Cowboy Not Included: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 6

She never expected to feel the vibrations all the way to her broken heartstrings.

The Boot Knockers Ranch
, Book 6

Diapers and baby food are uppermost in Skye Blackwood’s mind—at least until she’s alone at night. Two years is a long time, and her toy collection isn’t all that satisfying. Especially since her battery-operated lovers came from Booker, her ex.

Everyone said they married too young, and they were right. He could be a bigger part of their daughter’s life, though, so she tracks him down—and is shocked to discover he’s working at a Texas sex therapy ranch. She reserves a week of something tall, dark, and cowboy for herself, planning to use her down time to talk to Booker.

When Skye steps onto the Boot Knockers stage, Booker doesn’t hesitate to pull the plug. A giant misunderstanding may have ended things between them, but no way is he letting another cowboy into her bed.

Once alone, their animal attraction flares back to life. But time hasn’t healed the emotional wounds that still run deep. And renewing their old bond could be the biggest mistake they ever made…

Warning: Contains smoking-hot sex scenes with toys, without toys, with an extra partner, and just one-on-one. Suitable for beginner, intermediate, and advanced cowboy lovers. Sorry, you’ll have to supply your own batteries. Better buy a case. Oh, hell, just buy stock in the company.

Cowboy Not Included

Em Petrova

Dedication

To all my fans who have loved the Boot Knockers and their antics. The Toy King, Booker, has entertained us throughout. Now it’s time to hear his side of things.

Chapter One

Skye hitched the baby higher on her hip, and her purse slid down her arm, dangling on her wrist like a wrecking ball. It was so filled with diapers, wipes, toys and plastic containers of Cheerios it weighed as much.

The six shopping bags layered up to the elbow of her other arm didn’t help her fumble for the car keys. Nor did the baby snatching her sunglasses off her face at that moment.

“Findlee’s,” her daughter said, smashing the glasses onto her own face. Skye blinked against the blinding sun as she fought her way across the parking lot, laden like a pack mule.

Sure, the use of a shopping cart would benefit her in many ways, but in this part of town, she had to be careful of so many things. If she left her car unlocked or her purse inside while she returned a cart to the corral, she’d be screwed.

And lately she couldn’t count on her scattered brain to remember all the steps.

Her breath came faster as she felt the effects of hauling too much to the car. Findlee dropped her sunglasses.

“Shit,” Skye muttered.

“Shit,” Findlee cried.

A lady loading groceries into her car shot Skye a dirty look. Skye shot it right back.
You could take ten steps to help a struggling mother.

Carefully she bent. Baby, purse, bags all tipped forward and she almost launched headfirst into the asphalt. Using her index finger, she hooked the glasses. With one more thing to concentrate on not dropping, she straightened.

Thud. Thud, thud, thud.

“What the—?”

Something rolled against the toe of her cowgirl boot. A bag had ripped and her purchases were falling out.

“Great.” She wanted to scream some other choice words but couldn’t risk a filthy-mouthed baby. Findlee was already experimenting with new ways to say “shit”, stretching her mouth and pitching her voice louder.

There was no help for the lost cans. She must plow forward.

But what if they were cans of Findlee’s favorite soup? Skye looked around.

Fuck, they were. A groan of frustration burst from her and adrenaline flooded her system. She shot forward, hauling ass to the car with her hundred pounds of kid and junk.

“Miss, you dropped some cans!” the lady at her car called.

“Why don’t you pick them up for me?” she growled. Ten more steps. Eight. The purse banged her thigh and Findlee kicked a fat leg, knocking the sunglasses from her precarious grip.

“Fuck it,” Skye said.

“Fuck it!”

Thank God, they’d made it to the car. Skye fought with the key fob then the door. Finally she had her daughter in the car seat and tossed the groceries on the floor, not even caring that the bread was squashed on the bottom of the pile.

She turned back to see the lady she’d snapped at coming forward with her sunglasses and the cans she’d left behind.

Skye felt like an ass for snapping at her. A hot flush climbed her throat and burned her cheeks. “I’m sorry I spoke to you that way.”

The lady smiled. “No need, dear. I would have helped sooner, but you know you can’t abandon your cart in this parking lot or it will disappear.” She handed Skye the cans and glasses.

“I appreciate it.”

“Sometimes a young mother just needs an extra hand. You’ve got a beautiful daughter there. Good luck.” The lady walked off.

Skye turned to the open car door and looked at Findlee’s face. The humidity had made her cherubic golden curls turn into corkscrews on her forehead. When she looked at Skye, she grinned. Her green eyes turned up on the corners just like her father’s.

