Ropin' Hearts: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 4

It’ll take more than ropes and whips for this cowboy to keep his bratty woman in line.

The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 4

At twenty-three, Bree Roberts is ready to sow some wild oats. The perfect place to start? The neighboring spread—The Boot Knockers Ranch, where twenty smokin’ hot cowboys deliver sexual therapy to women. The problem? The entry fee is more than she’s made in a lifetime.

Only wanting to explore, she figures her tanned, toned legs will be her ticket to ride. Except Ty keeps kicking her off their land. Then she begins to suspect the reason why. He
likes
her.

If Ty spots that little vixen wrapped around one of his cowboys one more time, he’s going to throw her over his knee. Trouble is, she’d like it. Catching her participating in the ranch’s notorious, semi-clad Cornhole tournament is one thing, but when he finds her under their resident Dom’s whip, enough is enough.

Ty won’t throw a naked woman out of his bed, namely one who deserves a spanking, but showing Bree the rewards of sex mixed with a little emotion leads to trails neither of them intended to tread.

Warning: Contains a spitfire cowgirl who excels at breaking the rules, and a cowboy who lays down the law—and a firm hand on her ass cheek.

Ropin’ Hearts

Em Petrova

Dedication

To my awesome editor who knows just how to shove me in the right direction. And to all my readers who love a good cowboy story.

Chapter One

Bree sized up the fence. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t electric, so no one would find a crispy piece of Bree bacon on the forbidden boundary between the Roberts land and the Boot Knockers Ranch.

Sinking into a crouch, she extended one leg and eased it under the lowest wire strand. Then she flattened herself on the ground and shimmied over to the “dark side”. A thrill hit her belly as she rolled under, at least until a sharp pain speared her scalp.

Crying out, she clapped a hand over the spot. Dammit, her hair was caught on the barbed wire. She carefully tugged the strands free while keeping an ear out for anyone who might discover her on the neighboring ranch. The guys on Daddy’s ranch had been warned by her father to haul her butt back if they spied her on the Boot Knockers land.

What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Freed, she jumped up and brushed the grass off her slim, red tank top and the tiniest cutoffs she owned. When she wore them on the ranch, the cowboys gaped at her. Sure, she liked the attention, but the ranch hands weren’t for her. Also, those men were
real
crusty cowboys. Not at all like the Boot Knockers who only pretended to be cowboys.

Those were fine gods of men—muscled, tanned, some tattooed. She’d stared at the brochure with their pictures so long she felt she knew every man. Some wore the lines of squinting into the sun; others had boyish faces that didn’t look mature enough to do the job.

The Boot Knockers Ranch didn’t deal in cattle. Sure, they dabbled in beef, and word was they had some horse stock too, but Bree knew what they really did.

They treated ladies to toe-curling sex therapy. From what she’d read in the brochure, women with hang-ups over body image or traumatic sex experiences could pay for a week on the ranch and a gorgeous Boot Knocker would take care of her.

Bree’s nipples peaked under her tank top as she walked the ridgeline toward the main buildings in the distant valley below. She’d been trying since she was sixteen to get brave enough to crawl under that fence. Years later, she was determined to see the Boot Knockers Ranch for herself.

One small problem faced her—she hadn’t paid to be there. She brushed her long hair off her face. It wouldn’t matter that she didn’t have the huge fee or that she’d never make that much money waitressing in her entire life. Her short-shorts were her entry fee.

As she descended the slope, she surveyed the land. A few people were walking between the wooden cabins with red roofs. She figured no one would look twice at a woman on their land, especially with her legs.

She was aware of the lean, curvy lines developed by years of trick riding. She’d also done the rodeo-queen gig for a couple years and had a second-place trophy. Her daddy said he was mighty proud of her, but she didn’t like being second.

She got a closer look at the ranch—huge barns, a chicken coop and cabins were self-explanatory. But what were those two vast metal buildings used for?

Tingles rode up and down her spine. She’d soon find out.

She passed the largest barn and circled to the closest building. As she reached the door, her heart jerked against her ribs. She drew two deep breaths before gripping the handle and pulling it wide.

Poking her head in, she found a dining hall. Long tables ran the length of the room, with a few intimate seating groups against the wall of windows. A buffet was set up.

Hell, it looked like one of the resorts in Cancún where she’d been on spring break her second year of college.

Thank God Daddy didn’t know about half the things she’d done on that trip.

The room was empty, so Bree backed out and let the door close. Sun beat down and perspiration broke out on her forehead. Damn, she didn’t want to face pseudocowboy sex gods with makeup streaming down her face. She paused to pat some of the dampness away, wiping her hands on her scrap of denim shorts.

