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

4. Savannah

4

Savannah

“Why do people romanticize this stuff?”

The trail stretches ahead of me, winding through the dense trees like some sort of nature obstacle course. I’ve already dodged three uneven roots and stumbled over what I swear was a rock intentionally placed to trip me.

The air smells faintly of pine and fresh earth, a stark contrast to the city smog I’m used to.

I grudgingly admit that it’s... not awful. The birds are chirping, the light filters through the trees like a postcard come to life, and for a second, I feel calm. Then my sneaker catches on another rock, and I stumble forward.

“Yeah, real peaceful,” I grumble, brushing off the dirt.

Jogging through this wilderness may not be my idea of a good time, but I can’t deny it’s doing wonders for my legs. Still, I’d kill for a flat sidewalk and the comforting buzz of traffic. As I round a bend in the trail, my internal monologue halts, replaced by a sudden and alarming rustle.

I freeze. My eyes land on a cluster of coiled bodies just off the trail.

Rattlesnakes.

Plural .

Their tails vibrate in unison, the sound slicing through the stillness like a warning siren. My heart lurches into my throat as one of the snakes shifts, its head lifting, eyes locked on me.

“Oh, hell no,” I whisper, my voice shaky. But my legs don’t cooperate. I’m rooted to the spot as the snake coils tighter, preparing to strike. A scream tears from my throat, echoing through the trees.

“Don’t move!”

A deep voice cuts through my panic, commanding and sharp. My head snaps up, and I catch sight of a black horse charging toward me, its rider an imposing silhouette against the sunlight.

Time seems to slow. The man atop the horse is tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating an aura of bad-boy confidence that I’d find irritating if I weren’t about to become snake food. He pulls the reins sharply, and the horse rears, hooves kicking the air as it comes to a halt inches from me.

Before I can process what’s happening, he leans down, his strong, calloused hand grabbing me as if I weigh nothing. With one smooth motion, he hauls me up and tosses me onto the horse behind him. My arms instinctively wrap around his waist as the horse bolts forward, leaving the rattling menace behind.

“What the hell—” I start, but my words are swallowed by the rush of wind and the pounding of hooves.

My heart races, both from the near-death experience and the fact that I’m pressed against the solid back of this infuriatingly capable stranger. My thoughts scramble to catch up as I take in the profile of his jaw, the familiar slope of his shoulders. It’s Blake.

But something feels different. The sharp edge to his tone, the tension in his shoulders—it’s not quite like the easygoing Blake I remember from Christmas and saw again just hours ago. But maybe I’m imagining it. He’s just saving me from a snake attack, not cracking jokes at a party.

Still, my stomach twists with uncertainty, though I don’t dare say anything. I’m not about to complain about being rescued, even if something about him seems off.

“Hold on tight, Princess,” he says over his shoulder, his voice laced with amusement. “Wouldn’t want you falling off.”

Oh, it’s Blake all right. That cocky, teasing tone is unmistakable. “Don’t worry,” I snap, though my grip tightens. “I’d hate to ruin your hero complex.”

He laughs, the sound deep and maddeningly self-assured. “Hero complex? More like saving you from your own stupidity. Who runs on trails like these without paying attention?”

I bristle, but the adrenaline coursing through me drowns out any witty comebacks. Instead, I focus on the feel of the horse beneath us, the rhythmic pounding of its hooves a strange kind of comfort.

Despite myself, I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his strong frame, the heat radiating from his body, the way he moves with an effortless confidence that’s both infuriating and magnetic.

The trail widens, and the horse slows to a canter. I risk a glance behind us, half-expecting a snake army in pursuit, but the woods are quiet again. My racing heart begins to settle, though the man in front of me keeps it pounding in a whole new way.

***

We come to a stop near a small creek, the sunlight glinting off the water as it babbles over smooth stones. He swings off the horse in one fluid motion, landing with the kind of grace that makes me grit my teeth. He reaches up, offering his hand to help me down.

“I can manage,” I say, stubbornly ignoring his outstretched hand. But as I slide off the horse, my knees buckle, and I stumble right into his chest.

“Sure you can,” he says, steadying me with a firm grip on my arms. His lips curve into a smug smile, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes—or slap him.

He leads the horse to the creek to drink, then turns his attention back to me. Without a word, he pulls a blanket from the saddlebag and spreads it out on the grass.

“Sit.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re awfully bossy all of a sudden.”

“And you’re awfully ungrateful for someone who was about to become a rattler pincushion,” he shoots back, handing me a bottle of water.

Blake’s… different. Sure, he’s the same too-alpha guy from back in the barn, but in these moments he seems, I don’t know, rougher.

I take it with a huff, plopping down on the blanket. The water is cool and refreshing, and despite my irritation, I can’t help but steal glances at him as he tends to the horse. He moves with a casual confidence, his every action deliberate and efficient.

His hair is tousled, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and those eyes... piercing blue, locked on me now as he walks over and crouches at my level.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

I nod, my throat suddenly dry despite the water.

“Yeah. Thanks, Cowpoke. For, you know, saving my life and all.”

"Cowpoke? Cute." His lips twitch—almost a smile, but not quite. “Don’t mention it. Just maybe stick to safer jogging routes next time.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to consult the Local Cowboy’s Guide to Trail Safety before I head out again.”

That earns a full grin, and damn if it isn’t annoyingly attractive. “Cowboy, huh? Haven’t been called that in a while.”

“Well, I haven’t been scooped onto a horse like a damsel in distress in a while, so I guess we’re even.”

His chuckle is low and warm, and the tension between us shifts. It’s still there, crackling like static electricity, but now it’s mixed with something else—something deeper. I tell myself it’s just the adrenaline, but the way his eyes linger on mine makes me wonder if it’s something more.

Something about him feels different. Maybe he’s just not as laid-back as usual. Either way, I’m not about to ruin the moment by questioning it.

He’s crouched in front of me, his blue eyes doing this stupid thing where they stare into mine like they’ve got something important to say. His thumb brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, and my breath catches before I can stop it. The way his fingers linger? It’s infuriatingly effective.