“I poop.”

Tipping her head up to the azure sky, Skye counted to ten. For weeks she’d been trying to get Findlee on the potty. Her mom said it was futile—the child wasn’t ready. Letting her soil her pants now seemed like ten steps back, but no way in hell was Skye spending time in the grocery store restroom with her toddler.

She stowed the cans in the car, slid her sunglasses back onto her face and closed the rear door. When she sank into the driver’s seat, she tried for several more calming breaths. Her arms felt like jelly after carrying too much weight and she wanted a cold shower and a glass of something on the rocks.

Hours and hours till bedtime.

Was it terrible that she just wanted a break? She’d been doing everything on her own since Booker had screwed up their marriage. She didn’t even know where he was working, just grateful he was regular about child support.

If he were here, things would be so much easier.

As she backed out of the parking space and headed toward home, that familiar deep ache for her ex bloomed in her chest. Their love affair had burned hot and bright. Everyone worried they’d make the mistake of marrying too young.

And they had. Three months into their relationship, Skye had gotten pregnant. Booker had been crazed with joy. The first thing he’d done was work two jobs for a down payment on a house.

She appreciated his hard work because she and Findlee had a roof over their heads. But they weren’t in the best part of town and Skye wanted to move before her daughter started school.

Findlee babbled in the back seat and Skye let her mind wander. When she wasn’t thinking of toddler foods and diapers, she dreamed of having a getaway. Her mother had offered to keep Findlee any time, and Skye had busted her butt working retail. She’d been promoted to assistant manager of her store and put in long hours. Anything extra went into savings.

But savings for what? The amount was far from college-fund money. Maybe she should look into one of those floating huts in Bora Bora. Her friend Suzanne might go with her…

“Shit. Fuck it.”

“Findlee, we don’t say those words. Please don’t say them again. Let’s sing.” She flipped on the CD and kids’ tunes filled the car, giving Skye some more precious moments to think about that floating hut.

She really could use a break. Since the divorce she hadn’t had a single male in her life. A few dates had gone sour and she’d turned her focus to her daughter. But her body craved a man’s touch and physical closeness.

Booker’s crooked grin popped into her mind. One of the last times they’d made love had been intense and playful at the same time. It had been as if Booker had tapped some new resources and had amped up his game.

Then he’d disappeared for two straight days without word. She could only assume he’d been shacked up with some woman—and had probably learned the new moves from her.

Her stomach hollowed out just as it had back then. Booker still had a hold on her.

It’s only because of Findlee.

She tried to convince herself of this every day. She absolutely did not want to contact Booker so she could look into his twinkling green eyes with the crinkles at the corners. No, she did not have a desire to see his mussed dark blond hair and the way he filled out his clothes oh so well.

It was simple—he should be in Findlee’s life. As the child grew, she’d need her father’s input. And Booker was totally absent.

Of course, Skye hadn’t made it easy for him. After he’d disappeared, she’d basically closed the door on him. He’d called countless times and come over. Hell, he’d camped out on the stoop overnight, yelling her name intermittently until the neighbors had told him to shut up. She’d stood strong against what she knew in her heart.

Booker flirted with everything with breasts and legs. He over-tipped waitresses and had too many female friends for Skye’s liking. He hadn’t exactly made her feel secure in his love for her, and of course that peeled away some of her self-esteem.

His vanishing act had only solidified the things her friends and family had been saying all along—and she knew deep down. Sure, he’d begged her to trust him, that he couldn’t share where he was because it wasn’t his story to tell. She wasn’t buying it then or now. But recently her ex was taking on a golden glow in her memory, and it couldn’t happen.

As she dragged in another calming breath, she caught the odor coming from the back seat.

“Damn,” she said low enough to keep her daughter from adding another cuss word to her vocabulary.

“Booker, you’ve got a package.” The office girl came running out with the brown box in her hands, a knowing grin on her face.

He stopped midstride and crossed the turf to meet her. The Texas sun beat down, and his straw hat offered little protection. He tipped the brim as he neared her.

“Thank ya, li’l lady.”

She gave him a white-toothed smile and passed the box into his hands. “What’s in it this time?”

It had become a game around the Boot Knockers Ranch to guess what Booker had ordered. They all knew that a plain, unmarked box meant Booker’s sex toy cupboard was getting fuller.

“Are you looking for something new to use yourself?” he teased.

She flushed. “I’ve got more pleasure than I can handle with Siri, thank you.” She tapped the box with a forefinger. “At least tell me what’s inside.”

