Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
MORE THAN FRIENDS
Shaw
“Nothing hurts more than a broken heart.” — S
I spend all morning and the late afternoon mending broken fences, tending to the cattle, and ensuring everything runs smoothly at the ranch. But most of all, I spend the hours avoiding Ella and all thoughts of her. One is easy; the latter tortures the hell out of me from the moment I open my eyes this morning.
My mind keeps conjuring her image—her lips, her sparkling eyes, her perfect smile. Everything. I can’t escape her, not even in my sleep, because she even follows me there.
I get up early and start my day far from home to avoid running into her. I don’t want to get lost in those blue eyes of hers because it’s dangerous. She is dangerous.
Once, I was a man who lived for danger and the thrill of the forbidden, but I’m not that man anymore. She deserves better. I know it, and deep down, she knows it too.
Now, it’s late afternoon, and I find myself riding Peppermint as I always do to clear my head. It works for a brief moment, but then my phone rings, and thoughts of the beautiful, sweet creature bombard every corner of my mind.
“She’s doing well,” I say into the phone, my tone flat. “It seems that ranch life is actually doing her some good.” My cousin, Ben, is on the other end of the line.
“Is she eating enough?” Ben’s voice crackles through the line, concern evident even from miles away. “How are online classes going?”
I give a rock a kick with my boot while staring off into the distance. “You should ask her.”
“I’m asking you, asshole,” Ben snaps, clearly exasperated.
I glance toward the distant tulip fields. “She’s happy here. Her eyes are no longer sad.” At the same time, her beautiful, soulful eyes flash in my mind, and my heart starts to race.
There is a pause at the other end, as if Ben is assessing the situation. “And are you treating her like the princess she is?”
“I treat her well enough,” I reply firmly, not wanting to clue in my cousin on how messed up I am over the girl—the enchanting, forbidden girl.
“Cousin,” Ben mutters, “her heart is pure, and she’s strong, but she’s been struggling for a while now. I miss my little lady, and her parents and her siblings miss their sister—the real her.”
The real her…
A wistful smile tugs at my lips as I think of the Ella my cousin is talking about—the lovely and wild girl who had unknowingly captured my every thought with her pink obsession, silly antics, and genuine, sweet smiles.
That girl faded into the background in D.C., but here—with me—she starts to bloom.
I think of the heiress with dull yet expensive outfits, tamed curls, forced smiles, and sad eyes that remind me of the winter rainstorms I witness every year at the ranch.
There is a moment of silence between us, the only sound the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and the animals in the distance.
“On her first day here, she wore a pink cowgirl outfit and smiled from ear to ear while twirling around,” I begin again, my voice quieter now. “This was after I’d told her the night before that her time here wasn’t a vacation—I told her she needed to work.”
Ben snorts through the line.
I chuckle softly, a hint of amusement in my voice. “On another occasion, I find her in the stables, talking to the horses and giving them makeovers. Another day, she made me go inside a pet shelter, and now there’s a baby goat named Poppy invading my home.”
“A fucking goat,” the bastard chokes.
Rubbing my palm over my face, I reply, “A fucking goat.”
“But you hate animals in your space.”
My eyes stay on the tulip fields as I whisper, “I do.”
“I think she’s done you good too, little cousin.” Ben’s tone turns serious again. “But remember not to let your feelings cloud your judgment. This is about her safety above everything else.”
My feelings?
Fuck.
As always, Ben sees more than I care to share. Dammit.
The thought of my cousin believing I would put my feelings over Ella's safety cuts deep. He’s a good man, the best man, and he loves Ella, but damn, he’s known me all his life. He should know that even if I did have feelings for my client, I would never put her life at risk. Not ever.
I run a hand through my beard and say, “You don’t gotta remind me of anything, Ben.” I grit my teeth and add, “She’s a client and nothing more. I know my place.”
And I do. I’ve always known.
Ellaiza Kenton is the former first daughter, accustomed to a privileged life in D.C.. Every aspect of her former world is immaculate. She’s never known dirt or waded near scum. She is… Not. For. Me.
I’ve known that from the moment I saw her back on the empty road.
And I don’t need the goddamn reminder now.
“That’s not what I meant, fuc?—”
“I’ll keep you posted. Take care of yourself, cousin.” With that, I end the call.
I pocket the phone and look out over the ranch, my thoughts drifting back to the source of my current turmoil, forgetting all about the call and the hurt it invoked.
Despite the complications, my feelings, and the risks, I am determined to see this through—to protect her, no matter the cost. At first, I think of her as a job—a tedious one—but now her safety triumphs over everything else. I need her safe, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure she stays that way.
I also need her smiles like I need my next breath—something I come to terms with today.
What I also come to terms with is the fact that I’m more messed up than I initially thought. Why is that? Because the idea of Ellaiza Kenton leaving this ranch and going back to her life cuts me deep to my bones.
