Sneak Peek
If you loved reading Ruined by the Grumpy Rancher, then you'll love Hero's Second Chance.
The small town of Copper River, Montana better brace itself for Colton McAllister's return from the war.
Three tours changed the boy who left—but not the way his heart stutters at the sight of Ellery Shaw, the sweetheart he let go.
She never left, and these days she's the billionaire heiress to Montana's biggest cattle ranch, her family's name putting her further out of reach than the war ever did.
Read on to dive into the McAllister family's dynamics, where old wounds run as deep as the copper veins beneath the mountains. Find out which characters from Ruined by the Grumpy Rancher are making trouble and rolling in the hay in this first book in the Copper River, Montana series.
Some second chances are worth the wait. Some are worth the fight.
Start reading Hero’s Second Chance
HERO’S SECOND CHANCE
I come home to Montana to save my family’s ranch.
Instead, I break every rule I ever lived by for the one woman who’s off limits.
I’m an ex–Green Beret, rodeo legend, built on grit, scars, and control.
Ellery Shaw is my first love, my sharpest regret, and the billionaire ranch heiress who’s been forbidden since the day I walked away.
When her ex corners her at the rodeo, instinct takes over.
I step in.
I don’t ask.
I don’t apologize.
One look turns into hands that linger.
Late nights become bodies pressed tight, rules shattered in the dark.
She challenges me.
I protect her.
We dare each other not to fall first.
By day, we fight developers trying to carve up the valley.
By night, she’s under my skin, whispering my name like I never left.
Now my ranch is weeks from foreclosure, fires are meant to scare us off, and choosing her could cost her the inheritance.
Worst case?
I lose our land and the woman I love.
Click here to get Hero’s Second Chance
SPECIAL SNEAK PEEK
Chapter 1
Ellery
My boots skid on packed dirt and I barely catch myself on the rail as my horse stamps behind me, breath hot against my shoulder. Sable is restless and ready.
Two riders ahead of me.
The on-deck lane behind the chutes is tight: rails to my left, holding gate ahead, Sable boxed in close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her shoulder.
Something steps into my path anyway.
“Elle.”
Travis slides into the narrow space like he belongs there, like he hasn’t timed this to the heartbeat. His hand grabs the rail beside my hip, casual. Possessive.
I don’t stop moving. I shift my weight, keep Sable angled forward, fingers tightening on the reins as I try to slip past him. She tosses her head, hooves striking wood in sharp, impatient beats.
The alley gate clangs ahead of us.
“Move,” I say. Low. Even. A command.
He reaches out and catches my elbow.
The contact is light, almost polite, but it pins me just the same. My skin flares where his fingers land, not with want but with warning.
“Easy,” he murmurs, smiling like this is a private joke between us. “You look wound tight. Thought maybe you could use a reminder to breathe.”
Sable stamps harder. Dust puffs around our boots. Sweat, leather, trampled grass, the sharp, familiar scent of home, except my pulse is jackhammering like I don’t belong here at all.
“I said move.”
I twist my arm, keeping my voice steady as the crowd noise swells beyond the chutes. A rider mounts ahead of me. Gate crew shouts. Time compresses.
Travis doesn’t let go.
He steps closer instead, forcing me to lean back against the rail. The angle pins me between him and my horse, between past and present, between everything I don’t have time to deal with right now.
“You’ve been hard to catch lately,” he says, glancing pointedly at the alley gate. “Figured I’d grab you while I could.”
I refuse to look at him. Looking gives him power.
“Let go.”
Quieter now. Dangerous.
He chuckles under his breath, the sound designed to soothe anyone watching. Anyone listening. To them, this probably looks like two old flames sharing a moment before the run. Nothing to see here.
My horse snorts, jerking her head, and I reach back to steady her, fingers brushing her warm neck. Focus. Breathe. Ride.
The announcer’s booming voice is followed by thumps and cheers for the last rider.
Travis leans in just enough that only I can hear him. “Relax, Ellery. I’m just making sure you remember where you come from.”
That does it.
I yank my arm free and finally meet his eyes. “I know exactly where I come from,” I say. Calm. Flat. “And it’s not you.”
For a split second, something ugly flickers across his face. Then the smile snaps back into place, practiced and bright, as the crowd roars louder.
He steps aside at last.
I don’t thank him.
I swing up in one smooth motion, settle into the saddle, and guide Sable forward. Hands steady. Breath even.
***
Sable and I take three strides toward the alley gate before Travis’s voice carries again, smooth as oil.
“Still looks good in the saddle.”
I don’t turn.
