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clean pair of khakis. As much as he hated wearing pants in this heat, he’d learned long ago from Dr. Hughes about the chiggers down here and how they liked to crawl up inside pant legs. Dr. Hughes always stuffed his pants inside his boots—something he’d learned in the service.
    “Damn you, Henry Hughes,” he said, frowning at his stubble-covered jaw in a small mirror hanging on the wall over the cot. “Where did you go?”
    Last night had been a bust. Juan and Fernando had both been gone when Quint had returned to the mess tent, so he’d given up and returned to his tent to go through more of the documents Mrs. Hughes had left behind after her death.
    He hadn’t found anything revealing, only more useless drivel about Steel. He’d gone to bed feeling defeated, but while tossing and turning in the night, he’d come up with a new plan of attack. At first he’d considered using good old fashioned charm, but Angélica had quickly put the kibosh on his attempt at light flirting last night during supper.
    Instead of charm, he decided to try to earn her trust through hard work and following her rules over the next few days. Then he’d start asking questions about her education, her experiences, her theories. In his travels he’d learned something about people—most liked to talk about themselves, share their adventures in life. Listening had always opened doors for him, especially with women. And underneath her no-nonsense, professional exterior, Dr. Angélica García was very much a female.
    He swiped at a bead of sweat rolling down from his temple. Christ, just getting dressed made him leak. “Stupid humidity.” He tugged his T-shirt over his head, finger-combed his hair, and tied his hiking boots. Twenty years ago, he’d grouched plenty about working in the heat. Dr. Hughes had always chuckled at him, told him to suck it up and take it like a man.
    He unzipped his tent and stepped out, looking across the site at the early morning haze blanketing the temples. Without a doubt, he knew this was going to be a long hard day. He had a gut feeling Angélica would make sure of it, pushing him to prove his merit and not be a burden to the rest of her crew. There was no way in hell he’d let her win a battle of wills.
    A warm, sticky breeze fluttered across his face, leaving another layer of sweat in its wake.
    He cursed. Today’s weather report: increasingly humid with recurring blasts of wither-his-balls-to-raisins heat. His deodorant would be vapor by nine, his clothes soaked through by ten.
    It was time to suck it up and take it like a man.
    But first there was an enticing smell coming from the mess tent that he needed to investigate.
    The sound of flatware clanging on tin plates greeted him inside the tent flaps. The hum of conversation was quieter this morning, more like a series of grunts with a few low murmurs between bites. Angélica and her father sat across from each other at the same table as the night before, only Juan’s back was to the exit today. Fernando was there as well this morning, holding down the bench beside Juan.
    Quint saluted Angélica’s wary stare and then followed one of her crew members up to the counter. Minutes later, he joined her and set his plate on the table next to her breakfast remains. Eyeing the stack of tortillas covering a steaming mound of eggs and peppers soaked in the same orange sauce from his panucho last night, he licked his chops.
    “Good morning.” He greeted one and all and picked up his fork. “Who left the heat on overnight?” he asked, stealing one of Dr. Hughes’ favorite corny lines. “This place is cooking.”
    Juan grinned. “I like this guy already,” he told his daughter. “We should invite him to our ranch sometime.”
    Angélica handed Quint a napkin. “You’re late,” she started in on him right off.
    “Yes, but only fashionably.” He glanced around. Everyone else at the table was finishing up or done and working on their coffee.
    After a