by Meg Maguire
Of course he wanted other things, as well. So many nights spent lying beside her during these early-morning bed hijackings, wishing he could turn over. Roll onto his back and feel her hands, curious and fearless and demanding, touching him. He twitched from the thought of it. Kate might technically be his employee, but she was also the ringmaster in their two-man circus. She was the one in control, dishing out directives, and he wanted that little shot-caller in bed. He craved the hands of that capable, judgmental taskmaster on his body—assessing him and demanding his obedience.
Sighing at his own ridiculous lack of professionalism, Ty sat up and clicked the TV off. He went to the bathroom door and knocked.
Kate’s shout came through the hiss of the water and the shoddy pressed wood of the door. “What?”
“What color is the shower curtain, Katie?”
A theatrical groan. “It’s opaque, Ty.”
He pushed the door in, and was smacked in the face by the steam rolling out from behind the partition. It was a wonder Kate didn’t boil herself alive, she took such insanely hot showers. But she’d done her time in glacial rivers, and gone days without so much as a wet hand towel to wipe her face. She’d earned these indulgences.
“Are you excited?” she asked over the din, and Ty heard a shampoo bottle snap open or closed.
He closed the toilet lid and sat. “Yeah. You?”
“Of course. I’ve never been dogsledding before.”
“They sounded skeptical.”
“Yeah, well, they should be,” she said. “They wanted us to train for a week, so the dogs would get to know us. We’re giving them four hours.”
“We’ve done madder things.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I am a little nervous, though.” Her steam-flushed face appeared at the edge of the curtain, hair dripping water over her cheek and onto the bath mat. “Those dogs are brutal. I watched some videos online—it’s like kicking apart drunks in a bar fight, keeping them in line. Drunks with fangs.”
“I’m up for it.” Few things intimidated Ty…. Decisions petrified him, but with Kate around, happily calling the shots for the show, he was mercifully stripped of that duty. He was in charge of taking the actual risks, the ideal job description for a man who lived to tempt fate. Anything for a thrill. Anything to keep him safely distracted from the static buzzing in his restless skull.
Kate’s head disappeared behind the curtain. “Bet you’re ready for today to be over with, old-timer. Ready for some time off?”
Ty laughed. “Only in this business does thirty-one count as old age.” Still, thirty-one…when had that happened? Ty’s life and career had progressed through a series of flukes—the reckless acceptance of others’ dares, the pursuit of goals selected by the flip of a coin or the toss of a dart. On-screen, Ty was the picture of focused self-assurance, but demand something as simple as a choice of restaurants from him and he froze. He’d gotten good at hiding it, always deferring to his date’s choice of destination, ordering whatever special the waitstaff suggested. Ty was a pro at passing off paralyzing indecision as easygoing chivalry.
Kate’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Okay, get out.”
Ty closed the door behind him, the dry air of the main room feeling arctic after the sauna of Kate’s shower. The water shut off and he listened as she pushed the clacking curtain rings to one side. He was good. He didn’t try and picture the scene. Not this time, anyhow.
She emerged five minutes later smelling like her usual postshower self. Lotion, he guessed. Nothing flowery, just clean. Like laundry. Ty wanted to toss her across the bed’s rumpled sheets and get himself slapped.
“What are you sighing about?” She toweled her wet hair and looked at him with those stormy blue eyes.
“Nothing.”
“All right then, get your dog-kicking boots on, Grizzly Adams. Let’s go make a masterpiece.”
3
“THERE! THAT’S IT!”
Ty looked to where Kate was pointing, spotting the sign for Grenier’s Sled Supply and Excursions up ahead on the winding, pine-lined road. He turned them into the drive, their rented truck bucking in the deep, slush-filled potholes. Unseen dogs barked hysterically.
Kate the Guerilla PA was out the door before Ty even brought them to a complete stop. She strode toward the gruff lumberjack of a man who’d emerged from the converted farmhouse. The two met halfway in a long handshake, and Ty watched Kate launch into her spiel, whipping out waiver forms and other legal inevitabilities from her laptop bag. There were papers to be signed regarding their safety, the equipment’s safety, the price of the rentals versus the negotiated cost of flashing the business’s sign and giving them a name drop in the show. Thank goodness for Kate. That sort of stuff bored Ty to tears.
