Cowboy’s Healing Heart

7. Haunting Past

SEVEN

HAUNTING PAST

KRYSTAL

I wipe the sweat from my brow, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun. The feed mixer groans and sputters, a stubborn beast refusing to cooperate. My hands are slick with grease, and the wrench slips, clanging against the metal frame.

"Shit," I mutter, shaking out my stinging hand.

"You okay?" Shane's voice carries over the din of machinery.

I glance up, catching his concerned gaze. He's stripped down to a white tank top, muscles rippling as he works on the other side of the mixer. I force my eyes away, focusing on the task at hand.

"I'm fine," I snap. "Just a stubborn bolt."

Shane moves closer, reaching for the wrench. "Here, let me?—"

"I said I've got it," I interrupt, snatching the tool back. Our fingers brush, and I ignore the jolt that runs through me.

He holds up his hands, backing off. "Alright, alright. Just trying to help."

I bite back a retort, turning back to the mixer. My mind's not on the job, and I know it. Emails from my mother flash through my head, warnings about Jordan's latest attempts to track us down. The end of my contract looms, another move on the horizon. And then there's Shane...

I shake my head, trying to clear it. Focus, Krystal. You can't afford distractions.

The wrench slips again, and this time, my hand flies forward. Pain explodes across my knuckles as they slam into the sharp edge of the metal frame.

"Fuck!" I yank my hand back, blood already welling up.

Before I can react, Shane's there, grabbing my wrist. "Let me see," he demands, his voice low and urgent.

I try to pull away, but his grip is firm. "It's nothing, just a scratch."

He ignores me, examining my hand with gentleness contrasting sharply with his calloused fingers. "It needs cleaning," he says, his thumb brushing over my palm. "Come on, the barn has a first aid kit."

I want to argue, to insist I can handle it myself. But the concern in his eyes makes my throat tight. I nod, letting him lead me away from the mixer.

The barn is cool and dim, a stark contrast to the blazing sun outside. The earthy scent of hay and machinery fills the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the tools scattered around. My head spins with thoughts that refuse to settle.

I can’t shake the memory of what happened between Shane and me in the back of that truck—a whirlwind of heat and urgency. It felt so damn good, yet it’s gnawing at me now, twisting into an anxious knot.

Just when I think I might allow myself to lean into those feelings, my mind drags me back to the reality of my life.

I'm running from ranch to ranch, trying to outrun my ex, and I don't have room in my life for another disappointment—even one that looks and feels as good as Shane Kennedy.

He guides me to a workbench, rummaging for the first aid kit in a nearby cabinet. I perch on the edge of the bench, cradling my injured hand, but my focus slips away.

How did I let it get this far?

My mind should be on protecting Ashanti, not on Shane's devious smile or the way his probing eyes seem to see right through me.

Just this morning, I made a foolish mistake.

I had been half-asleep when my phone rang, the caller ID hidden by my foggy brain. I answered without thinking—my heart sank the moment I recognized Jordan’s voice.

“Krystal, you know I don’t play games,” he said, his voice smooth yet laced with an edge. “Hiring a private detective is just the beginning. You don’t want this to get messy, do you?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him hear the fear creeping in. But money, privilege, and his bruised ego are a deadly combination.

“You think you can just bully your way into my life again, Jordan? Fuck you, and stop calling my phone.”

"Fuck me? I remember when you used to beg for it." He chuckled softly, a sound that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. "I want my child back in Atlanta. I'll find you if I don't hear from you by the end of the week. And trust me, you won't like how I do it."

His threats curled around me like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

“Jordan, we're done,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Oh no, my love, you're stuck with me. We're co-parents.” I could hear the hiss in his voice, revealing the predator lurking beneath the surface. “We both know how far you’ll go to protect Ashanti. But what you underestimate is how bad I want you.”

"And your wife?"

Jordan laughed, "Don't worry about her. Just get back to Georgia. Have a wonderful day."

The line when dead and the reality set in with icy clarity: it's time to move on.

Again.

Just when I thought we had carved out a moment of safety, here comes that reminder that security is as fleeting as the wind. I can't let my guard down, not for Shane or anyone.

