can keep up. This isn’t just about turning wrenches; it’s about understanding how everything works together.”

Shane nods, his blue eyes steady on mine. “I’ve learned a thing or two about machinery. But I’m all ears if you want to give me the specifics.”

I appreciate his willingness to engage, even as I remind myself to keep my guard up. “Well, for starters, we always prioritize safety. That means double-checking everything before we dive into repairs. No shortcuts, understood?”

“Got it. Safety first.” He leans against the tractor, the way he carries himself exudes confidence. “What else should I know?”

“I expect everyone to pull their weight. We work as a team here. No drama and no slacking off. We get things done right the first time.”

“Understood,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. “And if I happen to impress you along the way?”

I can’t help but smile, even as I try to keep my tone serious. “Let’s just stick to the work, Kennedy.”

“Fair enough.” He chuckles, the sound deep and rich.

As I watch him, my heart races unexpectedly. There’s a magnetic pull between us that’s hard to ignore, a chemistry that crackles with each exchanged glance. I remind myself that I need to stay focused—this is a professional relationship, and he’s still my employee. I can’t let attraction cloud my judgment.

“All right then,” I say, shaking off the moment. “Let’s see what you can do. The tractor won’t fix itself.”

I leave with bigger problems to deal with. As I walk away, I can feel his eyes, but I don’t look back. The weight of his gaze is heavy, and I refuse to let it anchor me down. I can’t afford to let anyone in or show any weakness.

I’m the lead mechanic at Silver Creek Ranch and the only Black woman in a sea of men. There’s a level of scrutiny that comes with that role, an expectation to prove myself time and again. I’ve fought hard to earn my place here and can’t let any weakness slip through the cracks.

The drive into town is a blur. Fields of wheat and corn flash by, a golden sea under the midday sun, but their beauty registers. My mind keeps circling back to Ashanti, to the call from Jordan this morning, to the precarious life we’ve built here—always teetering on the edge of collapse.

Moving here is our chance to find a place where Ashanti can feel safe and make friends, to build a life where we don't have to keep looking over our shoulders, and maybe even find a community where we can belong.

Andy offered a six-month contract. The pay is average, but the accommodations are excellent, with a two-bedroom cabin, bonuses, and Ashanti having access to an exceptional education. The public schools here exceed those back home by a long shot.

And the icing on this cake was moving outside the reach of Jordan’s tentacles. Andy could give two fucks about Jordan’s money or his name.

I would have signed a contract for eternity to stop obsessing over when I’ll wake up and find him standing on my porch. Demanding custody of Ashanti just to fuck with me.

Well, apparently, South Dakota isn’t far enough. I might need to find a job on the fucking moon to get rid of his ass.

So, this contract hasn’t been just a job. It’s a lifeline, a chance to show that I’m not just capable but exceptional.

Women like me don’t often get this opportunity, and I’m painfully aware of how quickly it can be taken away. One misstep and I risk losing everything—not just my job but our stability.

Ashanti and I have to find a way to make this work.

I pull up to the school, a squat brick building that looks like it hasn’t changed since the 1950s. Steeling myself for what’s to come, I take a deep breath before exiting the car. The air is thick with the scent of freshly cut grass.

Ashanti is waiting in the office, her head down and shoulders slumped. Her braids hang in her face, hiding her expression. But I can see the tension in her body, the way her fingers twist the hem of her T-shirt.

My heart aches for her. She didn’t ask for any of this – the constant moving, the new schools, the weight of secrets she’s too young to fully understand.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice tight. I want to reach out and pull her into a hug like I used to when she was little. But something holds me back. The gulf between us seems to widen with each passing day.

The drive home is silent. I want to ask what happened and why she’s acting out. But I’m afraid of the answers. Afraid that if I start asking questions, I won’t be able to stop. And some questions—like why we really left, why we can never go back—are ones I’m not ready to answer.

Back at the ranch, I park near our cabin. It’s a small, weathered structure, but it’s ours. A safe haven in a world that’s felt increasingly hostile. Ashanti bolts from the truck before I can say a word, her backpack bouncing against her back as she runs.

“We’re not done talking about this!” I call after her. But she’s already inside, the door slamming behind her with a finality that makes my heart ache.

I lean against the truck, exhaustion washing over me. The sun beats down, relentless and unforgiving.

How did we get here? When did everything get so complicated?

I close my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my skin. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine a different life. One where Ashanti and I don’t have to keep running, where we can put down roots and build something lasting.

But that’s not our reality. Not as long as Jordan’s out there, threatening to tear apart everything we’ve built.

The thought of him sends a chill down my spine, even in the afternoon's heat. I can still hear his voice, smooth as honey but laced with acid.

