Keep you safe, p.1
Keep You Safe, page 1
Keep You Safe
Second Chance Ranch
Book 2
Annabeth Albert
Keep You Safe, Second Chance Ranch Book 2
Copyright © 2025 by Annabeth Albert
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Reese Dante
Cover Image: Furious Fotog
Edited by: Abbie Nicole
Contents
More from Annabeth Albert
Author Note and Reader Advisory
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Also By Annabeth Albert
About Annabeth Albert
Acknowledgments
More from Annabeth Albert
Amazon Author Page
Many titles also in audio and available from other retailers!
Patreon
Find short stories, bonus scenes, subscribe for free ebooks, paperbacks, exclusive swag, and more by checking out and following me on Patreon!
Series Titles
Second Chance Ranch
Mount Hope Series
Safe Harbor Series
A-List Security Series
Rainbow Cove Series
#Gaymers Series
Out of Uniform Series
Frozen Hearts Series
Hotshots Series
Shore Leave Series
Perfect Harmony Series
Portland Heat Series
True Colors Series
Stand-Alone Titles
Resilient Heart
Winning Bracket
Save the Date
Level Up
Sergeant Delicious
Cup of Joe
Featherbed
Holiday Titles (All Stand-alone Novels):
Better Not Pout
Mr. Right Now
The Geek Who Saved Christmas
Catered All the Way
Deck the Palms
Keep You Safe
What happens at the swimming hole, stays at the swimming hole…
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 reasons:
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. Adler’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.
Author Note and Reader Advisory
Keep You Safe is a high feels age gap romance with mature main characters with some hurt/comfort themes surrounding past trauma and addiction. The book gently touches on prior addiction struggles of a main character (not on page) and healing generational trauma. If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, help and hope is out there. A very happy ending is guaranteed. And I promise all the animals in the story are thriving in that happy ending!
Lovelorn, Colorado and Disappointment County are fictional places in Southwest Colorado. This series takes place in the same universe as my other novels, but it is entirely a standalone. Any resemblance to real towns, persons, places, businesses, and situations are entirely coincidental.
To everyone who has ever been told they are too much, you’re not, I promise. You are enough exactly as you are, and your needs are valid. May you surround yourself with people who love and support your wonderful uniqueness.
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.
Fore
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.
The dirt road narrowed the farther north I ventured, eventually becoming less road and more trail.
“Maverick, you weren’t kidding about a hike,” I muttered as the sun beat down on me. According to my phone’s fitness app, I was only about a mile in, but the dry, dusty heat and climb made the journey seem that much longer. I even had to scramble over large rocks at several points, leaving my hands and jeans streaked with reddish dirt. “Are we there yet?”
There was no one to hear my complaint, but right as I was about to give up, the trail curved, and I discovered a perfectly lovely pond. I had to navigate a short descent down to the pond, which was rimmed by more of the giant golden reddish rocks, along with a grove of scrubby trees and plants. A large evergreen tree provided a little shade for me to have my snack and change—
“Oh, Adler, you idiot!” I slapped my head. I’d packed water, snacks, and sunscreen, but no swim trunks. No way was I turning around and trudging back to the ranch house, not when the pond was right here, water beckoning like a perfect piece of greenish-blue glass. While I ate my snack, I debated the merits of skinny dipping. No one was around to see, not even the cows. At least I’d packed sunscreen, which I applied liberally after stripping off my jeans and shirt. I left my clothes in a heap on top of the pricey hiking boots I’d bought before leaving LA.
Resolved to enjoy my naked swim, I waded into the water and promptly yelped at the cold. Good thing no one was around to see me hop from foot to foot, trying to get used to the cold. Certain parts of my anatomy beat a hasty retreat from the chilly water. I was used to perfectly regulated hotel and apartment complex pools, not this slice of nature with bracing water, rocks, and squishy dirt underfoot.
God, please don’t let the snakes Maverick mentioned be the kind that live in or near water.
However, gradually, I got used to the water enough to walk toward the deeper center of the pond. My feet weren’t sure what to make of the rocky bottom, but my muscle memory for what to do in water was strong. I’d grown up wading and swimming in the ocean during the summers in New Jersey, and one of the few things my parents had done right was swimming lessons for all of us. Feeling bolder, I swam around, finding the edges of the deeper parts of the pond before settling into a nice float in the center, eyes closed, body at perfect relaxation, whirring brain finally as quiet as the surrounding trees.
