Page 32 of Cowboy's Healing Heart

"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 throughmy 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 whatyouunderestimate is how bad I want you.”

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