As I look at the tulip fields in the distance, a sudden, torturous memory flashes through my mind—a memory that tightens my heart with conflicting emotions.
The almost-kiss.
The image of her sweet face, so close to my own, fills my thoughts, stirring feelings of longing and guilt. Ella is a client; she’s not mine.
She’s a young woman whose kind, happy nature and adorable stubbornness have struck a chord within me and pulled at my dusty heartstrings. Despite our professional relationship and the age gap that separates us, I can’t deny the attraction I feel towards her. I am like a moth to a flame, and every day spent with her I am slowly losing all my control.
I rub a hand wearily across my face, grappling with the weight of my emotions. Suddenly, I can’t breathe, even when I am outside. The air seems to not reach my lungs.
The ranch, usually a place of solace, now seems to echo with the mess she’s made of my mind and heart. I try to bury my unwanted and growing feelings beneath layers of duty, responsibility, and indifference, but they persist, stubborn and undeniable. I can’t fucking stop them from growing and taking hold of my entire existence.
“She deserves someone better. Someone like her,” I mutter to the wind, as if trying to convince my heart and conscience. “Someone who can give her the life she deserves and someone not as jaded and broken.”
I feel Peppermint nuzzle my shoulder, as if sensing my distress. I pat his neck absently, drawing comfort from my beast’s steady presence.
But the memory of that almost kiss lingers, refusing to be cast aside. It’s a fleeting moment, a breath caught between Ella and me—a moment that reveals the depth of my feelings for her, however forbidden it might be. However wrong it is.
Deep down, I know that the memory of that almost kiss will linger for a long time—a silent reminder of the messed-up emotions that bind me to the sweet heiress who has unexpectedly stolen parts of me I thought dead for so long.
Having had enough hiding for one day, I contemplate heading back to the ranch house until a movement in the distance catches my eye—a figure amidst the tulip fields that stretch out like a kaleidoscope of pink under the afternoon sun.
Squinting against the glare, I recognize the unmistakable silhouette of Ella, riding gracefully on top of Geraldine.
Thud. Thud. Fucking thud.
My heart starts pounding in a steady yet strong rhythm as I watch Ella riding peacefully through the fields.
I should turn away and get back to the house, yet instead of listening to my brain, I follow my stupid and masochistic heart.
I quickly jump on Peppermint and ride through the expansive tulip fields, enjoying the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over everything, enhancing the vivid hues of pink petals swaying gently in the breeze. Peppermint trots gracefully, the sound of hooves on soft earth melding with the quiet rustling of leaves.
In the distance, I spot Ella moving gracefully through the sea of flowers. Her frame against the backdrop of blooming tulips looks ethereal. Some loose curls dance in the wind, reflecting the sunlight like cascading shadows. Beautiful. Perfect. Not mine.
As if sensing me, she turns, catching sight of me in the distance. My breath hitches when her face lights up with a smile that seems to radiate warmth, even from afar. My heart stops in my chest as she keeps looking my way with the brightest smile on her face. I realize right there and then that no one has ever looked at me the way she does. She looks at me as if I am worthy—as if my existence brings her joy.
I can’t help but feel captivated by all that is Ella Kenton, as if time itself slows to savor this very moment. My heart pounds in rhythm with her as she rides through the tulip field.
With every stride, I draw nearer, the tulips blurring into a kaleidoscope of pink around me, but my focus remains fixed on her—the vision of beauty and grace that seems to belong to another world.
As we finally draw close, I slow Peppermint to a gentle stop. Ella meets me halfway, Geraldine prancing lightly as if sharing in Ella’s joy. We stand there, amidst the tulips, surrounded by the vibrant pink of the flowers—her favorite.
My gaze is fixed on her, and I find it impossible to focus on just one thought when a million cross my mind.
“You look like an angel,” I blurt softly, my voice carrying over the whispering of the wind.
Her eyes sparkle as she laughs—a melodic sound that echoes through the field. “And you,” she replies, “like a dashing devil.”
In that moment, I realize just how different we are from one another. It’s not only the age gap or our lifestyles but the way we both look as well. She’s always a vision dressed in designer clothes, her skin a beautiful untouched canvas, while I’m a simple man in stained clothes and inked skin. Yet… perhaps that is what drew me to her in the first place. She’s my opposite in every way.
She’s the softness to my harshness. The sweet to my sour. The wild to my tamed. The color to my dullness.
As we share a moment and our gazes lock, I feel my heart skip a beat at the sight of her. Her eyes sparkle with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. She approaches slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, with a grace that seems effortless, each step bringing her closer until she is nearly closing the gap between us.
I feel trapped by her gaze, which fills me with warmth that reaches into my soul, causing my breath to catch. I can’t tear my eyes away from hers, captivated by the way she looks at me as if I am the only person in the world. As if I am the only one she ever wants to see.
Then, with a soft smile that always seems to melt my defenses, she walks toward me until we are almost chest to chest. I gaze down at her, struck by the tenderness in her expression. “You found me,” she says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet carrying a depth of emotion that makes my chest ache.
