Page 13 of Cowboy's Healing Heart

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.”

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