He gathered the two packs and the camera gear from the back of the truck and joined the conversation, glancing between them. “All right?”
Kate did the introductions. “Ty, this is Jim Grenier. Jim, this is Dom Tyler.”
“Of course. Me and my wife love your show, Mr. Tyler.” Jim Grenier seemed to be telling the truth, or a decent facsimile of it.
“Cheers. And ‘Ty’ is fine, by the way.” He accepted the older man’s hand and shook it with a manly curtness. This was what men wanted from Ty—what his on-screen persona promised. No nonsense, a man’s man. Ty always delivered it, too, knowing men were by far his harshest critics…particularly specimens like this one, real frontiersmen, rare in this day and age. Ty scanned Grenier, his rugged clothes and boots, weather-beaten face and full beard. Ty’s duty was to acquiesce, to demonstrate his enthusiasm and gratitude for the knowledge on offer, but never to come off as a softie. Plenty of these guys were dying for a chance to knock a hotshot television survival host down a few pegs. Ty thought this fellow seemed okay, though. Skeptical, but amused. It beat open contempt, at any rate. Plus Ty felt he should get a pass on this one—what did an Aussie know about dogsledding?
“Let’s go meet the team,” Jim said, and he led them back to a paddock filled with barking dogs. All huskies, some white Siberian, some gray and more wolfish-looking, some tethered and others roaming free. All of them sized Ty and Kate up with ethereal blue or pale brown eyes.
The next few hours were spent getting a crash course in the sport. They’d both done their homework but it was a tough skill to pick up and run with—the dogs snarled and snapped, prone to infighting and distraction. After a few hours, though, Ty and Kate were confident. Kate excelled at shouting and rushing the dogs when they began to jump on one another. She played a very convincing alpha female, even though a few of these dogs weighed a good seventy-plus pounds, most of it muscle. Kate was slender, healthy and fit but not jacked, yet when her mind was set on something she turned as ferocious and unrelenting as a junkyard dog herself.
“You’re a little too good at that,” Ty said as she reasserted order following a scuffle.
“You forget I had six older brothers.”
Ty smirked at her. “And just how many of your brothers are dead again, Kate?”
Her lips pursed into an irritated frown. “None,” she admitted.
“And yet you still talk about your family in the past tense.”
“Yeah, well being out here with you makes Dorchester, Massachusetts, feel like a lifetime ago, Ty.”
He wanted to pry, but held his tongue. Kate only ever spoke about her past in vague or elusive terms. She didn’t act as if she was hiding anything, just turned weary and contemptuous when the topic came up, as though she were being asked to recite the multiplication table or some other mundane bit of information. But because he knew she was stuck with him, both physically and professionally, Ty didn’t mind salting the wound. If she didn’t deck him first, one day she’d slip and finally give him some insight into why she was the way she was. He might even return the favor.
By midmorning they had the gear loaded onto the sled and Ty mounted one camera at the front for some good action shots. Overcast sky and
freezing temperatures aside, the grueling work had found them ditching their jackets before long and Ty was down to his undershirt. They were invited inside, and Ty sat in the Greniers’ kitchen and watched Kate eat a woodsman’s breakfast with Jim. She shoveled waffles into her mouth with one hand and waved a Dictaphone back and forth, asking syrup-muffled questions and recording Jim’s answers between bites of sausage. It was all potential voice-over filler for the episode. As usual, Ty wasn’t eating. The rumbling in his stomach alone told him this was day three. The goose from day one was a distant memory and he didn’t bother counting the eggs. He eyed Kate’s coffee with longing.
“I think that’ll do it,” she said with a gracious smile at their host, clicking the recorder off. “We’ll see you tonight around eight. Ty, I’m just going to go check the truck.” She nodded to them both before heading outside.