I don't want to break my contract, but I can't risk Jordan finding us.

Shane's focus on my hand pulls me back to the present, but the distraction of my spiraling thoughts threatens to pull me under again. I remind myself that my priority is Ashanti, that she is the only thing that matters.

Whatever connection I feel with Shane must remain just that—temporary.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Shane asks as he returns, setting the kit down beside me.

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He gives me a look, opening an antiseptic wipe. "You've been distracted all day. Snapping at everyone."

I hiss as he cleans the cut, the sting of the antiseptic a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my head. "Just got a lot on my mind," I mutter.

Shane's hands pause, and I look up to find him watching me intently. "Talk to me," he says softly. "What's going on?"

For a moment, I'm tempted. The weight of everything—Jordan's threats, the looming move, my growing feelings for Shane—all presses me down. But I won't drag him into my mess.

I force a smile, injecting as much sass into my voice as I can muster. "Aw, Kennedy, I didn't know you cared."

He doesn't smile back. Instead, his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline. "You know I do," he says, his voice low and intense.

My breath catches in my throat. We're so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes drop to my lips, and for a moment, I think he's going to kiss me.

I should stop this. Push him away and maintain that professional distance. But God help me, I don't want to.

Since that night in the truck after our spontaneous encounter at the bar, we’ve both been playing by established rules. It was supposed to be just physical—nothing more. I kept reminding myself of that mantra, clutching it tightly like a lifeline against the undertow of my emotions.

Things have been running smoothly on the job except for the mounting awareness of his presence, the heat of his gaze, and the gnawing desire to ignore everything and give in.

We’ve worked side by side without any issues—no awkwardness, no discomfort—just the familiar rhythm of machinery and the occasional banter. But with each passing day, the need to have him close, to feel that electric connection, has only intensified.

And now, with my decision to move on as soon as I can find another gig, I feel an overwhelming urgency to get my fill of him.

The reality that I need to leave this place soon hangs like a dark cloud over my head. There's a fleeting sense that I can't waste this moment, that this opportunity with Shane may slip through my fingers before I can savor it.

The thought makes my pulse race, igniting a desperate hunger I can't deny.

What if this is my last chance to feel him like this? To explore whatever it is that simmers when we're together? Would I regret it?

As I lock eyes with Shane, my heart races, and all I can think about is the way his lips felt pressed against mine that night, the thrill of surrender washing over me. The need to bridge that divide swells like a tide, threatening to drown my better judgment if I don’t act soon.

…if I don't act now.

My body craves more than just fleeting moments; it longs for all of him. But fear and caution still hold me back.

Shane leans in, his breath warm on my skin. "Krystal," he murmurs, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a fresh wave of moisture between my thighs.

I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. He responds immediately, his hand sliding into my hair as he deepens the kiss.

It's hungry, desperate, all the tension of the past weeks pouring out in a rush of lips, tongues, and teeth.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands roam over my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I moan into his mouth, arching against him.

" Shane… ," I gasp as he trails kisses down my neck.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

I shake my head, tugging his shirt over his head. "God, no."

Our clothes hit the barn floor in a flurry of movement. Shane lifts me onto the workbench, his hands gripping my thighs as he steps between them. I run my fingers down his chest, marveling at the hard planes of muscle.

He enters me in one smooth thrust, and I cry out, my head falling back. Shane sets a punishing pace, each stroke driving me higher. I cling to him, and the feeling as the pleasure builds.

"Fuck, Krystal," he groans, his arm tightening around my waist, sliding me up and down his cock, ensuring I feel him everywhere. "You feel so good."

I can't form words, lost in the sensation of him moving inside me. The tension coils tighter and tighter until, finally, it snaps. I come with a shout, waves of pleasure washing over me.

Shane follows moments later, his body shuddering against mine.

We stay like that for a long moment, our ragged breathing the only sound in the barn. Reality starts to creep back in, and I stiffen, suddenly aware of our position.

Shane must sense the change because he pulls back, his eyes searching my face. "You okay?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. He helps me up from the makeshift bed of hay. We dress in awkward silence. The afterglow fades quickly, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty.