A cry erupted, echoing on the light breeze blowing through the valley. She went on high alert. Several voices joined in another cry, and she set off toward the sound.

She rounded the second building, not bothering to look inside, and drew up short. Heart racing, hands clammy, she faced the most awesome sight ever. Tanned flesh glistening in the sun, muscles bunching and releasing. Cowboy hats askew, denim riding low on more than a dozen sexy hips.

Sure, there were females among the men, but Bree didn’t give them a glance as she strode right into their midst. When she passed one tall cowboy with sandy hair flopping over one eye, she slowed. His face was clean-shaven, and his gaze dipped over her legs.

“Howdy,” she said, putting more sway in her step.

He gave a low whistle that raised all the hairs on her body. Her insides melted, and her hips swayed for another reason.

Damn, would he come after her? Push her against one of those shade trees and kiss her like she needed to be kissed?

A knot of men separated, giving her a clear view of the reason they were gathered here. A Cornhole tournament. As she looked on, one gorgeous specimen with back muscles rippling grabbed a sack filled with corn and tossed it. The sack bounced off the rim of the wooden target but didn’t go in the hole.

A cheer went up, and the stud threw his hat down. Bree skidded to a stop.

“That ain’t a piece of clothing. Take something
off
, Stowe,” one guy hollered.

Bree looked between them, shocked to see the men in states of undress. Some still wore plaid shirts rolled over thick forearms. Most wore jeans, but one guy had on only boots and a pair of navy boxer shorts printed with red lips.

She focused on the front of those boxers, wishing they were tight enough to see if rumors about the Boot Knockers were true—that they were all hung like horses.

Unable to see anything, she drifted close to a man with folded arms, his biceps bulky around a carved chest. She showed off one leg in the pose she’d snagged several guys with in college. Who cared about agricultural studies when she could major in men?

Insecurity prickled in the back of her mind. God, she hoped it worked this time. For all the webs she’d cast and guys she’d snared, she’d only had a handful of sex experiences. It was like guys were incapable of following through. And those who did hadn’t lived up to her fantasies. None of them turned her crank.

Which is why I’m here.

“Nice tattoo,” she said to him.

He looked up, a half smile creating a dimple smack-dab in the middle of one cheek. His eyes were warm, dark hair plastered to his forehead. Slowly he held out one arm, palm up. She eyed his palm, wondering about the relationship between hands and cocks.

The tattoo of a belt buckle had writing she had to lean closer to read. “You’re a rodeo guy?”

“Six years on the backs of bulls. Made good enough scores to go professional for a spell.” His drawl wasn’t Texan, but, whoooeee, did it make her sizzle.

“What’s your name? I bet I know you.”

“Elliot James. You follow the tour?”

“Yep. Did a bit of rodeoing myself.” She caught the chain around her neck, tugging until the gold pendant rose from the depths of her cleavage. Oh yeah, Elliot was watching.

He hovered over her, bringing the spicy scent of man she craved so much. He pinched the pendant between two thick fingers, and her pussy flooded with thoughts of him pushing those fingers inside her.

Breathing heavily, she tried to control her reaction. She wanted to play it cool, but it was nearly impossible. Between his muscles and those dark, snapping eyes…

His breath washed over her, and her nipples hardened almost painfully. “Trick rider, eh? Bet you’ve got some tricks you could show me.” He pitched his voice low.

Another cheer sounded, and she looked around to see a Boot Knocker unbuckling his pants with quick, practiced movements. When his tighty-whiteys came into view, his bulging erection was unmistakable.

“Nice wood,” one guy called to him. “Marcie thinks so too. Care to meet us in Bungalow 2 after the tournament?” The cowboy who’d drawled this had his arm around a petite brunette who blushed an alarming shade of red.

Bree felt her own face grow warm, but parts much lower grew warmer.

Elliot let the pendant fall between her breasts once more, his gaze following its descent. “Who’s your Boot Knocker?”

Panic lifted in her, a wild bird in her chest. She fought to control her voice. “Oh, him.” She pointed in the direction of the group, hoping it was enough to trick Elliot.

“Ty?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I’ll have to have a word about getting some trick-riding lessons from his girl, then.”

“Sure.” The word wobbled, and a constant throb took up residence between her thighs.

“Hey, Ty!”

Bree’s muscles bunched, her body preparing to bolt without a command from her brain. This guy Ty would rat her out, and they’d surely know she didn’t belong here.

Think. Think. Shit.

