by Meg Maguire
His fingers drummed the crown of her head.
“Yes, that was unexpected, as well. As were…other things.” She didn’t want to completely open the wound of being forced off the best part of the show, plus seeing Ty so upset held her back from starting another argument.
“I’m going back in,” he said.
She said nothing, just watched his back as he walked away from her.
TY LEFT KATE AND APPROACHED the shelter with the torch. He stood in the doorway and swung the beam around, searching for errant fires, listening for ominous creaks. “Looks safe-ish,” he shouted behind him. “But hang back, let me be sure.”
He pressed a palm against one of the walls and it felt cool enough. He was being impatient and probably pushing things beyond what was strictly advisable, but goddamn, it was cold. They needed fire. He was too underrested and too underfed to bother being cautious. This entire trip seemed doomed, anyhow. He suspected karma was driving this disaster, finally ready to collect on his old debts. Fine if it were only his neck on the line. That Kate was involved was deeply troubling. More troubling than the cold or the damp or the danger.
Ty walked all around the cabin, pressing on the walls to see how sturdy they were. Somewhat assured, he crept inside, over the floor now strewn with wet, scalded roof shingles and burned beams. Kate’s lighter had been sitting on the shelf before the explosion and Ty found it beside the stove, reduced to a lump of molten plastic. He found the axe, as well, blackened but otherwise unscathed. It was warm to the touch, but not hot. He picked it up, pausing a moment before raising it over his shoulder and swinging it against the split in the stove’s now-freestanding chimney. With two whacks it broke off completely, clattering to the debris-cluttered floor. Ty gave it a kick for good measure, just as he heard Kate’s cautious footsteps behind him in the rubble.
“Your lighter’s buggered,” he said. “You have any tinder?” He heard her moving, the zipper swishing open on the pack. He used the axe to break the burned-out back wall of the cabin open farther, prying off the blackened edges of the boards and tossing a pile of them next to the stove. He rummaged in his pockets and was surprised to find his flint stick still where it always was. It seemed unthinkable that anything should be so dependable at this moment.
“Here.” Kate held out a strip of cotton gauze from the first aid kit she always packed and he took it. Authenticity could kiss Ty’s ass right now.
Soon there was a small fire burning innocently in the belly of the stove that had started all this drama. Ty cleaned his sooty hands with a palmful of snow and wiped them on his jeans.
“Good work,” Kate said.
He swiveled his head to look at her. Standing beside him, she looked rumpled but calm, and he could feel his heart aching as though some unseen fist were trying to squeeze the life from it. He put his hands on either side of Kate’s head and brought his own down to it, mashing her forehead hard against his lips and holding her there.
“Ow, Ty.”
He ignored her protest, held her tighter.
“You’re hurting me.”
Well, at least that proved he hadn’t killed her. He pressed his lips against her skin for one last breath and released her.
Kate pointed at the stove’s fresh fire, flickering away. “How about that? Premade char wood.”
It was odd, looking at her now. An hour ago they’d been in this same space, making love by the light of this stove. Now they stood on the remains of the roof, thick flakes of snow and ash flurrying around them like gloomy confetti.
“Wind’s not too bad,” she said. “We could use some cover, though. What do you think?”
“I think you should go bring that chair back inside and put your feet up by the fire. I want to get you back to L.A. with all your toes.”
“Fine.”
As Kate followed his orders—a change in itself—Ty went to work on the wood. He gathered all the old beams that had formerly held the roof up and got them ready for the fire. A makeshift lean-to would be tough. Hacking apart any of the walls might cause the entire place to collapse. Instead he took the axe to the door hinges and splintered it free, then dug the bed out from under the snow and debris and tossed the useless, half-burned mattress aside. He replaced it with the door, creating a sort of platform over which he spread the sleeping bag—melted at one corner but otherwise fine. He dragged the assemblage close to the fire, kicking Kate out of her prime foot-drying space.
