Chapter One

Shaw Sheridan winced at the twinge in the hamstring he'd torn two years before. And just for good measure, the knee he'd blown out at twenty-nine years old decided to start creaking.

He aimed a glare at the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. His old hockey injuries seemed to act up worse in the rainy weather, which was the only weather for the past month here in Alaska.

When Shaw followed his dream to the wilderness, he never took his aches and pains into consideration…but his job did a lot to limber him up.

The Boot Knockers Ranch stretched ahead of him, the rustic log buildings and metal roofs painting a picturesque vision against the steel-gray sky. A group of cowboys walking ahead of him were talking and joking around. Shaw caught snippets of their conversation, which involved the usual speculation about the group of ladies about to land by float plane.

A new week, a new group of women, all here for a particular kind of therapy. Each plan of action was different depending on their troubles. Shaw enjoyed his new line of work, but helping women through sex therapy was a big departure from the hockey arena.

Instead of a stick, he wielded his cock, or sometimes a toy that would launch the woman to the next level of pleasure. Rather than giving his team a pep talk before going on the ice, he used his deep baritone for dirty talk to drive his clients crazy.

Still, he never expected life to take this detour. His plan to coach hockey in Alaska wasn't dead—he'd just placed it on the back burner. Until he got his head back in the game, coaching would have to wait.

The buzz of a single propeller plane filled the air like the hum of a giant bee. He and the guys ahead of him all turned their attention to the sky. The small white aircraft zoomed between two mountains, dropping altitude by the second over the harbor where it would land.

The cowboys let out a collective whoop, their cheers carrying across the choppy water. Shaw had to grin at their antics. They acted as if their dry spells lasted months when in reality, they only lasted days. Some suffered even less than that, considering they hooked up with each other and the occasional female ranch employee—though that was forbidden territory.

"Here they come, boys!" The familiar voice hit Shaw's ears and worked downward through his entire body.

Dylan Knoxdale aka Knots. The cowboy earned his nickname after he revealed how damn good he was with ropes. Shaw hadn't been on the receiving end of that, but he'd witnessed it happen on stage in front of the entire ranch.

The memory made a regular appearance in his fantasies.

Shaw approached the group of men gathered on the dock. With his height of six-five, he towered over most people, so he was able to pick out Dylan's black Stetson easily.

As if he felt Shaw's gaze on him, Dylan glanced up. For a strong heartbeat, their gazes locked.

A dozen innuendos passed between them, and Shaw felt the stirrings of desire. Considering he was off this week, with no client of his own, it was best for him to tamp down his urges.

If he was lucky, he'd be asked to stand in for one of the cowboys and be able to slake his lust, but what he really wanted right this second…was a tall cowboy looking back at him with hooded eyes.

Damn, this had been the most unexpected part of coming to Alaska. Shaw never expected to work as a male sex therapist on a sex ranch. He really didn't think he'd ever explore sexuality with another man. In the hockey league, in all those locker rooms, he didn't take any interest in guys.

How things happened between him and Dylan, he still wasn't sure. One night Shaw wandered across Dylan with his cock buried in his client. Their gazes connected, like they did just a second ago, and Shaw joined in.

Yeah, it was hot as hell, but they enjoyed each other's company even when they were clothed. Often Dylan sought him out to partner with him on some ranch task, and they shared a lot of laughs at the other guys' expense too.

His cock stirred behind the fly of his worn jeans. This week, it looked like he'd have to take matters into his own fist.

The float plane skimmed across the water and buzzed up to the dock. As it bobbed on the rippling waves, one of the guys tethered the craft to the mooring using ropes, and another moved forward to open the hatch door.

A set of steps unfolded, and the first lady appeared in the doorway. Shaw didn't blame her for looking as nervous as a deer. Facing down the wild and untamed cowboys waiting to assist her off the plane wasn't something they warned women of on the ranch website.