“You can’t hide forever, Krystal. I’ll find you. And I’ll take what’s mine.”

A noise from the barn catches my attention.

Right. The tractor.

Shane.

Reality crashes back in, and I push off from the truck. No use dwelling on what-ifs and maybes. We deal with what is, not what could be.

I make my way over to the barn, half hoping he’s given up and left. The smell of hay and motor oil grows stronger as I approach. But as I round the corner, I see him bent over the engine, completely focused on his task. His hands move with a sureness that speaks of years of experience. It’s oddly mesmerizing.

Man and machine.

There’s a rhythm to it, a dance as old as time. It’s a language all its own, one of gears and pistons, of oil and steel. And I’m fluent in it.

This is where I find peace. Just me and the machine, locked in a silent conversation that requires patience, understanding, and the willingness to listen.

Each turn of a wrench, each adjustment of a valve, is a step in this intricate ballet. It’s a dance I’ve known for years, one that grounds me when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

Being a mechanic isn’t just a job for me. It’s a sanctuary. When I’m elbow-deep in an engine, the world outside fades away.

I’m just... me .

Stripped of all the layers of fear and doubt I’ve built up over the years.

The real me.

There’s an honesty to machines that I crave. They don’t lie. They don’t have hidden agendas. If something’s wrong, they let you know. And if you’re patient and willing to put in the work, you can fix it.

It’s a simple equation, a rare certainty in a life that’s been anything but certain.

That I can take something broken and make it whole again.

Each repaired engine is a small victory, a reminder that despite everything, I still have the power to fix things. To make things right.

I wish I could bottle up this feeling and give it to Ashanti to show her that no matter how tough things get, we can always find a way to keep going.

This is who I am at my core—a fixer, a problem solver. If only the rest of life could be as straightforward as an engine.

“How’s it going?” I ask, my voice neutral. I lean against the barn door, trying to appear casual. But inside, I’m already mourning the loss of that moment of tranquility, bracing myself for whatever challenge comes next.

Shane looks up, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. A smear of grease marks his forehead, and for a moment, I have the strangest urge to reach out and wipe it away.

“Making progress. Should be done on time.”

I nod, unsure what to say. Part of me wants to snap at him, to find some flaw in his work. But he’s just doing his job. My issues aren’t his fault. The tractor looks good—better than good if I’m being honest. He clearly knows what he’s doing.

“Good,” I manage. “Keep at it.”

I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

“Everything okay, KD? You seem... tense.”

I spin back, ready to tell him to mind his own business. But the concern in his eyes catches me off guard. It’s genuine, not the pity I’m used to seeing. For a moment, I’m tempted to open up, to let someone else carry this burden for once.

But I can’t.

I’ve learned the hard way that trusting people—especially men—only leads to heartbreak and betrayal. Jordan taught me that lesson all too well. And even if Shane seems different, I can’t take that risk.

“It’s fine,” I say instead, my tone clipped. “Just focus on the tractor.”

Shane nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “If you need any help?—”

“I don’t.”

I walk away, feeling his eyes on my back. Why does he have to be so... understanding ? It would be easier if he were an asshole. Easier to keep my walls up, to remember why I can’t let anyone get close.

Men lie and cheat and… destroy .

And I be damned if I let another man destroy this shred of normalcy I’m fighting to obtain. I got enough shit to deal with without adding heartbreak to the list.

The rest of the afternoon drags on. I throw myself into work, trying to ignore the gnawing worry in my gut.

Ashanti. Jordan. The constant fear that it could all fall apart.

That’s the normal cycle, except today, there’s one more added… Shane .

I tell myself it’s because I’m his supervisor. But overseeing his progress on the team has nothing to do with how his blue eyes haunt me.

My hands move with practiced precision, diagnosing and repairing the various machines that keep Silver Creek Ranch running. I lose myself in the rhythm of it all—the clang of metal, the hum of engines coming to life under my touch.

There’s a tractor with a stubborn transmission, a hay baler that needs its belts replaced, and an irrigation system acting up again. Each problem is a puzzle, a welcome distraction from the thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.

The physical demands of the work—the strain in my muscles as I wrestle with stubborn bolts, the sweat beading on my brow under the hot sun—ground me in the present. But even as I immerse myself, the swirling of my fears never quiets.

Still, I press on. Each machine I fix and each system I get running smoothly again is a small victory. This is a reminder that I’m good at this and have value beyond being Ashanti’s mother or Jordan’s ex. Out here, I can almost believe that we’ll be okay.

That somehow, I’ll find a way to fix our lives as surely as I fix these machines.

As the sun starts to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I head back to check on Shane’s progress. The air has cooled slightly, bringing with it the scent of evening dew and distant wildflowers.

