He glanced down at her, noticed a smudge of dirt on her forehead, and closed his hand to keep it by his side.
She checked her watch. “I need to get to the waterfall, the others will be waiting for me.”
“I need to get started on dinner.”
She gave a double take. “Come again?”
“I offered to make dinner so Robert could get a head start on his hike to the heiau.”
“Well, look at you. Contributing. Helping out. Using Hawaiian terminology. I like it.” Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Unless you have some kind of hidden agenda?”
“I do. How’d you guess?” he said dryly. “I want to make sure you guys don’t kick us to the curb. I don’t want to have to carry Rory on my back to Hilo.”
She laughed a little. “We would never kick anyone out unless they were causing trouble.”
“Drones don’t count?”
“If that drone comes to our camp, we might have to renegotiate. But evicting anyone would require a group meeting. You’ll have a chance to make your case.”
If the drone came to the camp, he’d leave on his own accord. He wouldn’t put them in danger to save his own skin. Or Lincoln’s, for that matter. He’d figure something out.
Whatever it was, it would be better than a damn group meeting. That sounded miserable.
They parted ways at a stream thick with mossy rocks. Before she took off, Mathilda turned and gave him a gentle, unexpectedly soft glance. “I do appreciate what you did for me. I won’t forget it.”
“It’s the least I could do, considering everything you’ve done for me and Rory.” He gave her a little salute and watched her disappear into the jungle, all tanned legs and billowing oversized shirt.
He shot one last look at the remains of the SyberJet. If he really was going to make dinner, he didn’t have any time to spare. And after Mathilda’s appreciative words, nothing could divert him from that task.
The urge to impress her, to win another of those soft looks from her…it was very real, for better or worse.
Back in the Nahele camp, he checked on Lincoln again. No change. Remembering Mathilda’s silly theory that he might be faking the coma, he poked Lincoln in the ribs. No reaction. He felt his pulse, which seemed stronger. Checked his forehead with the back of his hand. No fever. His color looked good.
He was still hooked up to the IV that fed fluid into his veins. That took care of his need for hydration and nutrition, at least for now. How many IV bags did they have out here in this jungle? If they ran out, he’d have to get Lincoln to a hospital. Would he be safe there? Rory had no idea. That drone had rattled him. What if some unknown enemy was monitoring the nearby hospitals, waiting to pounce if Lincoln showed up?
At this point, anything seemed possible.
Another thought had been nagging at him. Was the storm not the only reason they’d crashed? Lincoln had engineered things so they’d be the only ones on that jet. Had he suspected there might be trouble on this trip?
It certainly wasn’t mechanical. He’d done a thorough cross-check himself before takeoff. The SyberJet had been in perfect condition. Even after the storm had hit them, the aircraft had been holding up well. Until they’d lost all power, he’d been sure they’d make it through.
There was something strange afoot. He could feel it. For instance, what about Lincoln’s weird obsession his med kit? Something must be locked inside that he didn’t want anyone else getting their hands on. Did that have anything to do with their crash? Was someone else after that med kit, or whatever was inside it?
The drone hadn’t come to the camp. That was a good thing. It meant that no one knew they were here in this obscure scientific outpost. Their best option was to stay here for now, which meant Rory needed to earn their keep.
Time to make dinner.
Robert had told him there were seven people in the crew at the moment, although people came and went according to their project timelines. They lived mostly on canned foods and stocks of grain and beans, and occasionally someone hunted or fished.
Maybe he should have tracked down that injured boar and brought him back for dinner.
They’d also planted a garden, which was protected from marauding pigs by piles of lava rocks. They grew mostly winter squash and kale, along with herbs and green onions. Robert had hacked paths to a nearby avocado tree and a breadfruit tree.
Since he had no idea what to do with something called breadfruit, Rory kept it simple. He made beans and rice, seasoned with his own spice blend, which he put together from the very randomly stocked spice cabinet. Luckily, there was plenty of garlic in the pantry. He used that to stir fry some kale after he’d blanched it. And then he quickly made some Spam sushi, which he knew they called musubi here.
“My grandmother taught me,” he explained, after everyone had gulped down their share of sushi rolls as they sat around the big table in the yurt. A steady rain was pattering on the canvas roof. The sound was soothing, almost hypnotic, creating a sense of being inside a cozy cocoon. “I noticed a musubi maker and decided why not?”
“Is your grandmother Hawaiian?” Cody asked through a bulging mouthful of sushi. Cody was a quiet, lean guy with a head of curly dark hair. He seemed to study something related to volcanoes, though Rory hadn’t pinned that down yet.