Shaw hung back, watching as one by one, the ladies emerged from the small plane. Six newcomers in total. A few had arrived earlier this morning via other routes and were already awaiting the selection process to pair them with their cowboys of the week.

All of their hopes hung on the Boot Knockers. They paid good money and put their faith in the ranch to help them heal from their hangups and past traumas.

As another lady exited the plane—lucky number seven—a cowboy reached out a hand to assist her to the dock. Several guys swarmed her immediately. Shaw's line of vision was cut off by broad backs and wide shoulders, but their attention was a sure indication that she had more than one desirable attribute.

His interest lost, Shaw turned away. He'd done his duty by showing up. Their job was to give the ladies a good view of the hot men they were about to explore all their deepest desires with when they landed at the ranch.

Shaw headed back toward the lodge. Dylan's voice carried on the wind to him, making him glance back.

Holy hell.

No wonder the guys had crowded around the last client to arrive at the ranch. The woman standing there talking to Dylan had a banging body.

Shaw stopped in his tracks. Peering closer, he let his gaze roam from her rounded, heart-shaped ass accentuated by a pair of fitted jeans, up to the top of her head. Warm brown waves swished in the breeze coming off the mountains.

Shaw's gut clenched even harder.

Oh god. No way in hell was that her.

But he'd know that ass anywhere.

Hell, he'd spent a year tapping it.

Sloane.

Jesus Christ. How the hell did she end up here?

She had to have tracked him down.

No,. It wasn't possible. He was careful not to let his whereabouts leak to the public. Since retiring from the team, he might not be in the spotlight, but a former NHL player was never quite out of the public eye.

He stared at Sloane's back for several pounding heartbeats. His stare latched on to that prime ass again, the feature that earned her a living as a model and body double for celebrities.

Dylan slid his arm around her, and a wild shot of jealousy struck Shaw like he'd touched the electric fence on the back fifty acres.

Torn, he wavered between breaking Dylan's arm and making a break for it. A woman's squeal jolted him out of his trance, and he whipped around and strode back to the ranch office as fast as he could, his tight hamstring and painful knee forgotten.

When he burst into the office, the ranch office manager, Maggie, looked up from her computer screen. As soon as she spotted him, the frown between her brows smoothed. "Hi, Shaw. What's up?"

He didn't even close the door. He wouldn't be here long. "I want Sloane Simpson this week."

Maggie's face blanked and then her lips formed a small O as she registered his demand. "That's not possible, Shaw. It's your week off. You know the rules."

He shook his head, his shirt collar brushing his cowboy hat that he'd tugged lower and lower with every angry step he took on the way here. "I'm getting my way on this, Maggie. Make it happen."

"I can't just ‘make it happen,' Shaw. The client is already assigned to her Boot Knocker. He's going to fight for her in the ceremony and make it look good, but you know that everyone is already assigned to a therapist before they ever step foot on that stage."

He narrowed his eyes at the office worker. He could make more demands and pound his chest like a caveman. Or he could just take matters into his own hands.

Veins pumping with anger and adrenaline, he stalked back out the open door.

On the ice, he often went with his gut instinct, but on The Boot Knockers Ranch, this was the first time he'd bucked the system.

If ever there was a moment to get what he wanted, it was now.

No way was anyone laying a hand on his ex-girlfriend. Not even the man Shaw wanted in his own bed.

* * * * *

Sloane hoped that when she got off that tiny plane, her nerves would stop jittering. Then she saw all those muscled guys sporting worn jeans and cowboy hats waiting for her, and she felt as if her entire body vibrated like her battery-operated boyfriend on turbo speed.

To get a grip, she stifled a nervous giggle and focused on her surroundings.

She'd expected the Alaskan weather to be unpredictable, but it was downright ugly today with storm clouds looming overhead and the wind whipping the water into small waves that lapped loudly at the dock.

The only bright ray of sunshine was definitely the sexy, rugged cowboy who hefted her luggage in one hand as if it weighed nothing at all.

