Maybe the rules and social structures she’d grown up with didn’t apply here. Maybe it was easier to acknowledge your base instincts in a place with no grocery stores or electricity, nothing to keep you warm except the heat of a flame and another’s body. He was a caveman of sorts, but maybe they all were if put in the right environment and forced to live on instinct and prowess alone.
She snuck a glance at him. She knew he was attracted to her too. She saw the way he watched her, the way his smile was innocent but the heat in his eyes primal, the way he studied her body when he thought she couldn’t see. She’d learned to watch men for unwelcomed interest, for a warning of impending danger, a red, flashing caution sign that told her to run and hide.
And yet she didn’t want to run from him.
And that should scare her too. But it didn’t.
The soup was bubbling and so she dished it into his one bowl and his one mug, setting each on the table and sitting on the tree trunks that acted as stools. Had Lucas made them? No, how could he? He didn’t seem to have tools. Did he? She didn’t want to ask and make him feel like everything in his world was weird and questionable, but it felt like there were a hundred small things she wanted to know. How had he gotten by without everyday items she took for granted?
Did he really hunt with nothing more than a knife and his bare hands?
How had he made the boots and jacket he wore? The ones that were so carefully stitched together with . . . what?
Was he lonely?
Scared sometimes?
He had to be. He was human after all.
She smiled at him as she took a spoonful of the soup, watching as he did the same. That look of pleasure came over his expression and her stomach muscles quivered. “What do you think?”
He nodded as he scooped another bite into his mouth, slurping loudly. “Salty. Good.”
Harper hadn’t ever heard anyone seem to enjoy chicken noodle soup from a can quite as much as Lucas, and it made her grin, taking pleasure in his pleasure. Although she made note that he was pushing all the squares of chicken meat to the corner of his bowl.
They ate in silence for a moment before she finally got the nerve to ask him one of her gajillion questions. “Lucas, can I ask you something?” He scooped more soup into his mouth and met her eyes, wariness in his expression though he nodded. “Why did you take that magazine from the sheriff’s office?” She put her hand up, rushing on, “It doesn’t matter. I won’t say anything. I mean, it’s not that anyone would care anyway, but I’m . . . curious.”
He put his spoon down, and it appeared he was considering whether to answer her or not. Or maybe he was surprised she’d seen him take it. Finally, he shrugged. “Just to look at the . . . pictures.”
“The pictures? Oh. So . . . you . . . can you read?” She hadn’t considered that but . . . if he’d been abandoned at a young age, maybe he’d never been taught to read at all. Maybe he’d never attended school. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said when he didn’t immediately answer. “You can learn. I could teach you if you want.” She liked the idea. Bent over a book with Lucas, their heads close together . . .
But he had narrowed his eyes and looked to be on guard, and she suddenly regretted ruining what had been an easy camaraderie for a few minutes there. “I read some.” The words came out spaced strangely as though he was reluctant to release each one.
She bobbed her head. “Oh.”
“I don’t know about the world. I thought the magazine might help me understand.”
Harper released a breath. “That’s understandable.” She tilted her head. “What did the magazine tell you?”
He gave her sort of a bewildered smile and raised his eyebrows as he brushed a hand through his thick, choppy hair. He’d cut it himself. Without a mirror. The thought combined with the boyish expression on his masculine face made her heart jump. “That there’s a lot of food out there. Almost every page was a picture selling something to eat.”
She smiled. She could only imagine what he thought when he’d experienced only a diet of meat and fish and whatever he could forage. “Is there something new you want to try?”
He looked unsure. “I don’t know. Pizza maybe. The people eating it looked happy.”
The way he mispronounced it, his expression so serious, made Harper laugh. “Then I’ll bring you a pizza too. Add it to my shopping list.”
Lucas regarded her for a moment, tilting his head in that questioning way of his. “Why are you coming out here, Harper? Is it because you’re helping the police?”
“No, I don’t work for them or anything. I have my own business like I told you, taking nature lovers out. I’m helping the agent get around in these backwoods and answering questions that arise. Honestly, Lucas, you’d probably be better than me at helping Agent Gallagher figure out who killed Isaac Driscoll.”
He looked behind her, out the window on the far wall. “I don’t care who killed Isaac Driscoll.” He met her eyes and something burned in them. Hatred.
Harper was taken aback. “I thought you said you b
arely knew him.”
“I didn’t.” The fire in his eyes dulled, then went out, leaving what looked like hopelessness behind.