Cowboy’s Healing Heart

3. Ninja Moves

THREE

NINJA MOVES

SHANE

I wipe the sweat from my brow, squinting against the late afternoon sun. The tractor’s engine hums beneath my hands, a steady rhythm that almost drowns out the chaos in my head.

Almost.

My phone buzzes in my pocket again. I ignore it, knowing it’s my father. He’s been calling nonstop since I left New York, and each missed call is another brick in the wall between us.

I ignore the buzzing in my pocket, focusing on the tractor’s steady hum. My father can wait. He’s been waiting for years, expecting me to fall in line with his grand plans. But I’m done being a pawn in his corporate chess game.

The sun beats down on my neck as I adjust a bolt. Sweat trickles down my back, a reminder of how far I am from the air-conditioned boardrooms of New York. Good. Let the heat and grime wash away the last traces of that world.

My mind drifts to the countless arguments with my father. His voice is always so controlled, so certain he knows what’s best for me. “The company needs you, Shane. It’s your birthright.” As if I’m nothing more than an extension of Innoventis, a cog in the machine he built.

I tighten the bolt with more force than necessary, picturing my father’s face. The disappointment when I enlisted. The thinly veiled contempt when I refused to take my “rightful place” after my discharge. He never understood that I was suffocating in that world of power suits and profit margins.

My mother’s face flashes in my mind. Always caught in the middle, trying to keep the peace. But even her attempts at understanding felt hollow. “Your father means well, Shane. He just wants what’s best for you.” As if what’s best for me is sacrificing my soul to the family altar of success.

The phone buzzes again. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to hurl it across the field. Instead, I pocket it, letting my father’s calls go unanswered. Let him stew in his frustration. I’m done explaining myself.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, surveying the tractor. It’s solid work, honest work. Something my father would never understand. Here, I’m not Shane Kennedy, heir to a fortune. I’m just Shane, another pair of hands trying to keep this place running.

And for now, that’s enough.

I focus on the task at hand, tightening a bolt with more force than necessary. The ranch stretches out around me, vast and indifferent to my inner turmoil. It’s been weeks since I arrived, and I still feel like an outsider.

Krystal’s voice echoes in my mind. “Don’t half-ass it, Kennedy. I’ll be checking your work.” Her words from this morning were sharp and challenging. I’ve been keeping my distance, but she has a way of getting under my skin.

A commotion in the distance breaks my concentration. Kids’ voices, sharp and taunting. I try to ignore it, but something in the tone makes me pause.

“Hey, new girl! What’s wrong with your hair?”

“Yeah, why’s it all twisted up like that?”

I set down my wrench, listening. The jeers grow louder, more vicious.

“Bet she can’t even see through those thick glasses!”

“Go back where you came from!”

A girl’s voice cuts through, defiant but wavering. “Leave me alone!”

I’m moving before I realize it, drawn by some instinct I can’t name. As I round the corner of the barn, I see them. A group of boys, maybe five or six, surrounding a smaller figure. A girl with dark skin and braided hair, her fists clenched at her sides.

“What’s the matter, Ashanti? Gonna cry?”

The girl – Ashanti – throws down her backpack. “You want another bloody nose to match your black eye, Devon? ’Cause I can whoop your ass and not get suspended this time. You started it.”

I almost laugh. The kid’s got spirit.

I move closer, arms crossed over my chest. The boys notice me first, their eyes widening. They start backing away, but Ashanti doesn’t see me. She thinks it’s her threat that’s scaring them off.

“Yeah, that’s right. Run away, you cowards!”

The leader – Devon, I guess – advances, rage twisting his features. “You little-”

I step between them, towering over the boy. “That’s enough.”

Devon freezes, shock replacing anger. The other boys scatter, leaving him alone.

I fix him with a hard stare. “If I hear you’ve been bothering my friend again, we’re going to have a problem. Understand?”

He swallows hard and nods.

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Devon backs away, then turns and runs. I watch him go, making sure he’s really leaving.

“I didn’t need your help,” Ashanti says behind me, her voice tight.

