Scoring with the Wrong Twin (Ice Chronicles Hockey #2)

1. Savannah

1

Savannah

“Focus, Savannah. You’re here to help Aubrey. That’s it. Breathe.”

I roll into town, my car bouncing over yet another pothole, and I swear my soul leaves my body. I squint out the window, hoping for a beacon of salvation, like a Starbucks sign. A neon glow promising drive-thru caffeine bliss. Anything.

Nothing.

Just a cluster of mom-and-pop shops, one questionable diner, and—oh goodie—a gas station that probably thinks “espresso” is code for motor oil. I groan, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. My caffeine-deprived brain is seconds away from a full-blown tantrum.

I take a deep breath and immediately regret it. The unmistakable scent of cattle slaps me in the face like a leather glove of indignation. My nose wrinkles.

Why did I agree to this again?

Oh right. Because when your best friend asks you to step in and run a festival campaign for her husband’s family ranch, you say yes. Even if it means driving into the wilds of Nowheresville, where decent espresso is a mythical creature and civilization feels like a distant memory.

It’s exactly the kind of place city girls like me avoid unless we’re wearing designer cowboy boots, ironically. I sigh and remind myself of the golden rule: A client is a client.

And Pinnacle—mine and Aubrey’s baby of a marketing agency—has a reputation to uphold. Even if hockey isn’t exactly my wheelhouse. I don’t care who’s on the ice, what team they play for, or what drama’s brewing between the players. Give me a high-stakes PR campaign over high-stakes sports any day.

I roll down the window, hoping a breeze will clear out the smell of farm life. Instead, a cloud of dust blows into the car and coats my dashboard in a fine layer of Nope. My mouth tightens into a thin line.

Perfect. Just perfect.

“You can do this,” I say, my voice a little too sharp to be encouraging.

I scan the horizon—rolling hills, white fences… it’s like a scene from a country music video. All that’s missing is a cowboy with a tragic backstory and an acoustic guitar.

No thanks. I’m here for business. Focus.

I drive more and before long, the sign for Ice Ranch I insist.”

Another smile. “God, it’s so good to see you! We’ll do plenty of catching up today, and you can meet the rest of the fam.”

“Can’t wait.”

With that, we hug and she’s off.

***

I finish my tea and head out, lugging my suitcase along. The path isn’t hard to spot, what with the massive barn to use as a landmark. I start on my way, eager to kick up my feet and check some work emails.

A few minutes later, the barn looms in front of me like a rustic fortress, its weathered wood and slightly crooked beams standing as a reminder of just how far I am from my city comfort zone. But it, like the rest of Ice Ranch, it’s charming, in a country sort of way.

But now, I’m faced with a choice: navigate the barn, or risk crossing paths with one of those oversized cows again.

I choose the barn.

The smell inside isn’t exactly Chanel No. 5, but it’s marginally better than outside. I wheel my suitcase over the uneven ground, muttering curses under my breath as the tiny wheels catch on everything. “This is ridiculous,” I grumble, giving the handle a frustrated yank. “Who designs luggage for cobblestone streets but not barn floors?”

I hear the faint crunch of boots and glance up.

“Savannah, good to see you here. Are you lost?” a familiar, teasing voice calls from somewhere to my left. “This isn’t Chicago—you won’t find a valet service out here.”

I whirl around to see none other than Blake Ice leaning casually against one of the support beams, arms crossed over his broad chest. His blue eyes glint with amusement, the corners crinkling just enough to make my heart skip a beat.

I try to play it cool, but let’s be real. The man looks like a Pinterest board titled “Rugged Cowboy Chic.” Fitted jeans, a white tee stretched just right over his shoulders, and that damn smirk like he knows exactly what effect he has on people. And okay, maybe he does, because he flashes me a smile that hits harder than a double espresso shot.

