Pushin' Buttons (Boot Knockers)

Dedication

To everyone who loves a hardworking hero—in bed and out.

Chapter One

“Remember, cowboys. Keep your hands in your laps and your peckers in your pants. At least until it’s time to play your part.” Hugh paced down the line of twenty cowboys and dropped a file in each man’s hands.

The manila folders held a profile sheet containing a different woman’s photo, personal information and everything that man needed to know to rock the lady’s world, Boot Knockers style.

Hugh stopped in front of Riggs Archer, his best friend and the only guy not to follow protocol in the past. “Keep your—”

Riggs tugged the brim of his hat lower to avoid Hugh’s gaze. “I know, I know. Hands in my lap. No pushing the button until my lady comes up.”

“And keep your—”

Riggs shot him a glare. “Pecker. In. Pants.”

“Thass right, Archer.” Hugh grinned and nudged his friend’s hat with his knuckles, shoving it back enough to see the smoldering sparks in Riggs’s dark eyes.

Hugh’s stomach clenched and he passed Riggs his folder to cover his reaction.

Once the information was all distributed, Hugh watched the guys flip through the paperwork. The twenty women were hand-selected by the female production manager, Isabel. She was great at matching the men’s sexual strengths to the women’s needs.

A virgin needing deflowered? Jack was her man. He’d singlehandedly popped over thirty cherries in the four years they’d been running the Boot Knockers Ranch.

Ty excelled at treating women with body dysmorphic disorder. The women who spent a week under his care—and under his muscled body—left with the confidence of a supermodel.

And Hugh…well, he wasn’t playing this hand. Twenty women. Twenty men. He only filled in when necessary. His balls clenched at the idea of a celibate week, but he could tough it out. Maybe some lady would get kinky and ask for a voyeur.

“They’re lined up backstage,” Isabel whispered, and he gave a nod of recognition.

“You heard her, boys. Get to your seats. Fight over them a little. The show’s only for the ladies, but give ’em a good one. Make them feel special, because they are.” Hugh waved his fellow Boot Knockers toward the front of the auditorium. In three minutes, the lights would dim. In five, the first woman would walk onto the stage.

She might carry scars inside or out. Either way, she was leaving the Boot Knockers Ranch as one satisfied lady. Their goal was to treat much more than sexual disorders. When the invitee left the two-hundred-acre Texas ranch, she’d be equipped to pick up where she’d just left off—embarking on new relationships and sexual journeys.

The thud of boot heels drifted away from Hugh as the guys practically ran to their seats. A new group of women…and the chase was the best part. The gals selected the cowboys they were attracted to from photographs. Though the guys were assigned to one lady, they still made it look as if they won her.

Yeah, only one woman each unless Riggs gets trigger-happy again and hits the button for a gal who wasn’t assigned to him.

Women paid to come and enjoy the Texas countryside and pampering the cowboys could provide. The Boot Knockers just happened to love helping women in a lot of ways, so they each took charge of a guest.

“Hugh, would you mind looking at this lineup?” Isabel caught his attention, and he focused on her. Petite and chestnut-haired, she did everything in her power to make him take her to bed. But it was against his personal rules. She’d had a few go’s with other cowboys, and he’d heard she was a wildcat.

He couldn’t stop the grin from twitching at the corner of his mouth. He pulled his hat lower to keep her from seeing too much. Such as how he knew she liked taking two guys at once while another plugged her mouth.

Clearing his throat, he scanned the list of women about to step onstage. Isabel had chosen well from the hundreds who applied to the Boot Knockers Ranch each year. “Looks good as always, Isabel.” He let his gaze drop low enough to make her face flush.

She waved her clipboard, fanning her warm brown hair off her round face. “Thanks, Hugh. I like to get your approval before the girls go on.”

She glanced at the stage door. Women huddled there. All shapes and sizes. Some were hurt physically, emotionally. Others fighting their way back from bloody divorces. One or two might be socially backward. And there was probably at least one virgin. Jack would be happy.

Hugh looked over the fresh group of females. “Let’s get started. Cue the first l’il lady.”

“And…you’re on!” The perky woman with the clipboard flashed her too-white smile toward the group of women trembling off-stage.

Sibyll shrank back, glad she wasn’t up first. Sure, she’d applied to be with one of these hot cowboys on the Boot Knockers Ranch. She’d spent hours taking and retaking her profile picture and filling out the application so she looked as appealing as possible. But now that she was faced with standing on a stage, talking about her…
dysfunction
in front of rough-and-tumble types, she was about to pee her pants with nervousness.

Beside Sibyll, a lanky blonde with legs for miles sucked in a harsh breath and stepped onto the brightly-lit stage. The way her shoulders slumped and she wrung her hands spoke of her nervousness and possible self-esteem issues. Hell, Sibyll was here for that very reason, among other things. Maybe all the women were.

Let the Boot Knockers fulfill your wildest fantasies while showing you just how beautiful you really are.
Sibyll had practically memorized the pamphlet for the Boot Knockers Ranch—two hundred acres of prime Texas grazing land operated by twenty cowboys who specialized in helping women…well, sexually.

The word made Sibyll cringe. For a woman who’d never experienced an orgasm, those three little letters—S-E-X—obviously tormented her daily.

Booking a spot here at the Boot Knockers Ranch and hoping for a few tumbles in one of the cowboy’s beds had taken a supreme act of nerve. She’d also been spurred on by her latest failed sexual encounter with her boyfriend of three months.