The gorgeous man had enough swagger to knock the air from her. She watched his muscles rolling, arms swinging loose, denim pulling tight over his thighs. Six-pack, hell. Ty looked as if he had twice that.

He let his gaze travel over her body, making her quiver with excitement. He was one of the baby-faced guys, but he was hot as hell. Besides, if he sprouted a five o’clock shadow, he’d look rough and dangerous enough to suit her.

She shifted her hips, giving him the best view of her toned thigh muscle. What was she doing? She should run for it.

Daddy always said I did tempt fate. We’ll see if these two men make me the filling of a Boot Knocker sandwich.

Judging by the looks on Ty’s and Elliot’s faces, she was in a double-good position to get her dreams fulfilled.

“S’up, Elliot?” Ty’s gaze didn’t leave her. In fact, it sank to her breasts then up to her face.

“Your gal here is in to trick riding, and I feel the sudden need to learn. You up for sharing her?”

Bree’s heart rate spiked. Her panties flooded.

“My gal…” Ty drawled the words, and her stomach hatched a thousand butterflies.

Run for it.

No, wait it out. If I can get two for the price of one pair of short-shorts…

Ty’s eyes narrowed, and his long brows punctuated his suspicion. He swaggered near and snaked an arm around her middle. When he hauled her against his rock-hard body, she felt the tension running off him.

No escape. Shoulda run.

“Not with this one, Elliot. She’s all talk in bed.”

She sucked in a gasp. Confusion crossed Elliot’s rugged features.

Ty delivered a pinch to her backside that made her yip. “For all her shorty-shorts, she’s a cold fish. But I’ll meet
you
in the bunkhouse at nightfall if you want to play.”

With that, Ty started dragging her away. She dug in her bootheels.

“If you don’t walk away with me normal, I’ll pick you up and throw you over my shoulder,
Miss Roberts
.”

Ice filled her veins. He knew her. How? Was there a wanted poster on the wall somewhere? This man saw dozens of women a week—surely he wouldn’t remember her face after visiting her ranch.

“Let go of me!”

“I don’t think so, sugar tits. You’re trespassing. Wonder what
Daddy
would think of you down here getting corrupted.”

“Sugar tits! Did you really just call me that?”

He placed his mouth close to her ear, heating it with his words. “Don’t you want to be objectified, sweetheart? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No.” She aimed a kick at his shin, but he moved his leg at the same moment. “Where are you taking me?”

Her pulse thrummed. For the first time since rolling under that fence, fear took hold. Not because Ty would likely hand her back to her father and she’d be in for the lecture of her life, but because she might not get another chance with a Boot Knocker.

No, I’ll get a chance.

This time her bootheel glanced off Ty’s shin. He didn’t even flinch, just kept walking.

“What do you have—iron shins?”

He eyed her. “I’ve got iron
everything
, sweetheart. Now I’m going to put you into my truck and take you home.” With him being shirtless, she was well aware of how hard he was.

“How do you know I didn’t pay to be here?”

He glared at her. Up close his eyes were green, glowing like sea glass. She shut her jaw with such force her teeth grazed her tongue. Biting off a curse, she let him drag her another ten feet before really digging in.

She tore away and set her hands on her hips. “I can go on my own.”

“I’d prefer to escort you.” He didn’t look fazed by her anger. She felt it simmering just below her skin, about to boil over if he tried to manhandle her again.

She waved a hand as if he were an annoying fly. “Go on back to your Cornhole.”

He ran a hand over his chest and abs. She stopped breathing. The sight of long fingers over ridges of manscaped flesh rendered her panties a soggy scrap.

Sure, Ty had one of those crooked cowboy smiles.

Too bad he was an insufferable jerk.

After his treatment of her, she wouldn’t have sex with Ty if he were the last Boot Knocker on earth.

Ty had enough experience with women to know when they reacted to him. Besides, the tight peaks of Bree’s nipples gave her away.

Reaching out, he nudged her jaw shut with his knuckles. “Stop drooling, sugar tits.”

“Don’t you dare call me that again,” she grated out.

“Isn’t that what you want? To use your smoking-hot body to lure us cowboys in—”

“Pfft. You’re hardly cowboys.” Disdain dripped from her tone. “Well, maybe Elliot was a cowboy. Anyone who could sit a bull for the tour has skill.”

Ty stopped walking. “We’re cowboys first, Miss Roberts. Do you suppose I know your father because he frequents our beds?”

His words had the effect he desired. Her face mottled red then purple. She looked like a beet about to explode. A beet with a sweet body, not that he should be noticing. She was probably underage.

“My father would never—”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I was just teasing. How old are you anyway?”