“Laugh it up, farm boy,” I retort, planting one hand on my hip and pretending I don’t notice how his gaze sweeps over me like I’m the only thing worth looking at. His eyes linger at my breasts for what feels like five minutes before dragging back up to meet mine. The nerve—and the thrill of it—makes my skin tingle.

“Just because I’m not covered in mud doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself.” Although honestly, I’d much rather he handle me—preferably without clothes getting in the way.

His grin widens, slow and cocky, as he steps closer. The scuff of his boots against the barn floor echoes in my ears, and my pulse races like it’s got something to prove. God, what would it feel like if he pressed me up against that support beam? If those hands gripped my thighs instead of that stupid suitcase?

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” he says, nodding toward my suitcase like it’s personally offended him.

I glare at the offending luggage before flipping my hair over my shoulder—did I really just do that? What is my body even doing? “This suitcase cost more than your entire outfit, Blake,” I snap, even as my brain unhelpfully supplies, ‘And you’d look even better with none of it on.’

“I’ll have you know my luggage is perfectly capable of—ugh!” The suitcase tips over as I tug at it, the sound of his laughter rolling over me like warm honey.

“Need a hand?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock chivalry.

Oh, hell yes, I need two hands. A mouth. That perfect ass. And a cock that’s probably as big as his damn ego.

His grin doesn’t waver, but his gaze flickers—just for a second—like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. And he likes it.

“I’ve got it,” I manage through gritted teeth, even as my gaze trails over the way his muscles flex when he picks up my suitcase like it weighs nothing. Is that how he’d carry me? Braced against him, my legs wrapped around his waist? My cheeks flush hot, and I snap my gaze away, willing myself to focus on something—anything—else.

Blake props the suitcase upright, his grin never fading. “Fine, but don’t think this means I owe you anything.”

“You’re not that charming.”

“Give it time.”

“Oh, you’re funny now?” I quip, trying not to smile. “Didn’t realize the Ice Ranch had a comedy club.”

He gives me a slow once-over, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Stick around, you might be surprised.”

I swear my heart does a little flip, but I shove it down. Nope. Not today, Satan. “I’ll pass. I’ve got a festival to save and limited patience for cowboy antics.”

“Cowboy antics?” He pushes off the railing, that smirk still firmly in place. “Don’t worry, Sav. I’ll try to keep my antics to a minimum.”

“Much appreciated,” I deadpan, but my lips twitch.

I roll my eyes, but the truth is, I’m enjoying the banter. It’s too easy to fall into this rhythm with Blake, like we’re picking up right where we left off back at that Christmas party.

As he carries my suitcase toward the barn’s side exit, I let myself relax just a little. Blake may be trouble, but he’s trouble I can handle.

“You need help the rest of the way?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips.

“You tell me, farm boy.”

He smirks. “Guest house is just that way.” He nods towards the eastern side of the barn. “Straight shot from here. I can carry your bag, if you like.”

“I think I can manage.”

He laughs. “Stubborn as ever. Well, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you around the place.”

“Likewise, cowpoke.”

"Cowpoke? I love that you call me that."

"Cowpoke it is from now on, then."

He opens the door, sunlight flooding into the barn. I head out with my bag, and as soon as my eyes adjust to the bright lights of outdoors, I spot the guest house a few hundred feet beyond.

He winks. “See you around.”

I watch him go, his broad shoulders disappearing around the side of the barn. Great. Just great. How is it that one guy can be so effortlessly charming while his brother has the personality of a wet sock? The universe has a messed-up sense of humor.

I shake my head. Focus, Savannah. You’re not here for Blake Ice and his dangerously good looks.

Still, I can’t help but smile to myself.

***

The Airbnb is an adorable-as-hell building, rustic and charming like the rest of the ranch. A handful of cars are parked to the side, and I can see a little buzz of activity as the Airbnb guests come and go, a few of them lounging on the porch and enjoying the weather.

One of the staff comes out to greet me, a tall, lanky Hispanic guy in jeans and a plaid shirt.

