“I’ve been called worse.”

Tyler frowned. “Not in front of me.”

I managed a tired smile. “My hero.”

The hotshots had already peeled off their suits and packs in the truck bay, but we all smelled like old cheese that had been smoked in a giant campfire. Tyler kneeled, pinching the laces of my snow boots and pulling apart the knots. He slipped them off, one by one, and I leaned back even further, wiggling my toes a few times to celebrate their freedom. He pulled off my socks slowly, grimacing at the new blisters, the seeping blisters, and the healing blisters.

“Christ, Ellie. We talked about this.”

“I don’t mind. Makes me feel like I’m earning it.”

“Gangrene isn’t an award.” He jogged over to fetch the first aid kit and began doctoring the mangled mess I’d been walking on for ten days.

I tried to blink, but it took a while for my eyes to open again. They felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. I could have taken a nap right there.

Tyler finished slathering antibiotic cream and taping gauze to my wounds, then took a blanket from the back of a recliner and unfolded it, spreading it over me. I bounced when he plopped on the sofa next to me, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved thermal, the three buttons at the top open. I preferred him in his ill-fitting, flame-retardant clothes and blue hardhat, but he would never let me forget it if he knew.

“You never complain. No training, you just jumped in there and hiked miles and camped out in the dirt and snow in freezing temperatures,” he said, relaxing next to me. “I’m impressed. All the guys are.”

“I don’t care,” I said, resting my cheek against his shoulder. I was frozen and exhausted, unsure how my fingers continued to function as the days went on. True to his word, Tyler had kept me close. It was a beautiful but difficult trek, up inclines and through the aspens. In some places, the snow was still ankle-to-shin deep, and we walked for almost an hour to the site through the underwood and slush. My feet and face were numb before we ever reached the fire, but I was distracted from any discomfort when I looked through the lens of my camera.

I could barely move, and the rest of Tyler’s crew were chatting and making sandwiches. After fourteen days on the mountain, they were owed forty-eight hours of mandatory R & R. Even though they were all worn down, their version of a weekend had arrived, and they were restless.

“How are they so … peppy?” I asked, my words slow, my voice hoarse.

“Adrenaline,” Tyler said, picking up my camera and clicking through the various shots.

“How can they still have an adrenaline high? The ride home took forever. I thought we were never going to get back.”