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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.