Ty stood and gave the older man’s hand a final shake. “Thanks for all your help, Jim. I hope we’ll do you proud out there.”
“Well, best of luck. Your wife seems extremely capable. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Ty laughed. “We’re not a couple,” he said, enjoying the look of surprise on Jim’s face. “You’ve seen my show. You really think I can keep up with that?” He thrust a thumb in the direction of Kate’s departure.
“Well, she’s certainly…energetic.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ty said, careful to keep his tone free of innuendo. He tendered his thanks one last time and stepped back into the cold, damp air. Wife, he thought with a grin. People made that mistake a lot, despite the fact that neither of them wore a ring. But it was no wonder that they must seem that way. In Ty’s opinion, making this show was just a years-long honeymoon, one lacking substantially in the consummation department. Other than that frustrating exception, if this was a marriage, he couldn’t find a reason to complain. If anything, his bachelor eyes strayed only when he mustered a concerted effort.
He made his way around the house to where one of Jim Grenier’s staff was hitching the eight-dog team to their waiting sled. He pointed Ty and Kate off in the direction of the trail they’d be following. It formed a fifty-mile loop through the woods, and the team had made the journey hundreds of times. Even if Ty got them lost, the dogs would bring them home as though on autopilot.
Kate pulled a furry Inuit cap over her head and fixed Ty with an adventure-hungry eye that sparkled even under cloud cover. “Ready?”
“Always.”
She climbed aboard behind him and bracketed her arms around his sides, grabbing hold of the bar at the front of the sled. “God, I hope I don’t puke on you, Ty. I can’t believe how many waffles I ate.”
Ty smiled and shook his head. “You unholy bitch.” He gave the shout to the dogs and they were off.
THE FIRST HALF HOUR of the trip flashed by in a snowy blur, fun and exhilarating. The following hour was bearable, though Kate was growing cold, fast. She flexed her fingers inside her gloves, willing her blood to move.
Ty turned his head to catch her eye. “You hanging in there?”
“Bit chilly.”
“Never let yourself sweat in a cold climate,” he lectured in an annoying, matronly tone. It was a lesson he’d imparted on the show at least a dozen times now. Of course it was exactly what Kate had done during the sled prep, leaving herself clammy and shivering now. Her wool sweater wasn’t cutting it. Ty had managed to fumble into his jacket a little earlier, but hers was stashed way up front, pinned somewhere between their frame packs.
She squeezed herself close so Ty’s body would block the wind. Plus she always liked his smell on day three. Must have been a positive pheromone match, since musky, unshaven, disheveled men were not Kate’s usual taste. Ty wasn’t to her typical taste in many respects, but damn if he didn’t feel plain old good right now—big and sturdy and strong. Crazy-strong. Kate remembered with a shudder all the nerve-racking climbing videos she’d tracked down when she was first courting Ty for the job. No ropes, no axe, no harness—just climbing shoes, insanely strong fingers and arms, and a complete lack of common sense. She squeezed him tighter, thinking about it.
“All right back there?” he asked.
“Yup. Just trying to hang on.”
He bellowed a mushing order to the dogs and the sled charged ever faster through the woods.
Ty’s daredevil tendencies hadn’t changed a jot since he’d landed the show, and neither had his reputation. People with too much time on their hands argued incessantly on message boards about whether he was the real deal or not, but Kate knew the truth. Ty would do anything as long as it was technically survivable. It went beyond adrenaline to something Kate couldn’t understand, some cosmic game of chicken he lived and breathed. Ty drove safely, but he never wore a seat belt. He walked alarmingly close to construction sites, as though daring a stray wrench to fall and clock him on the head. He frequented the shadiest bars in L.A. and rushed in to break up other men’s fights. Kate bet he picked the most dented cans at the supermarket, just to see if he’d come down with botulism. The world’s oddest, dullest game of Russian roulette.
The only time Ty ever showed hesitation was when there were kids around. Take him to the beach for a so-called relaxing afternoon and he turned into a sheep dog, alert and aware of everything going on around him, as if the theme from Jaws was playing on his own private frequency. Kate, on the other hand, was made to adhere to every precaution available during filming and travel.