“What in tarnation are you doing?”
And then I nearly drowned, flailing out of my float at the sound of Foreman Foxy’s western twang ringing out across the pond.
“You’ve never seen someone swim before?” I surfaced, feet landing not in the deep end but a shallower section that made it very clear as soon as I stood that I wasn’t wearing a swimsuit. I quickly ducked back under the water. “Maverick said it was okay to come up here.”
“Of course he did,” Grayson muttered from the bank of the pond. He stood next to my pile of clothes, holding a small towel. “Nice to see you making yourself at home here.”
His tone said otherwise, but I was less concerned with the snark and more with the towel in his hand and his half-unbuttoned shirt. No swimsuit in sight for him either. Yippy skippy, my lucky day! A thrill raced up my spine.
“Were you going to swim?” I called out, making an inviting gesture with my hand. “You should join me. You look hot.”
Of course, to my thinking, Grayson Campbell pretty much always looked hot, all those muscles and tats and his scary-serious expression. But today, he also looked literally hot—sweat clinging to his face and neck, damp spots on his shirt.
“That’s all right. You have your fun.” Grayson backed away from the pond, pausing to add, “Careful of that pale skin of yours though. You don’t want to burn.”
He’d noticed my skin. I resisted the urge to preen.
“Sunscreen. Everywhere.” I made a show of swimming farther out and turning away. “See? I’m not looking. You can get in the water and protect your modesty, cowboy.”
“I’m not…” Grayson trailed off with a frustrated noise.
“Unless you’re chicken?” I whirled back around in the water. I had enough siblings to know the power of a well-placed dare. “Is that it? Can’t skinny dip with the openly queer dude?”
“Okay, okay.” Predictably, Grayson gave in and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. I took a nice, long look at his muscled and hairy chest before spinning back around.
“I can’t stay long.” The sound of Grayson’s zipper echoed through the area, and it took all my restraint not to sneak a peek. “I was working on some downed fence line and decided to take a break and cool off.” Splash. Grayson must have entered the pond because his voice sounded closer. “And for what it’s worth, I’ve known Maverick was gay for years. Never made a bit of difference to me.”
“Good.” I nodded sharply as I turned back around to face him. Everything interesting was obscured by the water, yet the man continued to leave me breathless. “Maverick said you grew up here on the ranch?”
“Nah. I was seventeen, almost eighteen, when my old man got the job.” Grayson shrugged like seventeen was fully grown when I knew firsthand how woefully unprepared for adulthood I’d been at that age and how many stupid decisions I’d made. Grayson, though, managed to make himself sound downright ancient. “Had my diploma already, so I got hired on as a hand.”
“And you stayed all these years,” I marveled with the awe of someone who’d never stayed in one place more than eighteen months since leaving home at eighteen—a string of hospitality jobs and teeny apartments all over Southern California.
“Mostly.” Another of Grayson’s noncommittal shrugs. “Thought I might rodeo. Thought wrong.”
I’d watched him enough over this week to notice his slight limp. Even with that lingering war wound, the idea of Grayson strutting around a rodeo arena was even hotter than this scorcher of a day.
“Bet you were something on a bull.”
“Bronc busting, both saddle and bareback,” Grayson corrected my very limited knowledge of what actually happened at a rodeo besides hot and sweaty guys getting bucked off dangerous beasts. “That and some roping events.”
“Oh, you tie things up?” I didn’t bother trying to hide my flirty tone. The image of Grayson with a length of rope was too delicious to pass up.
“Out of practice,” Grayson mumbled, which told me absolutely nothing worth knowing. “I’m twenty years removed from rodeo life.”
“You make yourself sound older than those rocks.” I very deliberately sent a ripple of water his way. Not a splash precisely, but an opening salvo into my planned attack.
“Older than you,” he snorted. “What are you? All of twenty-four?”
“Thirty-two,” I muttered, skin heating. I sent another ripple of water to escape my discomfort. “I just look younger.”
“Old enough to know better than to go starting a water war,” Grayson warned, clearly having caught on to what I was up to. No reason for me to be subtle any longer, so I splashed him in earnest. Grayson didn’t bother splashing me back. Instead, he ducked under the water to swim away.