I turn to face her. She’s small for her age, maybe eleven or twelve, with warm brown skin and large-frame glasses. Her braids are intricate, framing a face set in stubborn lines.

“I know,” I say. “But sometimes it helps to have backup.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Shane Kennedy. I work on the ranch.”

“Oh.” She relaxes slightly. “I’m Ashanti.”

“Nice to meet you, Ashanti.” I crouch down to her level. “You okay?”

She nods, but I see the tears she’s fighting back. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”

“Seems like a pretty big deal to me.”

Ashanti shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “They’re just stupid boys. I can handle it.”

“I believe you,” I say. “But you shouldn’t have to handle it alone.”

She looks at me then, really looks at me. “You sound like my mom.”

I laugh, surprised. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she says seriously. “My mom’s the toughest person I know.”

“She sounds pretty great.”

Ashanti nods, then winces as she shifts her backpack. I notice a tear in the strap.

“Here, let me take a look at that,” I offer.

She hesitates, then hands it over. I examine the strap, and find where it’s come loose from the fabric.

“I think I can fix this,” I say. “Mind if we sit for a bit?”

Ashanti shakes her head, and we settle on a nearby bench. I pull out a small sewing kit from my pocket—an old habit from my military days.

As I work on the backpack, I ask, “So, how long have those boys been giving you trouble?”

Ashanti sighs. “Since we moved here. They don’t like new people, I guess.”

“That’s no excuse for being jerks,” I say, my hands steady as I thread the needle.

“I know. But it’s not just that.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “They don’t like that I’m different.”

I look up from my work, meeting her eyes. “Different, how?”

She gestures to herself. “You know. My skin, my hair, and my mamma says I’m a genius.”

I smile at the genius part. “There’s nothing wrong with being different, Ashanti.”

“Try telling them that,” she mutters.

I finish repairing the strap and hand the backpack back to her. “You know, I’ve dealt with people like that before.”

“You have?” She sounds skeptical.

I nod. “In the military. Some guys thought I didn’t belong because I came from a different background. They underestimated me.”

“What did you do?”

“I proved them wrong. Every day, in every way I could.” I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “And sometimes, I imagined their heads exploding when I outperformed them.”

Ashanti giggles, a sound that lightens something in my chest.

“But you know what?” I continue. “The most important thing was knowing who I was and what I was capable of. Their opinions didn’t change that.”

She nods slowly, considering my words. “Mamma says, ‘Do you baby girl and let them choke on your dust.’”

“Your mom sounds pretty smart.”

“She is,” Ashanti says, a hint of pride in her voice. Then her face falls. “But it’s still hard sometimes.”

I understand that feeling all too well. The weight of expectations, the struggle to fit in. It’s a battle I’m still fighting.

“I get it,” I say. “It’s not easy. But you’re tougher than they are, Ashanti. I can see that already.”

She smiles, a small but genuine expression. “Thanks, Mr. Shane.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Then, an idea strikes me.

“Hey, want me to show you a few self-defense moves? Might come in handy if those boys try anything again.”

Ashanti’s eyes light up. “Really? You’d do that?”

I stand, offering her my hand. “Absolutely. Come on, I’ll teach you how to break a hold.”

For the next half hour, I guide Ashanti through basic self-defense techniques. She’s a quick learner, her earlier sadness replaced by determination.

“That’s it,” I encourage as she successfully breaks my grip on her wrist. “Use their momentum against them.”

Ashanti grins, flushed with success. “This is awesome! Can we do more?”

“Sure, but let’s take a break first. You’re wearing me out.” I laugh. “Are all the kids like them?”

Ashanti shakes her head. “I have a best friend. Her name is Hailey.”

“That’s good.”

We sit back down on the bench, both of us catching our breath.

“Mr. Shane?” Ashanti says after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The question catches me off guard. I consider my answer carefully.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I say finally. “And because I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider.”

Ashanti looks at me, her expression serious beyond her years. “Even grown-ups feel that way?”

I nod. “Even grown-ups. Sometimes, especially grown-ups.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I wish the other kids could see me like you do.”