“I’ve seen the marriage bed looking better,” she said, joining him in sitting on the door-turned-table, huddling close to the stove.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Ty said, wanting to put his arm around her, but feeling so utterly cursed right now he was scared to touch her.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not like we had time to check for creosote buildup in the middle of a blizzard.”
“It’s my show. You’re here because of me.”
“Yeah, I am,” she said, her voice soft.
“I don’t know why you like this job,” he said with a sigh. He watched her, the fat snowflakes gathering on her hat then melting and dripping onto her lap.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Her eyes looked black in the dim light, and shiny like glass. “It’s like the coolest job ever. And I have a good life insurance policy.”
He stared at her, hard. “That’s not funny. Do you get why I can’t let you do this anymore?”
“Yeah, and you’re completely wrong. And I will talk you out of it by the time we get back to civilization.”
He shook his head.
“We’ll see. I just wish you could grasp how ridiculous it is, you thinking something’s too dangerous. I’ve seen your climbing videos. You’ve got no right to tell people they’re risking too much.”
He shook his head. “That’s different. That’s only my neck on the line. I can’t let you get hurt doing something for me.”
“It’s not just for you. I love our show.”
Ty stared at the flames. “I know you do.”
“Sometimes I think I love it more than you do,” she said.
“Doesn’t that strike you as a bit unhealthy, Kate?”
“Nope.” She fiddled with the hem of her pants for a moment. “I like having something to call my own.”
“You should get a dog.”
She fixed him with unamused eyes. “And you should wear a harness when you climb. But neither of us is going to change. I’ll always be a control freak, and you’ll always have a death wish. I’ll drop dead of a stress-related heart attack at fifty and you’ll finally meet your end at the bottom of some crevasse. But if either of us had to change tomorrow, we’d be dead the day after.”
Ty didn’t reply, his eyes leaving her face to watch the fire.
“People don’t change,” Kate said in conclusion.
“Yeah, they do. If something else matters enough.”
“Well, I’ve never met anybody who changed for the better. At least not permanently. Trust me. I’ve got eight siblings who’ve never even managed to make it twenty miles from their hometown, who still get up to all the same bull they did in high school, with all the same people.”
“You changed, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “The only difference between me ten years ago and me now is that nobody can tell I’m white trash anymore. Not without doing some digging. But I’m still the same person.”
“What was your life centered around before this silly show?”
Her gaze darted to one side, irritated. “Don’t call it silly.”
“Fine. This amazingly useful and benevolent program that’s surely saved thousands of lives. What came before this?”
“Well…”
“Come on,” he coaxed.
Her lips pursed and Ty knew she was suppressing a smile. She’d worn that face with him a thousand times, the one that usually told him she was trying very hard to not find him clever. “It’ll seem really stupid,” she muttered.
“How much you care a
bout this show will seem really stupid in five years. Go on. We’ve had sex, now, in case you didn’t notice. Don’t try and act like we’re not as close as we both know we are.”
She fidgeted, seeming nervous. “Well, I used to be superobsessed with celebrities.”
Ty nodded, not surprised. She might be the picture of practicality when they were filming, but Kate loved all that red-carpet crap. “Like who?”
“Oh, it didn’t matter who. I was a total magazine junkie, like fashion and gossip and lifestyle stuff. Before reality TV took off and everybody had their own show and you had to see how totally boring they are outside of scripts and sound bites.”
Ty smiled, pondering this. “All right. Go on.”
“I grew up so poor, the ridiculousness of the lifestyles was, like, mind-blowing.” Talking about this, Kate sounded ten years younger. Animated. Ty liked it.
“I didn’t want to live that way,” she said. “Not really, but I dunno…it seemed like some crazy other world. An alternate universe to where I was doomed to be. Like reading about some kind of made-up fantastic creatures. I knew I’d never be that, but it seemed so exotic. And fascinating.”
“Sorry you ended up with me.”