I stop, close my eyes, and give myself a moment to smell the flowers. It’s a lesson I’ve learned through many hard times.

Stop and smell the flowers and watch the sunrise. It lets me know God is still in control and that I don’t have to figure it out. Just trust that if He brought me to it, He’ll see me through it.

I inhale and exhale. Trusting the healing quality of this place. I’m praying it will move through my body and push out all this unwanted anxiety and turmoil. That I’ll find my way to the other side.

Because I don’t know how much more I can take before I throw up my hands.

Enough stalling. It’s time to temptation head-on.

I open my eyes and continue the short distance to see his progress on the engine. To my surprise, he’s just finishing up.

“Done already?” I ask, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. I cross my arms, eyeing the tractor suspiciously.

Shane straightens, stretching his back. His shirt rides up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin. I force my eyes away. “Yep. Want to take a look?”

I peer into the engine, looking for any sign of shoddy work. But it’s immaculate. Better than I could have done myself. Every part is in its place, gleaming with fresh oil. It’s clear he’s put care into every detail.

“Not bad,” I grudgingly admit. The words feel inadequate, but it’s all I can manage.

“…for a pretty boy,” Shane says, a hint of amusement in his voice. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It makes him look more approachable.

I narrow my eyes at him, pushing away the unwelcome observation. “Don’t get cocky. It’s one engine.”

“True,” he agrees. “But I did it in record time. Might even deserve a ‘thank you.’”

My hackles rise. The easy banter we’ve fallen into feels dangerous, like quicksand threatening to pull me under. “You want a gold star for doing your job?”

Shane’s smile fades. Something flashes in his eyes, and puff it quickly vanishes. “What’s your problem with me, KD? I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I snap. “I’m quite capable of handling everything on my own.”

I sound like a royal bitch right now. But I don’t need him or anyone.

Need turns into favors. Favors into expectations. Expectations to demands. And I have nothing to give.

I’m tapped the fuck out. And I don’t need Mr. Blue Eyes to tell me this is going too far.

Shane’s expression softens, and I hate it. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to look at me like that.

“I’m sure you can,” he says quietly. His gentle and understanding voice makes my heart ache. But that doesn’t mean you always have to do everything alone.”

Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. It’s been so long since anyone offered me help without expecting anything in return.

I push the feeling away, replacing it with anger.

Anger is safer. Anger I know how to handle.

“You don’t know anything about me or my life,” I spit out. My hands clench into fists at my sides. “So don’t pretend like you understand.”

I turn on my heel, storming off. My heart’s pounding, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve revealed too much.

That, in my anger, big bad KD is a walking, talking nutcase.

That I’m human and flawed and vulnerable.

Fuck! Why did Andy have to hire him?

As I walk back to my cabin, boots kicking up dirt, I try to focus on what needs to be done.

Dinner for Ashanti. A talk about her behavior. Plans for tomorrow’s work. The routine tasks that keep our lives moving forward, even when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

But Shane’s words echo in my head. …that doesn’t mean you always have to do everything alone.

They stir up feelings I’ve long since buried—longing, hope, the desire for connection. Dangerous feelings that I can’t afford to indulge in.

Ashanti must adjust to a room full of her peers. I must adjust in a room full of men.

No one’s rolling out the red carpet, befriending me, asking me to hang out after work.

No. I do this alone because I must. And since I must, there’s no sense in wallowing.

It is what it is.

I shake it off. The feelings and Shane’s words.

He’s wrong. Being alone is safer.

For me and for Ashanti.

It’s the only way I know to protect us, to keep the life we’ve built from crumbling.

I picture tiny versions of myself, like worker bees, laboring inside my body. They climb over each other, carrying slabs of titanium and tools, constructing a wall no man can scale, all to keep my heart untouched and unscathed.

A wall that keeps butterflies, attraction, and passion out.

Those amigos aren’t on the menu—not for me, not anymore.

I learned that lesson the hard way with Jordan. Opening my heart again would only put Ashanti at risk, and that’s a chance I won’t take.

As I reach the cabin, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead with my daughter. The porch creaks under my weight as I climb the steps. I can see Ashanti curled up on the couch through the window, her face buried in a book.

For a moment, she looks like the little girl I remember—sweet, innocent. Then she glances up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see the walls go up.

The same walls I’ve taught her to build.

I pause, my hand on the doorknob. Shane’s words come back to me, unbidden.

…that doesn’t mean you always have to do everything alone.

Maybe... he’s not entirely wrong. Maybe there’s a middle ground between letting people in and shutting them out completely.

But that’s a thought for another day.

Right now, my daughter needs me.

I open the door, stepping into the warmth of our cabin—our home.

This is all we got. The two of us.

And for now, that has to be enough.