My heart aches for her. “They will, Ashanti. It might take time, but they will. And the ones who don’t? They’re not worth your time anyway.”

She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes.

“Hey,” I say, nudging her gently. “You know what my drill sergeant used to say?”

“What?”

I deepen my voice, mimicking my old sergeant’s gruff tone. “The only person you need to impress is yourself, soldier. Everyone else can kiss your shiny behind.”

Ashanti bursts out laughing. “Your behind isn’t very shiny.”

I clutch my chest in mock offense. “How dare you. I’ll have you know I polish it daily.”

She giggles again, and I find myself smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this... light.

As her laughter fades, Ashanti’s expression turns thoughtful. “Mr. Shane? Do you think... could we do this again sometime? The self-defense stuff, I mean.”

I hesitate. Getting involved isn’t part of my plan. I’m here to work, to escape, not to form attachments. But looking at Ashanti’s hopeful face, I can’t bring myself to say no.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “We can make it a regular thing if you want.”

Her face lights up. “Really? That would be awesome!”

I find myself smiling back. “It’s a deal then. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“If those boys give you trouble again, you come find me. Promise?”

Ashanti nods solemnly. “Okay. I promise. Can I bring Hailey?”

“Sure. Just make sure you clear it with your mom.”

“Yes, sir.”

I stand, stretching. “Alright, kiddo. You should probably head home before your mom starts to worry.”

She hops up, slinging her repaired backpack over her shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks again, Mr. Shane. For everything.”

“Anytime, Ashanti. I’ll see you around.”

I watch her walk away, feeling a mix of emotions I can’t quite name. As she disappears around the corner of the barn, I turn back to the tractor I was working on earlier.

My phone buzzes again. This time, I pull it out and look at the screen. Three missed calls from my father and two from my brother. A text from my mother asking if I’m okay.

I sigh, shoving the phone back into my pocket. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the ranch. In the distance, I hear the low moo of cattle being herded in for the night.

For a moment, I let myself imagine a different life. One where I stay here, where I belong. Where I can make a difference to kids like Ashanti, where I can be more than a suit sitting behind a desk.

But reality crashes back in. I have responsibilities and expectations to meet. This—the ranch, Ashanti, all of it—is temporary.

I pick up my wrench and get back to work, pushing away thoughts of family and belonging. But as I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of machinery, I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve done something that matters. Something that’s mine, not dictated by my family or my past.

And despite my best efforts to stay detached, I find myself looking forward to my next lesson with Ashanti.

As the sun dips below the horizon, I finish up my work on the tractor. The engine purrs smoothly. Another job well done. I wipe my hands on a rag, surveying the quiet ranch around me.

I spot Krystal in the distance, walking towards the cabins. Her hips swing confidently, shoulders set with determination. I can’t help but watch her for a moment.

My body reacts, a warmth spreading through me that I instantly try to suppress. It’s ridiculous. I can barely talk to the woman without her biting my head off. Yet I find myself drawn to her, noticing things I shouldn’t.

Like the shape of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, and the roundness of her ass.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve observed her at work. She’s fair, just like Kelvin said. The way she divides up projects shows she knows her team’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s impressive, though I’d never admit it out loud.

She must have liked how I handled that first tractor repair. It’s been the bulk of my work for the last three weeks. I don’t mind. Working alone gives me time with my thoughts, away from the complications of interacting with others. Especially her.

As Krystal nears the edge of my vision, she turns back. Even from this distance, I feel the weight of her gaze. An urge to go to her rises in my chest, but I squash it down. There’s no point starting something I won’t finish. I’ve got enough complications in my life without adding Krystal to the mix.

Still, I can’t deny the pull I feel towards her. It’s more than just physical attraction. There’s something about her strength, her independence, that resonates with me. It reminds me of the women I served with in the military - tough, capable, no-nonsense.

But none can match her beauty.

I force my eyes away, focusing on the tractor engine in front of me. The familiar smell of oil and metal grounds me. This is why I’m here. To work.

