Page 27 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

Chapter Seventeen

Mia

T wo weeks later, my shelter has been transformed into what can only be described as chaos.

Chaos with a healthy dose of masculine eye candy that I should totally not be looking at.

"No, no, NO!" I shout over the sound of power tools, waving my hands at the burly contractor who's attempting to install the new AC unit upside down. "The intake goes on the BOTTOM, Marcus!"

Marcus—six-foot-four of pure muscle wrapped in a flannel shirt that's seen better days—scratches his head and squints at the manual like it's written in ancient hieroglyphics.

"You sure about that, Miss Harper? Because this diagram here looks like—"

"I'm sure." I point firmly at the correct orientation. "Trust me, I've been studying how to install proper air conditioning for three years."

Behind me, the sound of hammering echoes from the new quarantine room, where two more contractors are framing walls that will finally give me the space I've desperately needed.

The scent of sawdust mingles with the usual shelter aroma of dog shampoo and disinfectant, creating an oddly satisfying cocktail that smells like progress.

I check my clipboard—yes, I have a clipboard now—and move on to the next item while ignoring the constant barking from the kennels.

The plumbers should be finishing the new dog washing station any minute, the roofers are patching the leak over the cat room, and somewhere in this beautiful madness, an electrician is installing about a dozen new outlets that actually work.

It's like Christmas morning. Except instead of presents under a tree, I have competent professionals fixing every problem that's plagued this place for years.

"Mia!" Zoe appears at my elbow, vibrating with teenage excitement. "The new kennels arrived! They're HUGE! And shiny! And they have automatic water dispensers!"

I follow her gaze to where two delivery guys are wheeling in modular kennel units. They look like they belong in a luxury pet resort rather than my scrappy little shelter.

A crash from the direction of the supply closet interrupts my kennel appreciation moment.

"BAAAAAHHHHH!"

Right. The goat situation.

"Have we heard from the farmers about picking up Gandalf?" I call out to Zoe.

"Who's Gandalf?" Marcus asks, still puzzling over the AC manual.

"Our resident escape artist." I gesture toward the supply closet, where muffled thumping suggests Gandalf is expressing his displeasure with his temporary accommodations.

"He was supposed to go to a ranch, but apparently when the owners saw him, they decided their current goat population was sufficient. "

"BAAAAHHHHH!"

The supply closet door rattles ominously.

"Should I be concerned?" Marcus asks, eyeing the closet like it might explode.

"Only if you left any important tools in there. Gandalf has a particular fondness for anything that looks chewable."

As if summoned by our conversation, Zeus—the formerly tiny puppy who's now grown into a medium-sized ball of pure energy—comes tearing through the main area with a work glove in his mouth.

Behind him, Biscuit barks encouragement while Princess the pug watches the chaos with the resignation of someone who's seen it all before.

"Zeus! Drop it!" I command, but Zeus just wags his tail harder and takes off toward the construction zone slash kennel area, clearly interpreting this as the best game ever.

"I'll get him," offers the electrician, a wiry guy named Pete who's been surprisingly good with the animals all morning.

"Thanks. Just remember, he's food motivated. There are treats in the—"

Another loud bleat comes from the closet, then a huge crash follows and makes both Zoe and I tremble on the spot.

"Okay, that's it." I march toward the closet, pulling out my phone. "Zoe, call the ranch again. Tell them if they don't pick up this goat by five o'clock, I'll start charging them boarding fees."

An hour later, I'm in the middle of explaining proper kennel assembly to the delivery guys when the front door chimes. I look over and my heart does that ridiculous fluttery thing it's been doing every time I see Ryder for the past two weeks.

He's standing in the doorway looking unfairly gorgeous in his team-issued sweats that somehow manage to highlight every perfect line of his athletic frame. His hair is still damp from the post-workout shower, and that easy smile that makes my insides turn to liquid flashes brightly across the room.

God, how did I used to function without that smile in my life?

"Hey, beautiful," he calls over the construction noise, picking his way carefully through the obstacle course my shelter has become. "Renovations are going well today then?"

"Yep. Loud, chaotic, and absolutely perfect," I grin, accepting the kiss he presses to my temple. "Hey! Maybe you should take some inspiration for your own house. You know, the one where you're still sleeping on a mattress on the floor?"

The same mattress I've been sharing for the past week because apparently I've lost all sense of self-preservation when it comes to this man.