Frigid, sexless,
he’d called her when she’d failed to reach her peak. The blow to his ego had probably been huge, but she was finished faking orgasm to gratify a man. What about them gratifying her?

I probably can’t be satisfied. Even if those doctors said it’s all in my head.

Her stomach bottomed out as she watched the leggy blonde in the flood of spotlights, on display for the Boot Knockers. They were asking her questions, which she answered in a muffled voice.

“What if no one chooses me? What if I have to go home a virgin?” a young woman beside Sibyll squeaked. It was everyone’s worst fear, though unfounded. They’d made it through the screening process—they were in.

According to the pamphlet no one went home unsatisfied. That’s why their screening process was so in-depth. The Boot Knockers sifted through piles of applications to find the women they could help the most. Then once on the ranch, a question and answer period preceded the actual selection—when one or more hunky cowboys of the woman’s choosing stood up to fight over her.

Upon arrival, Sibyll had spent almost an hour with a woman named Holly looking over the photographs of the cowboys and selecting which ones she was attracted to. They were all so…
hot.
She’d be happy with almost any of them—they were more her type than the guys she’d dated.

Just the idea of someone fighting over her—let alone a virile man in jeans and boots—made Sibyll’s insides tingle.

Sibyll gave the young woman a soft smile. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty-five, which wasn’t that old to still be a virgin. Sibyll wanted to say, “Come back when you’re thirty.”
Or come back when you’re thirty-five and haven’t come even by your own hand.

A shiver rolled down her spine, and she tugged at the collar of her white, button-down shirt. Her black pencil skirt, heels and white shirt felt stuffy, the cloth binding her to certain failure. Dressed as she was, she’d step onstage and the cowboys would start sniggering until the whole room rang with laughter.

“Holy hell, look at that one,” the virgin said.

Sibyll followed her gaze to the door between stage entrance and hallway several feet away. His back was to her and the other dozen women, his shoulders taking up most of the door frame and his white T-shirt molded to a chiseled back. Sibyll outlined his back muscles with her gaze, cutting a path down to a backside hugged by worn denim.

The cowboy pivoted. His face was illuminated by the overhead lights as he talked to the perky Isabel, the ringleader of this insane audition process.

“He has a black eye!” someone whispered.

“From a bar fight? Please let it be from a bar fight!” a woman with a gorgeous head of red hair and thick glasses added.

The cowboy raised his head and stared at the women. Suddenly Sibyll’s muscles tensed to run. She didn’t want to be here, had made the wrong decision.
So what if I can’t experience “physical and emotional sensation at the peak of sexual excitation” according to Dictionary.com?

Isabel swooped through the door and pointed at the curvaceous brunette to Sibyll’s right. “You’re next.” Then she returned to the doorway, where she leaned and talked to the cowboy with the black eye.

Dust motes swirled hectically in the lights streaming from the stage. Sibyll tried to follow one with her eyes. Anything to keep from looking directly at that cowboy’s handsome, rugged face.

He was huge—tall and broad and muscled in all the ways that made the knot in Sibyll’s core want to unravel. But it never did.

Maybe if he fights to win me, I could.

He glanced up again, and the group of women tittered. The leggy blonde was led offstage on the arm of a cowboy wearing all black except his shiny silver and turquoise belt buckle.

“Wow, he’s fine. Jenny’s lucky to get him,” the virgin whispered after they passed. They stopped at the door, and the production manager moved to the side so they could pass.

The black-eyed cowboy with the two-day-old dark stubble on his jaw shook hands with both cowboy and contestant.

“You—sexy secretary—you’re next.” The production manager jabbed a finger in Sibyll’s direction.

She looked around herself. A slight girl to her right wore a peasant dress and thong sandals, and the tall, toned girl to her left wore sporty shorts and a T-shirt with an energy drink logo.

“Wh—? Me?” Sibyll pointed to her chest.

“Yep, you.” The production manager whirled back to speak with the cowboy, but he’d strolled through the door and was making his molasses-sweet way across the stage.

He passed the first group of contestants, who froze like a herd of deer in the middle of Highway 495. He dipped his head and positioned a battered brown cowboy hat on it. “Howdy,” he drawled, lips curled in the perfect dose of Southern gentleman and cocky bad-boy.

Feminine sighs sounded in response. Sibyll’s heart thumped as he neared her small group standing closest to the stage. The closer he got, the more his bulk seemed to take up all the space in the room. Or maybe that was testosterone.

He dropped a wink at the virgin and leaned in to speak to her. “The black eye was nothin’ as glamorous as a kick-ass bar fight. Took a hoof yesterday working with the horses.” He straightened and settled his gaze right on Sibyll.

She stopped breathing as electricity passed between them.

That’s my imagination. I’m so keyed up.

The cowboy cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. Around them, women gawked. Hell, even Isabel the production manager stood with her mouth open, glancing between the huge cowboy and her clipboard.

“Hugh, you’re not filling in today, are you?” Isabel asked.

The man blinked, severing his hold on Sibyll. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not competin’ today. I’m Master of Games as usual.” He pinned Sibyll again with his gaze. Something dark and exciting coiled low in her belly. What if this man did stand up for her?

I’d choose him in a heartbeat.

“Get ready, sexy secretary.” Isabel scanned her clipboard. “I mean Sibyll.”

At this, the cowboy slid his gaze downward, over Sibyll’s throat, breasts, waist and hips. When he ended at the tips of her toes, she felt them curl from the searing heat of his scrutiny.