Caught on Camera. Meg Maguire
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