"Hey, I bought those throw pillows you wanted," he protests with mock indignation. "That counts as decorating."

"Throw pillows on the floor don't constitute furniture, Ryder."

"They do if you arrange them strategically."

Before I can respond to this ridiculousness, Marcus approaches with the AC manual still in his hands and a confused expression on his face.

"Miss Harper, I hate to interrupt, but I think we might need to—" He stops mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he takes in Ryder. "Well, I'll be fucked. You're Ryder Scott."

"That's me," Ryder says with an easy smile, extending his hand. "Thanks for taking care of Mia's place."

"Dude, that goal you scored against Vegas in the playoffs? Legendary." Marcus shakes Ryder's hand with the enthusiasm of a teenage fan meeting his idol. "My kid's got your jersey. Wears it to every game."

I watch this exchange with amusement, noting the way Ryder deflects praise and asks Marcus about his son instead. Even after all these weeks, it still surprises me how genuine he is with fans.

"Actually," Marcus continues, clearly starstruck, "if it's not too much trouble, could I maybe get a picture? For my kid, Mickey?"

"Of course," Ryder agrees, and I watch them pose for several photos while Marcus fumbles with his phone like he's defusing a bomb.

That's when I notice the other contractors have stopped working and are gravitating toward us. The plumbers, the electrician, even one of the kennel delivery guys—all drawn like moths to the flame of local hockey celebrity.

This is what dating Ryder Scott means, I realize. Even in my own shelter, he's the main attraction.

But instead of feeling overshadowed, I find myself oddly proud.

This gorgeous, talented, famous man chooses to spend his free time here, helping me build something meaningful. Even if that means I have to sleep on his floor instead of the perfectly comfortable bed I have at my own place.

"Alright, everyone," I call out, clapping my hands to regain attention. "Back to work. These kennels won't install themselves, and I'd like functioning air conditioning before summer hits."

The contractors scatter back to their tasks, but I notice more than one phone being discreetly aimed in our direction.

"Popular as always," I tease Ryder as we move toward the quieter corner where the new quarantine room is taking shape.

"Just wait until word gets out that I'm dating Iron Ridge's most eligible animal rescuer."

"Please. I'm about as eligible as Gandalf over there."

"Speaking of whom..." Ryder eyes the supply closet, which has gone suspiciously quiet. "Should we be worried about the silence?"

"Probably. It usually means he's plotting something."

Ryder laughs, the sound warm and rich in the midst of all the construction noise. "You love it."

"I love the animals. The chaos…? That I tolerate."

But that's not entirely true anymore.

The chaos feels different now. More manageable. Like instead of drowning in an endless tide of needs and emergencies, I'm finally riding the wave and moving forward for once.

As Ryder tells me about his day, Bear emerges from behind the new kennel installations. I know his actual name, but I've been calling him Bear in my head because honestly, what else do you call a man who's approximately the size of a small mountain?

He's got to be six-foot-eight, with shoulders broad enough to shelter a family of four and hands that make my coffee mug look like a toy.

"Sorry, Miss Harper," Bear rumbles in a voice that sounds like distant thunder. "Tell my dumbass again where you wanted these water dispensers installed? I forgot already."

"Oh, um..." I stare up at him, my neck actually cramping from the angle. "Wherever you think makes the most sense?"

"Right. I'll need to check the plumbing connections," he says, then flashes a smile that transforms his intimidating face into something surprisingly gentle.

I'm dimly aware of Ryder moving closer to me, his hand finding my lower back in a gesture that's probably meant to be casual but feels distinctly possessive.

"Thanks, Bear," I manage. "That sounds great."

"Bear?" Ryder asks once the giant man has moved away.

"His name is actually Bernard, but Bear seems more appropriate."

"Right." Ryder's jaw is doing that tight thing it does when he's trying not to say something he'll regret. "And the shirtless guy?"

"I honestly don't know his name. He just started today."

That's when an electrician approaches from across the room, and both Ryder and I do a literal double-take.

"No fucking way," Ryder breathes, staring at the guy who looks like Brad Pitt decided to abandon Hollywood for a career in electrical work in Iron Ridge. "Oh, come ON . Are you kidding me right now?"

Seriously. He has the same bone structure, same easy charm, probably mid-fifties but the genetics are definitely working in his favor.