But even as I try, I’m hyper-aware of her presence on the ranch. It’s like there’s an invisible thread connecting us, pulling taut whenever she’s near. I’ve never experienced anything like it before, and it unnerves me.

I’ve always prided myself on my control, on keeping my emotions in check. It’s what made me a good soldier, a good leader. But around Krystal, that control slips. I find myself wanting to know more about her.

Her thoughts, her scent, her taste.

It’s dangerous territory. Getting close to someone means letting them see the real you, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. There’s too much I’m hiding, too much of my past that I’m not proud of. And then there’s the matter of my family, of the life I left behind in New York.

How could I ever explain that to someone like Krystal?

A billion-dollar company, an arranged marriage, and expectations that feel like an anchor roped around my body, tossed into the depths of the ocean. An abyss no one deserves, especially her.

I glance up one last time, but she’s gone. The tension in my body eases slightly, but the awareness of her lingers. Then I notice Kelvin heading in my direction.

“Hey, Shane. What’s your status?”

I glance down at my work area. “I’ve checked my boxes for the day. Did KD add another to my list?”

Kelvin shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, man. The opposite. We’re done for the week.”

“Sounds good. Hand me that wrench, will you?”

He passes it over, and leans closer checking my progress. “Think we’ll get her running in time?”

I nod, tightening a loose bolt. “We have to. Can’t afford any breakdowns once the harvest starts.”

The urgency of the situation isn’t lost on me. Silver Creek Ranch’s survival hinges on the next few weeks. The cattle roundup and harvest season are make-or-break times for ranches like this. One bad year can spell disaster.

I’ve been here long enough to understand the rhythm of ranch life, but the stakes still surprise me. In New York, a bad quarter meant angry shareholders. Here, it could mean the difference between keeping the lights on or shutting down completely.

My hands move methodically over the machinery, checking connections and replacing worn parts. It’s precise work, not unlike field-stripping a rifle. The familiarity of the task is oddly comforting.

“How’re we looking on the other equipment?” I ask Tom, not looking up from my work.

“Tractors are good to go. Still need to check the balers.”

I nod, making a mental note. There’s always more to do. I wonder if Krystal will add those to my list next week.

In the distance, I hear the low rumble of cattle being herded towards the corrals. The sounds of shouting and whistling carry on the wind.

“A few of us are heading into town to grab a couple of beers. Wanna roll?”

I wipe the oil from my hands and drop tools into my box. “What the ole lady’s letting you hang out tonight?”

Kelvin laughs. “Yeah, the girls are having a slumber party. That gives me at least until eleven before they start dropping like flies.”

I chuckle and lower the hood of the tractor. “Yeah, I’m in. Let me shower and change.”

Krystal’s paired us up a few times, and Kelvin’s a good guy. Our lives couldn’t be more different. He’s younger and married with a family.

“All right, bet. I meet you there in about an hour.”

He heads out over towards the cabins. The living area of the property has cabins for families and a few bunkhouses for single team members. Kelvin heads in the same direction I saw Krystal earlier.

My mind drifts to Krystal. She left with the roundup team at dawn. I wonder how she’s holding up. Not that I’d ever ask. We keep our interactions strictly professional, despite the tension that seems to crackle between us whenever we’re in the same space.

I work to clean up my work area, reflecting on the contrast between this life and my old one. In New York, autumn meant galas and fundraisers, not dawn-to-dusk physical labor. The challenges here are immediate and more tangible.

Fix this engine, or we can’t harvest.

Gather the herd, or we lose cattle to the harsh winter ahead.

It’s a stark change from the cutthroat world of defense contracting at Innoventis. Here, every action has a direct consequence. Every decision impacts not just the bottom line but the lives of everyone on the ranch.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields, I allow myself a moment to take in the scene. The vast expanse of land, dotted with cattle and busy workers, stretches out before me. It’s beautiful, in a rugged way that still catches me off guard sometimes.

This isn’t the life I was groomed for. It’s not the one my father envisions for me. But standing here, covered in grease and surrounded by the honest fruits of hard labor, I can’t bring myself to regret my choice.

At least, not today. But I can’t hide here forever.