"This bag yours too?" He cast her a crooked smile that did more to her attention-deprived senses than she ever thought it would.

"Yes, these two canvas bags." She reached for one, but another Boot Knocker beat her to it.

"I got this, pretty lady. You'll find it when you reach your bungalow." With a wink and a tip of his hat, he hooked the long strap of her bag over his shoulder.

That strap molded to his beefy shoulder and chiseled bicep.

God, did she want to be that strap right now.

"Hey, stop flirtin' with my girl!" The guy who had her suitcase in hand shooed him off with a flick of his head.

"Not yours yet, Dylan. She's still up for grabs."

Dylan stared him down. "Then may the best man win at the ceremony."

Sloane's stomach tingled at the thought of what the week ahead of her would bring. Her decision to come to the ranch and seek sex therapy wasn't something she shared with her friends or family. No one needed to know just how much damage her heart had taken when her long-time boyfriend walked away.

That reminded her that she should check in with her momma and let her know she'd arrived at her destination, which was not The Boot Knockers Ranch. She'd told her parents that she was on her way to visit a friend in Seattle.

Taking out her phone, she shot the cowboy helping her an apologetic look.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then shook his head. Seeming to understand, he walked a short distance away to give her privacy.

As Sloane dialed her mother, a fat raindrop hit her forehead. She tilted her face up to the clouds clustered like an angry mob between the mountains.

Her mother didn't immediately pick up, which had Sloane's sixth sense in a riot.

This was her first time away from her baby. Something must have happened. She could easily picture a fall—she was still only toddling, after all. Or her daughter spiking a high fever and Sloane's doting parents rushing her to the emergency room.

Hospitalization.

IVs.

She dialed her mother a second time, and her breathless greeting filled her ear.

"Is everything okay?" Sloane burst out, no longer seeing the hunky cowboys leading their women away from the harbor.

"Of course, Sloane. Everything is okay. Marigold is fine. We were just outside playing."

Relief washed through Sloane, causing her to slump. No catastrophes happened, and her little girl was fine.

"Do you want me to put her on the phone?" Her mother's question snapped her back to reality.

Realizing it was raining on her, Sloane looked around. The cowboy called Dylan was waving at her to hurry up and follow.

She'd be a fool to stand here getting wet…when he, or one of these cowboys, could be making her wet in other ways.

If she didn't recognize how bad she needed this time away for herself, she would gasp at her own dirty thoughts.

"No, let her play," she told her mom. "I just wanted to let you know I'm here. I'll check in when I can."

"We've got it under control. Have a great time, Sloane. You deserve it, honey."

Warmed by her mother's words, she ended the call and hurried to catch up with the cowboy standing there getting soaked because of her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Getting wet just means you'll be taking off your clothes to get dry." The flash of his white teeth sent a thrill through her. Had it really been so long since a man flirted with her?

Yes. It had. If she was even in the market for romance after her ex shattered her heart, finding a decent man wasn't so easy. On modeling shoots and on movie sets, she got hit on plenty. But those men were either vulgar, vile or both. The one time she did accept the offer of a date, the man had treated her like a cut of meat. And not even Wagyu beef.

"C'mon. The van's waiting on us."

She followed Dylan up a short incline to a waiting black luxury van. They climbed inside with a few other people, the luggage was stowed, and the driver rolled down a short road. The ranch buildings in the distance left Sloane a little breathless with excitement.

She was here to break her dry spell, to be shown a good time and that, she wasn't just an object with a good butt—the biggest downside of being a butt model.

She could show it off in magazine ads and swimsuit catalogs. Actors chose her as their body double on a regular basis, which was the best compliment. But nobody saw what was inside her. Not really.

The only man who'd ever come close… Well, they couldn't make it work. End of story.

The best thing that had come out of their relationship was the daughter he blessed Sloane with. Marigold was her life.

With any luck, this week would fill her soul enough to let her carry on for a long time. It had to. She could set aside her own needs and focus on being a single mother.

