Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [16]
Cauvin had damn near forgotten Leorin when their paths had crossed while he was delivering stone in the Maze two years before. Froggin’ sure, she’d made the moves on him; then again, Leorin was a dreamer, like Jess and Pendy. She needed someone to hold her when the screaming started.
Leorin had a room for herself above the Maze tavern where she worked. Cauvin would stay with her a few nights each week, eyes wide-open and wedged into a corner, waiting for her dream-self to rise through her body. There wasn’t anything the dream-self could say or do that shocked Cauvin; he’d been wide-awake in the pits. He’d just keep her from hurting herself while she dreamt, then hold her while she cried afterward.
Leorin had wanted to jump the broom after the first night they spent together. Cauvin was the one who didn’t want to take chances. No sheep-shite way he was chancing a son until he had a better idea what he was going to make of his life, or it of him. Leorin had laughed. She’d said she’d been taking chances for years—with the Whip and countless others—and never caught a bastard.
The others—the countless others—hurt Cauvin’s pride, but that was Leorin: sharp as a knife and hard as stone unless you knew—as Cauvin knew—what the pits had been like. If Cauvin said he was ready to light out of Sanctuary on the East Ridge Road, Leorin would follow.
Her face floated through the gray: a Rankan beauty with dark hazel eyes and sleek, gold hair as long as her arms and coiled like summer vines. A man was no froggin’ man if he didn’t want her, but Cauvin was the man she wanted. It was getting harder and harder not to take chances.
Cauvin was imagining the feel of Leorin’s breasts beneath his fingertips when his bed shook from below and a voice that was not at all Leorin’s bellowed—
“You up there! Cauvin! Get your bones down here before I have to come up there and move them for you. The sun’s been up an hour and you’re no Irrune prince to lie in your bed all morning!”
Grabar’s threat—empty though it was—was enough to get Cauvin moving. He shivered into breeches, boots, and a heavy, homespun shirt, washed in the yard, and hurried through the back door of the kitchen, where Mina cooked their meals.
“Watch your feet!” Mina snapped, as Cauvin opened the door to warmth and breakfast. “Don’t you come trailing dirt and straw in here—”
Cauvin leaned against the doorjamb and scuffed his boots with a broom.
“And close that door! This is a respectable house, not some damned barn!”
“Froggin’ sure good morning to you,” Cauvin replied in the same tone. He shoved the door and let it slam shut. He and Mina were alone together—a circumstance they both preferred to avoid.
Mina looked up from the porridge pot she had simmering on the hearth. “Mind your damned language.” She gave Cauvin a good glower, which he returned, then reached for a wooden bowl. “Here, take your breakfast.”
There were peas in the porridge and enough bacon to start Cauvin’s mouth watering. He took the steaming bowl from Mina’s hands with genuine thanks.
“There’s more if you want it, and drippings in the melter. Help yourself, but leave plenty for Grabar and the boy.”
That was the essence of their relationship: So long as Cauvin left plenty for Mina’s husband and her nine-year-old son, Bec, maternal resentment wouldn’t boil over. Fortunately, the stoneyard was thriving, and there was enough oil in the melter to spread a golden puddle atop everyone’s porridge.
“You slept through the day’s excitement,” Mina announced, while Cauvin stirred his breakfast. “Sunup found not one, but two bodies up at the crossing! That’s what comes of letting the damned Dragon carouse throughout the town!”
“Couldn’t have been the damned Dragon,” Cauvin countered between spoonfuls.
Grabar swore that Cauvin and Mina were so contrary toward each other, they’d argue about the sun and tides. Grabar had a point of the truth.
“I’d have heard him and his gang carousing, if they’d been anywhere near this quarter of Sanctuary.