Ty craned his head around as Kate rested hers between his shoulders. “Are you falling asleep on me?”
“No, just hiding in your slipstream.”
“We can pull over if you need a break. You need to pee? You drank enough blooming coffee back there.”
“Nah. The ice fishing site can’t be more than another hour. I can hold it. Beats stopping these guys and risking another fight. I can’t wait till we can ditch them at the lake. Although all this footage will be badass.”
“Delicious, hot, fresh-brewed coffee,” Ty murmured, ignoring her shoptalk.
“I know, Hercules. Just a few more hours. What’s on your menu?” Kate asked, referring to his dinner once filming wrapped and he could break his fast.
“Depends on if I get my fish, I suppose. But I suspect there will be potatoes involved. And dessert,” he added. “And beer.”
“I’m just going to have a salad,” Kate replied, cruel as always. “I’ve been eating far too much on this trip.”
“Ooh, she thinks she’s so clever.”
Kate glanced at the strip of gray between the trees lining the trail. “The sky’s getting dark, isn’t it?”
“I suppose…. ’S’all right, though,” Ty said. “It’s always good to add a little extra misery to the show.”
“The viewers do love watching you suffer,” she agreed. They frequently got letters and emails complaining when certain episodes didn’t strike the audience as miserable enough to be believable. They seemed to like watching strikingly good-looking people like Ty struggle.
“Not just the viewers, Kate. I see you behind that tripod, smiling under your stupid golf umbrella with your flasks of hot-bloody-chocolate.”
“It’s tea today,” she corrected in a languid voice. “You want a sip?” She grabbed the thermos from a compartment near her feet and waved it in his periphery.
He laughed. “God, piss off.”
Kate wrapped her arms around his waist so she could unscrew the cap without falling off the sled, and managed to take a long drink. “Oh man, that’s good. Who knew you could find decent chai in Saskatch—”
A shocking crack split the air in tandem with an almighty lurch. Kate lost track of reality as gravity flipped and she was suddenly suspended in the air. She heard a harsh grunt, the sound of Ty’s wind being knocked out, and she felt herself gasp as she collided with the trunk of a tree. Then, blackness.
BLOODY HELL.
Lying immobile in the snow, Ty watched the overturned sled being dragged away at
full tilt by the dog team until they disappeared around the next bend. Half the supplies he and Kate had put on board had come loose and were strewn across the trail for several yards. It took him nearly an entire minute to catch his breath and get control of his limbs, but he was relieved to find that nothing felt broken. He fumbled to his feet in the four-inch-deep slush and looked around.
“Katie?” He hiked back a little ways along the trail, shouting her name. Apprehension mounted when she didn’t shout back. There was a fallen limb in the middle of the path, and Ty felt sure that it had been buried in the snow before the sled had struck it and driven it up into the air, throwing them off. Thank God it hadn’t impaled either of them. Still, where was Kate?
He didn’t spot her until he doubled back. His blood ran cold when he caught sight of her gray sweater and jeans at the woods’ edge. She lay crumpled beneath a tree, motionless. Ty was used to chemical rushes—he was practically addicted to them—but the panic surging through his body stopped him dead in his tracks. Fear wrung the air from his lungs but Ty commanded his muscles to work, broke through the paralysis and into a sprint.
“Kate!” He slid to a sloppy halt beside her still body. Ty could taste copper in his own mouth when he spotted the trickle of scarlet running across her pale skin from her mouth to disappear into her hair. He was transported in a single breath, ripped back in time twenty-five years and nine thousand miles to a warm summer day, a beach outside Sydney. He saw his little sister’s hollow expression, her vacant eyes as blue as the ocean. He felt his own life fracture and scatter all over again as he stared at Kate’s white face.
“Kate. Katie.” He yanked his gloves off and tossed them aside. Taking hold of her jaw, he searched for signs of life. He just about died of relief when he felt a pulse beating in her neck, strong and steady.