He made a zippering motion over his lips, shot her a grin and started away.

“Booker!”

He threw her a look over his shoulder.

“No fair!”

Laughing, he crossed the ranch to the bunkhouse. Farther down the valley the bungalows with the red roofs seemed to slumber. Though it was early afternoon, nobody got out of bed on the ranch. Not when there was too much fun to be had there.

The ranch focused on pleasing female clients from all over the world. Ladies from all walks came for help with their sex lives. From thirty-year-old virgins to those with self-esteem issues and so much more, Booker had “treated” them—to a little cowboy lovin’, that was.

He tucked the box under one arm and opened the bunkhouse door. Cool air rushed him, as well as silence. Nobody slept here if they could help it. Basically the open room filled with cots was a place to store their clothes and play a game of poker on Sunday nights before the next batch of women arrived Monday morning.

Thank hellfire his week’s rotation off was over. The forced celibacy wouldn’t be a big deal to most men, but to a Boot Knocker, it was like being put on death row.

His bunk was against a wall and one of the only cabinets in the space belonged to him. Well, he’d claimed it. He fitted a small key into the padlock and removed it. Then he gripped the other padlock and tried to recall the combination.

Shit. Numbers buzzed through his head. This was…what? His third lock in a year? His fourth?

The damn practical joker cowboys he worked with thought it funny to break into his cabinet and do things to his belongings. At first he’d taken the jokes in stride. But after they’d removed the batteries from every sex toy in there, he’d stopped laughing.

He flipped a thumb over the numbers and suddenly the right ones popped into his head.

When he opened the oak doors and looked upon his only possessions besides some clothes, a toothbrush and a razor, he breathed a sigh. Nobody had tampered with his toys.

Vibrators of all sizes, shapes and colors lined the shelves. Blues, pinks, flesh hues. Fat, thin, some with tickler attachments and swirling anal fingers. There were double dongs and little clit teasers. Anal beads, Ben Wa balls and cock rings. Not to mention the BDSM items—crops, nipple clamps and rope. A lot of rope.

He was a cowboy, after all.

Booker produced a pocketknife and slit the tape on the new package. Setting aside bubble wrap, he stared at his new purchases. Every payday he bought a thing or two. Some of the guys thought he was crazy with as many toys as he owned, but there was always room for more.

He pulled the realistic molded penis and a new cock ring from the box. After placing them on the shelf, he closed and padlocked the doors again.

Nobody touched his toys. Only a portion was used for the ladies. One entire shelf he kept for…

What? He had no idea.

He doffed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He was already damp with sweat and craved a cold shower. Hell, he needed one after being pent-up for days. But he had work to do on the ranch. The bosses, Hugh and Riggs, had asked him to drive into town for animal feed.

Though women were the prime source of revenue on the ranch, the land was still worked. Animals grazed it and they sold them for good prices. All that money went into a pool and each of the Boot Knockers got his share.

Booker tossed the empty box on the floor and he kicked it under his cot with a few others. Then he opened his nightstand drawer and rummaged around for his bank savings book.

As he studied the little black numbers at the bottom, he was damn pleased with himself. He had a nice little nest egg.

Except it wasn’t his. From the start, he’d never thought of using the money himself. His truck was good enough. He’d worn the same boots and hat for years. His jeans had holes in them here and there but the ladies seemed to like that. And hell, he wasn’t wearing clothes very damn often. His job was to parade naked through the bungalow, chasing a giggling female.

With a smile, he stuffed the book into his back pocket along with a wallet full of condoms and headed out into the sunlight.

Riggs was in the office with a blank check for Booker to purchase feed. “Is that all you need?” Booker asked.

“Would you mind taking Cook into town with you? She has some supplies that can’t get here by delivery truck.”

“Sure thing. I’ll go tell her I’m ready.”

Booker thumbed his hat in goodbye, but Riggs called out, “I heard you got a new package. What’s inside?”

With a slow wink, he answered, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He and Riggs had had some fun in the past. Sharing women as well as just slaking lust together. Riggs was in a happy monogamous relationship now, but Booker couldn’t help but flirt.

When he got to the large building where they all gathered to eat—the grub house—Cook was already outside with a purse over her shoulder.

Booker gave her a slow once-over and she batted him with her purse. “Stop looking at me like that, young man. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“I like me a cougar, ma’am.” He opened the truck door with a flourish and she jumped inside as if she were twenty, not in her sixties.

As they drove, he tuned the radio to a country station and they sang a duet. After the last notes died away, Cook dissolved into laughter. “You boys do my soul good.”