“Morning, miss!” he calls out in unaccented English. “Welcome to Ice Ranch!”

He approaches me with a warm smile, gesturing to take my bag. I let him.

“Thanks,” I say. “Name’s Savannah Hart.”

“Miguel,” he says. “Pleased to meet you. Come this way.”

He leads me up the stairs and into the guest house. It’s bigger inside than it looks, with a large entry way that leads to a front desk up ahead, a huge common room to the right, and a dining area to the left. Miguel explains to me the finer points of the house as he leads me upstairs to the third floor.

“And this is your room here,” he says, handing me a key. “Please, get comfortable and settled in—we’ll have some snacks down in the common area in ten minutes or so. Feel free to come down.”

He sets my bag onto the stand in the room, and I thank him before he heads out.

The guest room is smaller than I expected, but it’s cozy in a way that surprises me. The bed is covered in a patchwork quilt that looks handmade, and the sunlight streaming through the lace curtains gives the whole space a warm, golden glow. It’s a far cry from the sleek, minimalist designs I’m used to, but there’s something oddly comforting about it.

I close the door and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. I toe off my heels, wiggling my poor, abused toes. “You’re welcome, feet. Don’t get used to it.”

Collapsing onto the bed, I stare at the ceiling, thoughts ping-ponging around my head. And, of course, one of them lands on him .

Blake.

A smile sneaks onto my face before I can stop it. Unlike his storm-cloud of a brother, Blake is all golden retriever energy in a linebacker’s body. That stupid wink of his is probably responsible for 90% of my serotonin levels today.

I bite my lip, remembering the way his eyes sparkled when he teased me. It’s ridiculous how one little interaction can have me feeling like I’m in a rom-com montage. But hey, I’m only human. A very thirsty human, apparently.

Still, business first. The quiet hum of the ranch surrounds me, interrupted only by the occasional lowing of cows in the distance. I glance at my phone—no new messages, no missed calls. A rare sight that should be calming but feels a little eerie. Still, better a dead signal than a live threat.

I flop onto my side, letting my shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like forever. The peace here is exactly what I need right now.

Back in the city, everything had spiraled out of control. The client I’d dropped, Brody Fucking 'Bruiser' Langstone—a high-profile athlete whose darker side had been exposed—hadn’t taken the news well. His angry messages still linger in my mind, veiled threats wrapped in smooth words. At first, I’d dismissed them as empty bluster, but as the weeks went on, they started to feel less hollow and more ominous.

I shiver at the memory, rubbing my arms as if to shake it off. “Just breathe, Savannah,” I mutter to myself. “It’s not glamorous, but at least nobody’s going to find you here.”

The thought brings a flicker of relief. Out here, I’m off the grid. No reporters, no angry ex-clients, no buzzing city noise.

I shake my head and think of Aubrey and how she looks like an ad for 'Small-Town Bliss.' She’s the one who needs the support right now, not me. I'm here to help her, not to mentally replay Blake’s grin like it’s a TikTok loop. And definitely not to let Blaze’s bad attitude ruin my vibe.

I can’t ignore how grateful I am for this chance to step back, and I’ll take the quiet moments where I can get them. I glance out the window at the rolling fields, letting the stillness wash over me.

Maybe I’ll even enjoy this small-town detour.

A smirk tugs at my lips. Who knows? If Blaze keeps his distance and Blake keeps up the charm, this trip might turn out to be more fun than I expected. But something tells me nothing about this ranch—or the Ice family—is ever that simple.

I thought I was ready to unwind, but my body seems to have other plans. Restless energy stirs in my legs, refusing to let me relax. I need to move.

Pulling myself up, I slip out of my clothes, dig into my suitcase for my workout gear and slip it on.

Maybe after a good run the chaos of my life will feel farther away. It won’t stay that way forever—I know that much—but for now, it’ll be enough.