He paces beside us along the rail, keeping up easily while riders ahead load and clear. We’re still on deck, still visible, still close enough for anyone nearby to hear.
“People have been talking,” he goes on, voice all concern and charm. “About you. About Nashville.”
My spine locks.
I keep my eyes forward, counting breaths, grounding myself in motion. “I don’t have time for this.”
A teenage girl with a program slows near the rail. Two riders glance over. Travis clocks it instantly.
“You should be careful,” he says, louder now. “People get ideas when they see you chasing something shiny instead of sticking to what you’re good at.”
I rein Sable to a stop.
She sidesteps, confused, and I steady her automatically. When I turn, my face is composed. Neutral.
“I am good at this,” I say. “And I’m allowed to be good at more than one thing.”
Travis spreads his hands, placating. “I’m just worried about you, Elle. Nashville chews people up. And with your family name?” His voice drops again. “Sponsors don’t love mixed signals.”
I lean down just enough that only he can hear me. “If you’re trying to embarrass me, you’re doing a bad job.”
His smile tightens. “I’m trying to protect you.”
The old line.
“I don’t need protecting,” I say clearly. “And I don’t owe you an explanation for my life.”
The girl with the program is definitely listening now. So are two riders I recognize from the circuit. Travis knows it. He always knows exactly who’s watching.
There it is—the hush in the crowd, the careful tilt of his voice, the way my pulse stutters like it recognizes the trap before my mind does.
The old line. The one that used to make me doubt myself.
Travis’s jaw flexes. “You always were stubborn.”
“And you always were loud,” I reply. Quiet. Even. “This conversation is over.”
My stomach twists, but I don’t slow. I don’t look at him.
Because if I do, he’ll see the flicker of doubt he’s trying so hard to spark.
And I won’t give him that.
Not here. Not today.
***
Pressure changes beside me.
Not sound. Space.
A shadow cuts across the dirt. Sable flicks an ear, then settles.
A tall man steps into the lane—broad shoulders filling it, boots planted, calm presence. I thought that I caught a glimpse of him earlier and my heart started racing. He’s back.
Colton McAllister.
He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t look at me at first. He simply claims the space Travis was using, quiet and immovable.
Still.
Travis falters.
Colton turns his head slightly, scanning the lane the way someone scans exits. Muscle memory. His gaze flicks to my mare, then to Travis, then finally lifts. When his eyes land, they don’t flare or harden. They go calm.
That’s what does it. The intensity of those gorgeous, deep-blue eyes send flutters down to that deep place inside me.
“Problem?” Colton asks.
His voice is low, unhurried. He keeps it pitched so Travis has to lean in to hear him. No audience. No performance.
I catch the split in his eyebrow, pale against sun-bronzed skin.
The faint white scars along his muscular forearm where his sleeve rides up when he shifts his weight.
He’s dusted with arena dirt like he belongs here, which he does, but there’s something else in the way he holds himself now.
Like danger is a language he speaks fluently and chooses not to use unless necessary.
Travis laughs, a quick bark meant to reset the balance. “No problem. Just saying hello.”
Colton doesn’t move.
He angles his body a fraction closer, enough that Travis has to step back or crowd him. Travis steps back.
“I didn’t ask what you were doing,” Colton says. Same tone. Same calm. “I asked if there was a problem.”
My pulse stutters.
Travis’s eyes flick to me, then back to Colton. He lifts his chin, trying to reclaim ground. “We’re good. Aren’t we, Elle?”
Colton’s gaze shifts to me then. Just once. Quick. Questioning.
I nod. Short. Controlled.
Colton turns back to Travis. “Then you’re done.”
The words are simple, delivered in a way that makes it clear they aren’t a suggestion.
For a moment, I think Travis might push it. Might puff up, might swing his weight around like he used to when he wanted a crowd. But something in Colton’s stillness warns him off. Travis’s smile thins.
He exhales through his nose. “Didn’t realize you were playing hall monitor now, McAllister.”
That gets Colton’s attention.
He tilts his head, eyes sharpening by a degree. “I’m not.”
Travis scoffs. “Right. Guess they let anyone back in the saddle these days.”
There it is.
The pivot.
Colton doesn’t react. Not outwardly. But I see it—the way his jaw tightens, the way his shoulders square like he’s bracing against something invisible. He steps closer again, voice dropping another notch.
“Careful,” he says. Not a threat. A fact.
Travis’s grin turns feral. “Or what? You gonna tell me about discipline and honor?” He glances pointedly at the arena. “Crowd loves a hero.”
Colton’s eyes don’t leave his face. “I don’t do crowds.”
Something electric snaps between them. Old history. Fresh wounds. Heat without flame.