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“I can’t imagine it would be sensible to carry tins into the wilderness,” she commented.

“I’ll bring some dry goods for emergencies, but for the most part we’ll have to find what we need,” Bates confirmed. “There’s usually fruit this time of year. Plenty of tubers. And I’ll try to catch us some game, but it probably won’t be what you’re used to.”

There was a note of challenge in his voice.

“How so?” Ellie prompted archly.

“Iguana,” Bates replied. “Armadillo. Gibnut. You know what a gibnut is?”

“Large rodent,” Ellie replied automatically. “Grows to as long as 30 inches or one-and-a-half stone. Indigenous to Central and South America. The males are known to attract mates by spraying them with urine,” she added distantly as her brain popped up another tidbit.

“Uh—right,” Bates said awkwardly. He stared at her for a minute before tossing the bowls into the hold and grabbing the pan. “They taste like a greasy rabbit. How about termites?”

He pointed the pan at her.

“I’m not sure I have an opinion on them,” Ellie replied with a frown.

“They’re all right,” Bates conceded as he swished the pan in the river and hung it back up on the canopy. “Kinda minty.”

“I see,” she returned uneasily.

With dinner settled, Bates set about fixing their hammocks and dropping the mosquito netting back into place. He worked with an easy air of long habit as he tightened straps and fixed ties.

The sight reminded Ellie of the question that had been lurking in the back of her mind since the moment she had seen the glorious chaos of Bates’s room, with its stacks of equipment and the detritus of years of explorations. In the casual intimacy of the boat, under the purple sky of a place miles from the nearest outpost of humanity, Ellie found that she had little motivation to resist the urge to ask it.

“How did you come to this?” she demanded.

“What—eating termites?” Bates asked.

“No,” she corrected him. “This.” She waved her hand over the thick trees arching overhead, the still length of the river, and the chirp of the evening frogs and insects. “Did you always want to end up in a place like this?”

“I mostly just knew where I didn’t want to end up,” he countered.

“And where is that?”

“Doing what my father does,” he returned flatly.

“What terrible thing does your father do, exactly?” Ellie asked.

“Making money,” Bates replied as he leaned against one of the poles for the canopy. “My dad makes money.”

“Is he some sort of criminal?” Ellie was a little alarmed at the notion.

“More or less.” Bates chuckled darkly. “He’s in insurance. Robinson, Bates, and MacKenzie of San Francisco. Senior partner.”

“But I’ve heard of them,” Ellie blurted out, surprised by the realization. “My father is an actuary.That’sthe terrible fate you were running away from—working for an insurance company?”

“Yeah, well. You asked,” he said as he turned away from her.

He tugged the cord to vent the last bit of steam from the boiler. The long, low hiss sent something rustling away through the brush on the nearby shore.

Probably just a gibnut, Ellie thought uneasily.

“Is making money really so terrible?” she asked.

Bates ran a hand through his hair, tangling the cropped length of it a bit more than it was already.

“I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not,” he finally replied, his tone short. “I don’t like looking for ways to take advantage of people. When I get to the end of my day, I don’t want to worry about what connections I should be making or which of my friends might be out to get me. I just want to take off my boots and watch the sky change for a little while.”