“Like it or not, Dom Tyler, you are an up-and-coming celebrity. You’ve been in People, you know.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah, plenty. You’ll probably be featured in the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ issue this year. You’d know that if you ever looked through the clippings binder I keep on my desk. And you’ve been in Parade, and on ET, and Ellen DeGeneres has talked about you on her show, a couple of times. Esquire wanted to do that little piece that you turned down because you were convinced they’d make you style your hair like some ‘new lad’ or whatever you called it. You’ll be properly famous in a couple more years. You’re already properly famous in Australia.”
“I’m no Mel Gibson.”
She smirked. “Thank goodness. But you are famous. You’re a heartthrob,” she said, smiling and poking him in the shoulder.
Ty made a disgusted face. “Standards are really slipping.”
“So anyway, I got my wish, Ty. You’re my celebrity.”
“That just means I’ll be washed up in a couple more years, begging to be on one of those D-list dancing shows. I do hope you’ll tune in, Kate,” he said, glib. “You should be the famous one, you know. You’re a hell of a lot more capable and charming than me. And you’re hot.”
“Yeah, right.”
It was his turn to shrug. “You don’t give yourself proper credit. You’re enough on your own, without needing somebody less competent hanging on to you for dear life. And I’m good at hanging on to things—it used to be my job. I won’t need you forever, Katie. You should be working this hard for yourself, not somebody else.”
Kate looked down at her feet for a long time, not responding, and Ty let it drop.
“Snow’s letting up, I think.” He squinted skyward. The flakes were smaller and fewer now and the wind had diminished.
Kate glanced up to confirm. “What should we do?”
“Wait till it’s light. Try and get a signal fire going if the visibility improves. If it doesn’t, maybe keep following the trail. Fishing shelter’s got to be walkable by now. What, maybe ten miles?” he asked.
“Hard to say. I lost track of the distance when we were on the sled. Could be closer. Could be farther. Plus we’ve yet to hit the fork.” Kate pursed her lips. “We won’t be able to tell which way the dogs went, now, but even if we take the wrong one, at least we’ll be closer. Maybe we could signal, then, if the clouds thin.”
“Yeah. Well, we’ll live. That’s the important thing.”
Kate nodded. “It’d be embarrassing for a survival expert to die on the job.”
“What would the tabloids say?”
“I dunno, but I’m sure there’d be a TV movie about it,” she said.
Ty laughed. “Lovely. If you make it back to civilization, I give you permission to do the casting, and to have an illicit affair with the bloke playing me.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m sure it would pale in comparison to the real thing.”
Beneath the pleasure of seeing Kate smiling, Ty felt bitterness surfacing. He couldn’t help but wonder which she cared about more—him, or the show. The show or herself, for that matter. Her priorities baffled him. That she’d called out in concern for the bloody camera as their shelter erupted in flames, as if it were her child, for heaven’s sake. Damn, that had hurt.
“What will you miss more, Katie, when this is all over? Me or the show?”
Her mouth twitched as she considered her response. “It doesn’t matter, Ty. By the time we get back, I’ll still get both.”
A COUPLE HOURS LATER the snow had officially dropped to picturesque, Christmas card proportions. Visibility was poor, but the sky was beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn. Kate glanced down at Ty, lying awkwardly on his back with his legs dangling off the door-bed, fingers linked atop his chest.
She’d spent nearly the entire time since their conversation had dried up thinking about the last thing he’d said. Of course she cared more about him than the show. Looking at him now, it was hard to imagine her day-to-day life without him. Still, not seeing him at all would be easier than seeing him in L.A., then saying goodbye when he left her behind for months at a time to do the part of the process she’d come to love most.
She tapped his shoulder. “Hey. Ty.”
His eyes opened with a swiftness that told her he’d been awake this entire time. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“Exactly—it’s getting light. And I’m getting sick of just sitting here.”
He squinted into the open sky above them. “Not looking too promising for a signal fire, is it? What do you fancy? Up for a hike?”
“Yeah, sure. If it’s unworkably bad we can always come back and wait. But I can’t imagine you want to sit around doing nothing, either.”