She looked out the window at the ranch. She'd always wanted to come toAlaska, and not only because her ex, Shaw Sheridan, center for the top team in the NHL, always asked her to visit Alaska with him. That never panned out, just like nothing with him panned out.

Well, she wasn't here for Shaw. She was here for herself. To get over her ex.

She peeked at Dylan out of the corner of her eye and found him watching her, a sexy look that could only be anticipation front and center on his handsome face.

Oh yes, she'd come to the right place.

After a whirlwind arrival, Dylan showed her into the lodge. The women she'd flown in with, as well as a few others, milled around a large room. It was weirdly silent, lacking the chatter that filled dressing rooms or went on in the stage wings of fashion shows.

"Name?" A pretty woman with shiny dark hair held an iPad tucked close to her chest.

She glanced around. "Sloane Simpson. What's going on?"

"Sloane. Got you down right here." She smiled at her. "We're getting you ready for the selection process."

"Is there any way to change clothes before that happens? It rained on me."

The woman looked her over. "Honey, you could be drowned and the guys would still fight over you."

Sloane's lips popped open in surprise.

The woman shook her head. "Sorry. Of course you'll want to look your best for when you go on. Come right over here and let our team take care of you."

The team she spoke of consisted of someone to blot the raindrops, that hadn't already dried, off her face and sweep translucent powder over her skin. A stylist wielded a blow dryer and gave Sloane a quick blowout that smoothed the frizz and left her hair shiny. Several other women were getting similar treatment.

Minutes later, feeling as much like herself as she could when she was about to be paired with a man she would spend an entire week in bed with, the dark-haired woman gestured to Sloane again.

"You're on, sugar. Woohoo, those cowboys are gonna be slapping those buttons when they get a load of you." Her drawl hadn't seemed so pronounced before, but it lent her words more impact. She grabbed Sloane by the arm and towed her to the wings of the stage.

Warm spotlights lit the rustic wood floor but made it impossible to see who was in the audience.

Sloane wet her dry lips. "What happens next?"

The woman gave her a little nudge. "Get out there and find out!"

Sloane dealt with a lot of pressure to perform in her life, but never had her heart thumped as loud or as hard as it did when she walked across that stage and stopped to face the row of cowboys she could now see seated in the front row.

"Our first lady seeking a Boot Knocker is Sloane—" The announcer never got a chance to finish her sentence, as several palms immediately came down on their buttons to fight for a week with her.

* * * * *

Dylan always got a boost from the ceremony. While the clients on the ranch were paired with the best cowboy to help them long before their arrival, there were times when the plan went to hell.

When Shaw took a seat in the row with the other Boot Knockers, even though it was his week off, he knew this was going to be fun. He respected the hell out of Shaw. He'd call him closer than a friend…but he was always open to getting closer.

Dylan leaned forward to see around the two guys sitting between them. Shaw stared straight ahead at the stage, his jaw locked. His fist hovered over the button before the woman ever set foot on stage.

Man, he must really want one of the ladies he'd seen disembark from that plane. After working with Shaw for over a year, he knew his type. Shaw liked the soft types, the ones with curves and a certain look in their eyes. The first woman they'd ever shared had been a buxom brunette with curvy thighs, and an innocent beauty that pulled them all in.

With that thought fixed in mind, Dylan could guess which woman Shaw planned to fight for.

And she already belonged to Dylan.

Or rather, she was assigned to him.

When the lights came up, he tried to catch Shaw's gaze again, but his buddy wasn't looking his way.

The distinct click of the microphone turning on for the announcer had Dylan leaning forward in his plush leather seat. If he was going to beat out the others, he had to be quick on the draw.

Five generations of cowboys filled his family tree to the top branches. His ancestors were rough and rugged. They'd kill a man for stealing cattle back in the old days, but he didn't have any need to be so primal, unless it was on the back of a bull.