“I found you,” I whisper, held captive by her gaze.
Her cheeks flush faintly as she looks up at me with a mixture of tenderness and something more—something that scares the hell out of me.
But then, all of a sudden, her eyes turn sad and her posture seems guarded.
“I’m sorry,” she begins softly, her voice tinged with nervousness and embarrassment. “For kissing you yesterday. I shouldn’t have assumed…”
Her words hang in the air, and the organ in my chest skips several beats as I process her apology. Not knowing what she is apologizing for, I look at her, silently urging her to continue.
“I shouldn’t have assumed that you felt the same way. It was wrong of me,” she finishes, her gaze dropping briefly before meeting mine again, clearly searching for any sign of disappointment or anger.
I am stunned that she has noticed the depth of my feelings and that she feels she has to apologize for missing me. I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts before responding.
“Moonshine… you don’t need to apologize,” I say softly, my voice reassuring.
“I do. It was wrong, and I’m sorry for embarrassing you. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to lose you.”
Friend.
Fuck.
The word stings.
“You could never lose me,” I say in a moment of insanity while holding her gaze.
I shouldn’t have said that. Fuck.
But I’ve come to realize that this is no fleeting feeling. It won’t disappear if I hide away or if she leaves me. I’m completely and utterly fucked.
Because even when we’re miles or maybe oceans away, she’ll still have me.
Her blue eyes widen slightly, surprise mingling with a hint of relief. A small smile plays on her lips as she reaches out to gently squeeze my hand.
“I’m glad,” she murmurs, her voice soft and gentle. “You make me happy. This place does too. I don’t ever want to jeopardize your job or your life by being impulsive.”
Her touch sends a shock of electricity up my arm to my heart. My chest tightens, and the air feels like it’s not reaching my lungs.
This is what this girl does to me.
She makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.
I’m a man in my mid-thirties, and a girl who is a decade younger is making me feel more than anyone has in my entire life with her addictive touch and perfect smile.
Her heart…
Time ceases to exist as we hold each other’s gaze, surrounded by a perfect hue of pink, her favorite color, as the wind blows softly.
That hateful word comes to mind again.
Friend.
It stings, yet it’s for the best.
I made a vow to protect her, and I can’t do that if I can’t protect her from myself. Falling for her will only make things difficult for both of us. My life is here, and hers is back in D.C. with her family and in school.
She has dreams that I can’t fulfill here in Montana.
I’m too old for her. Too old and too set in my ways, trapped in my past.
Her parents…
So many things separate us.
“Shaw bear.” The melodic sound of her voice brings me back to the moment.
The weight of all that keeps me from her feels too much to bear.
Her eyes sparkle as she looks up at me, her warmth kissing my skin.
It all happens so fast. One second I’m lost in her gaze, and the next, I draw Ella into my arms, feeling her intoxicating warmth against me. I press a gentle kiss to her forehead and breathe her in. It’s a silent acknowledgment of the tenderness I feel for her.
We stand there for a lingering moment, the world around us hushed as if holding its breath while I held her in my arms.
When I finally speak, my voice is soft but filled with sincerity. “You’re going to make some man incredibly lucky one day,” I murmur, then pull back, my fingers lightly brushing her pink cheek. “But that man... that man isn’t me.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken regret and an undeniable truth. I feel a pang in my heart, knowing the depth of what I feel for her but also recognizing the reality of our circumstances. She is a multibillionaire heiress, and I am just her bodyguard for what remains of the summer.
Ella looks up, her eyes searching my face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “B-but why?” she whispers, her voice barely audible and filled with sadness. “If it’s because you think you’re not good enough, you’re wrong.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes as if she doesn’t want to ever let go. “You, Shaw Banning, are everything.”
You, Shaw Banning, are everything.
I hold her close for a moment longer, savoring the closeness between us before reluctantly letting go. Peppermint and Geraldine shift restlessly nearby, sensing the change in our emotions.
“No, baby, I’m not.” I whisper the painful words, knowing they are true. I draw in a long breath, holding it in my lungs until it burns, then blow it out.
I am broken.
She broke me long before anyone ever had the chance to tell me I was worthy.
And I never begrudged her, not even when I lost everything. When she took it all away with her.
But I do today because maybe if I wasn’t so messed up in my head, I would deserve this dream of a girl.
My dream girl.
The sweetest dream.
As we stand there amidst the tulips and the bittersweetness of the moment, I silently vow to save this memory—the memory of holding her in my arms, of kissing her forehead, and of letting her go with a heavy heart but with the hope that she will find the happiness she deserves, even if it isn’t with me.
I’ve been stabbed, shot, lost the one I loved most, and seen the horrors mankind is capable of committing in the name of war, yet nothing has ever hurt me more than this moment right here. The moment where I come to terms with the truth that we can never be more than what we are.
Bodyguard and client.
Never more than friends.