“And I bet you’re just dying to get all this on film, aren’t you? Next week on Survive This!, Dom Tyler actually survives something.” He held his hands up as if he were envisioning the ad. “Let me try and find my socks.”
“I’ll help.” Together they sifted through the slush and shingles until they’d recovered Ty’s two missing wool socks and her single one. She draped them over the stove to dry and they sat back down on the door.
Ty laughed to himself.
“What?” Kate asked, looking over with a skeptical smile.
“We had sex,” he whispered, conspiratorial.
She rolled her eyes. “Well spotted.”
“When the season three DVD is released, I’m thinking it’d make a great bonus feature.”
Kate slugged him hard on the arm, pretending to be merely mock-irritated, but feeling genuinely angry. She was still tender from their lovemaking, both physically and emotionally, and she didn’t want it spoken of so lightly. The rush of vulnerability made her shiver and in its wake she felt resentful. “Don’t tease me about that video. My video.”
“Are you worried that if it got out, everyone would see your tattoo?” Ty asked.
Her eyes narrowed to slits and her shoulders bunched up reflexively at the comment. Kate hated her tattoo. Her “tramp stamp,” as they had since become known. A Celtic design across the small of her back had seemed like a great idea when she was a rebellious seventeen-year-old, but now it was her dearest wish to get it removed as soon as possible. The final erasure of all the evidence of her former incarnation… Just a couple hundred more bucks to go and she’d have the money saved up. She glared at Ty. That was a low blow and he knew it.
“Don’t look so pissed,” he said. “It’s cute.”
“Let’s get a move on,” she said, anger bubbling.
“You’re the boss.” God, same old Ty. That glimmer of him she thought she’d seen when they’d been intimate must’ve been a trick of the firelight.
They pulled their hot sock
s on and their boots, and Kate did her best to organize the pack.
“Hey, Katie.”
“What?” She didn’t bother glancing up from her task.
“Look at me.”
She complied, meeting his eyes in the weak morning light. “Yeah?”
“Stand up straight.”
“Why?”
“Because I bloody want to kiss you, that’s why.”
She stubbornly turned her attention back to the pack.
He made a little hmm sound, clearly amused. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m just trying to be professional, Ty. You ought to try it sometime.”
“You don’t want to kiss, then? One last time before we leave our love nest?” She could see him in her periphery, waving his hands to encapsulate the smoke-stinking remains of the cabin. Her cheeks burned. She stood and shoved the pack into Ty’s arms, then walked away from him, grabbing the axe and heading toward the route they’d been following when they’d found this place, what felt like a lifetime ago.
The ground was even worse than when they’d been tossed from the sled. The storm had added at least a couple inches of slush to the frigid stew underfoot, and Kate gave them a generous two hours before their so-called waterproof boots began to fail. Still, this was better. She couldn’t sit back there anymore, not next to Ty. Not now that his feelings about the previous evening’s events seemed to be coming clear. She was relieved she hadn’t given away what it had really meant to her, apart from red-hot sex.
“You want to film me?” Ty asked, sounding uncharacteristically soft. She didn’t blame him. He’d gotten no rest in the past thirty hours and hadn’t eaten a real meal in three days. She forgot sometimes what he put himself through for this. As much as she did. More. Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn’t need her, after all.
A long, loaded breath oozed out of her. “If you’re up for it, yeah. I’ll film it.”
“Sure.”
Kate traded him the axe for the camera and got herself equipped. “Rolling.”
“Welcome to day four of my three-day excursion in northern Saskatchewan,” Ty said brightly. “In case you’re just joining us, allow me to recap. The crew and I got dumped from our dogsled, lashed by a late-season blizzard, found an emergency shelter, only to have it burst into flames in the dead of night, and now we’re trudging back along the sled trail, where we don’t actually know which route to take to meet the safety crew. I have a confession to tender, as well—I ate half an orange that my camera crew packed for their lunch. So sue me. At least I won’t get scurvy.” He flashed his charming smile.