His belt buckle was proof of his talent in sticking to the back of a bull for eight full seconds. Competing as a professional bull rider had earned him a lot of notoriety and more than a little confidence in his skill.

He had no doubt of his instincts when it came to women either.

The announcer's voice flooded through the loudspeakers. As soon as the client walked onto the stage, Dylan's cock stirred with arousal. She really was stunning.

Shaw struck his button.

Damn. Dylan had missed his chance. He slammed his palm over the button too, as did several men seated in the row.

Shaw hit his over and over again.

A loud laugh echoed through the auditorium, the announcer's amusement clear. "Guys! You hardly let me get her name out before you hit those buttons! This is an eager bunch, Ms. Sloane. And it looks like Dylan was fastest on the draw this time. Dylan, if you'll come up and escort your lady offstage…"

Shaw punched the button with a violent crack, loud enough to break it. Every Boot Knocker turned to look at him. Ignoring them all, he shot to his feet and stalked to the stage.

What the hell?

Dylan exploded out of his seat and jogged after him, catching him before he reached the steps leading onstage.

"Shaw. Shaw! Stop. What the fuck, man?"

His fellow Boot Knocker never even glanced his way. His gaze was locked on Sloane. He set a boot on the bottom step.

Dylan gripped him by the shoulder, holding him in place. "What do you think you're doing? I won her."

Green and gold eyes sliced his way. "My button was broken."

Pitching his voice low, Dylan tried to talk sense to his friend. "What's going on? You never act like this. Is it part of the act?"

"No act. I want her."

Sticking out an arm, he yanked Shaw backward, and though he topped Dylan by a couple inches, he dragged him away from the stage. "What the hell's come over you, man? She isn't yours. You're on the dry spell this week."

Shaw brought his fist to his forehead. The gesture knotted Dylan's stomach.

"My button was broken. They won't let me have her. Fuck!"

"Look, I don't know why you were sidelined this round, but you were. Your attitude isn't helping your case right now."

Shaw started toward the stage once more. Dylan issued a low growl and threw himself between him and the steps. Times like this he saw the fighter in Shaw, the guy who dropped his stick on the ice, threw down his gloves and went for his opponent.

"Back off, Sheridan. I admire your determination, but go back to the lodge. Have a drink and settle the fuck down."

Sheridan jerked his gaze off the stage—off Sloane, who was still standing there alone and probably confused as hell. His stare landed on Dylan's. Chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides, he gave Dylan the impression he planned to win this round no matter what.

"Step. Down," Dylan grated out.

"Fine." The tendon in the crease of his tight jaw fluttered, and his Adam's apple bobbed as though he forced back a bellow. Then he spun on his heel and strode out.

The thunder of his footsteps rolled through the auditorium. He hit the door and the gray light of day lit the auditorium before the door slammed shut behind him.

Dylan had no time to dwell on what the hell was going on with his friend and one-time lover. He had to rescue Sloane off that stage like the chivalrous cowboy she expected him to be.

Leaping the steps, he hit the stage. She looked up, eyes wide. He did the only thing he could think of to replace that worry on her face with a smile.

He did a backflip.

A loud hoot echoed through the auditorium, followed by applause.

"Go get her, Dylan!" someone shouted.

A shrill catcall sounded. Dylan moved forward, hand outstretched to Sloane. When she shyly slipped her feminine hand into his palm, and lifted her gaze to his, his heart skipped a beat.

Oh damn. No wonder this one affected Shaw so much. She was affecting him the same way.

He recovered, ready to focus only on her. "Welcome to The Boot Knockers Ranch, pretty lady. Right this way."

He offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her offstage.

"Sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart." He stopped in the shadows and turned to her.

She chewed at her full bottom lip.

The need to soothe her like a wild filly about to bolt from fear took hold.

He slipped his knuckle beneath the dainty point of her chin and raised her face to meet his gaze. "I promise I'm one hundred and fifty percent focused on you from this moment forward. My name's Dylan, and we're gonna have one hell of a fun week."