I can't keep doing this.

Shane clears his throat. "Krystal, I?—"

"We should get back to work," I interrupt, unable to meet his eyes. "Those mixers won't fix themselves."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay."

As we head back out into the sunlight, I can't shake the feeling that something's shifted between us. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to face what that means.

The rest of the afternoon, there's this awkward energy between us. We talk, but it feels forced, and I know it's my fault.

Shane and I work side by side, our bodies moving in a dance of efficiency born from weeks of practice. But there's a new tension thrumming beneath the surface, electric and dangerous.

I catch myself watching him more than I should, my eyes tracing the lines of his arms as he works. The memory of those arms around me, his skin hot against mine, sends a flush creeping up my neck.

"Hand me that wrench, would you?" Shane's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I blink, realizing I've been staring. "Sure," I mutter, grabbing the tool and passing it over. Our fingers brush, and I jerk back like I've been burned.

Shane's eyes narrow. "You have no reason not to trust me."

"Just work, Kennedy."

"Fine."

We fall back into silence, the clanging of metal on metal filling the air. I throw myself into the work, desperate for any distraction from the mess of emotions swirling in my chest.

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and my stomach twists into knots. I know it's Jordan without even looking. His threats have become as relentless as the summer heat beating down on the ranch.

I glance over at Shane, his jaw clenched as he works on the tractor engine. The muscles in his arms ripple with each movement, and I can't help but admire the way his shirt clings to his sweat-dampened skin.

Shane looks up, catching my eye. There's a flicker of concern in his gaze like he can sense the turmoil inside me. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then seems to think better of it.

I want to tell him everything—about Jordan's harassment, about the constant fear that grips me every time the phone rings. But the words stick in my throat.

If I let Shane in and reveal the truth about the mess I'm running from, I'll only be dragging him into it. And I've learned the hard way that relying on someone else only leads to disappointment and heartbreak.

Shane moves closer, his hand brushing against my arm. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice low and rough.

I nod, forcing a smile. "Just peachy."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Instead, he cups my cheek, his calloused thumb tracing my jawline. The gesture is so tender and intimate that it takes my breath away.

For a moment, I let myself get lost in the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes seem to see straight through to my soul. Then I step back, breaking the spell.

"I think that'll do it," Shane says, wiping his hands on a rag. "Want to give it a test run?"

I nod, moving to the control panel. The mixer hums to life, parts moving smoothly. Relief washes over me—at least something's going right today.

"Nice work, KD," Shane says, a hint of pride in his voice.

I turn to find him watching me, a soft smile on his face. My heart flips in my chest, and I curse internally. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

"Thanks," I manage. "Couldn't have done it without you."

His smile widens, and for a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to trust my feelings again.

But I have Ashanti to think about. The need to find a new contract. And Jordan Hendricks.

I can't afford to get attached.

"I should call it a day," I say, taking a step away. "Ashanti will be wondering where I am."

Shane's smile fades, replaced by something I can't quite read.

"Right, of course." He hesitates, then adds, "Listen, about earlier?—"

"We got carried away. It won't happen again," I cut him off, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

He flinches like I've slapped him, and guilt twists in my gut. But I push it down, hardening my resolve.

This is for the best.

"If that's what you want," Shane says, his voice carefully neutral.

No, it's not what I want. What I want is to throw caution to the wind, to let myself fall into whatever this is between us. But wants and needs are two very different things.

"It is," I lie. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kennedy."

I turn and walk away, forcing myself not to look back.

The evening air is cool against my skin as I make my way to the cabin. My body aches from the day's work, but it's nothing compared to the hollow feeling in my chest.

I pause on the porch, taking a deep breath. I hear Ashanti moving inside, probably working on homework or drawing in her sketchbook. The normalcy of it all hits me hard.

I won't tell her about the move until I find a new job.

I open the door, pushing thoughts of Shane and what might have been to the back of my mind. Romance has no place in that equation. No matter how much I might wish it did.

The clock is ticking, and my past isn’t finished with me yet.