Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
When Adler arrives at Second Chance Ranch, I know he’s trouble. Adler gets under my skin like no
one else and threatens my quiet, orderly, ranch foreman life.
In fact, my body’s reaction to his presence is something of a surprise. When I have the chance to
explore the chemistry between us while secretly skinny dipping, I go for it because I know all too
well that city slickers never stay long.
Except Adler comes back…
And I’m tasked with training him to be a ranch hand. No matter how tempting Adler’s easy smiles
are, I can’t risk a repeat encounter for several
I’m his boss.
I hate gossip, especially when I’m the subject.
And doing my job right will always be my top priority.
Adler challenges all of that with chaos, rescue dogs, and an attraction that refuses to quit. As the
weeks pass, our connection deepens into a secret fling. My rodeo days taught me how to handle a
rough ride, but Adler has me falling fast.
Landing in the dirt is going to hurt, but I can’t bring myself to end things. Alder’s everything I never
knew I wanted, but he won’t be content with staying in the shadows forever. Can I be the cowboy he
needs and deserves before he’s gone for good?
Keep You Safe is book two in beloved author Annabeth Albert’s small-town Colorado cowboy romance
series with Yellowstone meets Schitt’s Creek vibes. This return to the ranch features a stoic foreman
and a younger city slicker turned ranch hand. Grumpy/sunshine, fish out of water, age gap with
mature main characters, reluctant coworkers, sensual exploration, hurt/comfort, found family, and
big feels with a standalone HEA guaranteed
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Adler
Late August
“I’m hot.” I sat on the back deck with Maverick, one of my best friends, sipping iced coffee and marveling at August in Southwestern Colorado. The earth itself seemed to heat up, a dry desert warmth that found us mid-morning, before the sun even reached its peak.
“Yeah, you are.” Maverick laughed knowingly. “And you enjoy hearing it.”
Was I that predictable? I twisted my mouth, not sure I liked how widely known my love of praise and attention was. I was over thirty, well into my aging twink phase, and undoubtedly needed to get beyond my youthful neediness.
“I meant temperature-wise. I’m broiling.” I tried not to sound as testy as I felt. Maverick had had a heck of a week and didn’t need my one-third life crisis. “You didn’t warn me it would be hotter than LA.”
“Sorry. You want to come with Hannah and me to the hospital?” Maverick offered. His sister had been in a recent car accident, upending much of the plans for my visit, which was secondary to Maverick’s stack of new worries. “The hospital has more powerful A/C than the ranch house.”
“Nah. You need the time with Faith.” I’d been with Maverick at the hospital the night of his sister’s accident, but to be honest, hospitals quietly made my hands sweat and my stomach wobble.
“I feel like I’m being a terrible host.”
“You’re being an amazing brother and uncle.” My boredom didn’t need to be his problem. Maverick understandably needed to focus on family. “That’s more important. I can amuse myself for a few hours.”
That was a bit of a white lie. I had precious few solitary hobbies. As a born extrovert, this week on Maverick’s ranch, away from my LA social life, had tested my capacity for alone time. Not that it was a bad thing. My social circle shrank considerably after I got sober, and learning how to be comfortable alone was undoubtedly something my therapist would applaud.
“You could always swim,” Maverick suggested idly.
“Swim? There’s a pool?” I gazed at the surrounding ranch—a collection of barns and outbuildings with a large horse facility up on a small hill and pastures and crop land beyond that. I hadn’t found a pool during my explorations.
“No, better. There’s a large pond north of the pastures.” Maverick gestured expansively. “Spring fed. Cold, clear water. Colt and I swam there all the time in high school. Bit of a hike, but I can draw you a map.”
“Absolutely. Getting out and stretching my legs sounds perfect.” Another white lie. I was easing my body back to a place of health and stamina after years of hard living, but the need to accommodate Maverick was greater than any trepidation over a solo hike.
“It’s more than a leg stretch.” Maverick fetched a pad of paper from the kitchen and brought it back out to the small table we were sitting at. He started drawing a rough map of the ranch. “You could grab a dirt bike from the machine shed if you know how to ride.”
I did not. Growing up on the Jersey Shore had not offered many opportunities for outdoor skills like dirt biking and hiking, but my innate need to please won out again.
“I’m happy hiking. Swimming sounds like a great reward for some exercise.”
Shortly after we finished our coffee, Maverick left me with the map. On his way to his car, with his niece Hannah trailing behind him, he reminded me to bring plenty of water and to watch out for rattlesnakes and wildlife, which hardly made me eager to hike. Accordingly, I took my sweet time finding and filling some reusable water bottles and assembling a few snacks. The hall closet yielded a small dusty backpack to hold my supplies and a canvas sun hat to shield my Irish complexion from the sun. I threw some sunscreen in the bag, and running out of reasons to stall, I grabbed Maverick’s map and headed for the hills.
The first part of the walk was hardly wilderness as I passed the barns, waving to some ranch hands working with the cattle and horses. The ranch had both seasonal summer and permanent hands, but neither group seemed particularly eager to make friends despite my efforts to greet them over the past week.
Foreman Foxy was nowhere to be seen, which was a darn shame. Maverick’s foreman was technically named Grayson and was the hottest thing over forty I’d seen in years. Short hair shot through with silver, tats, a perpetually stern expression, and an easy cowboy confidence that made him seem like something straight out of a Hollywood western. Naturally, I’d tried being friendly to him as well, but he was even less inclined to small talk than his ranch hands.
I trudged up the dirt road that wound past the fenced-in pastures. I’d learned earlier in the week that neither horses nor cows were fond of petting. The baby cows in particular looked all adorable and cuddly, but the one I’d managed to get a hand on through the fence had also been a biter, with an overbearing mama cow nearby.