Read Online Local Custom by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
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left him sometime in the early morning, amid a comedy of untangling limbs and wayward clothing, murmuring that the child had stirred. The blanket she had brought a moment later, and spread carefully on the sofa before bending and kissing him, too quickly, too lightly, on the lips.
"Thank you," she whispered and flitted away.
And for what did she thank him? Er Thom wondered, as the drowse began to thin. For breaking her peace and teaching her fear? Or for being so lost to decency that he twice allowed passion to overrule right conduct and made fierce, almost savage, love to a woman who was neither pleasure-love, wife, nor lifemate?
He twisted in his uncomfortable nest and inhaled sharply, smelled Anne's scent mingled with the blanket's scratchy, synthetic odor, and felt a surge of longing.
It was to have been so simple. He had only planned to find her, to tell her of his love—that had seemed important. Vital. That done, knowing his truth held by one who treasured it, he thought he might have faced the Healers with calm. And he would have come away from them a fit husband for Nexon's daughter, no impossible might-have-beens shadowing his heart.
Instead, he found a child who must someway be brought to the clan, a woman who seemed etched into his bones, so deep was his desire for her—and no easy solutions at all.
"Hi!" Warm, milk-sweet breath washed his face.
Er Thom opened his eyes, finding them on a level with a serious silver pair, thickly fringed with black lashes.
"Tra'sia volecta," he replied, in Low Liaden, as one did with children.
The winging white brows pulled together in a frown.
"Hi!" Shan repeated, at slightly louder volume.
Er Thom smiled. "Good morning," he said in Terran. "Did you sleep well?"
The child— his child—gave it consideration, head tipped to one side.
"OK," he conceded at last, and sighed. "Hungry."
"Ah." The water continued to flow, noisily, nearby: Anne was doubtless in the shower. Er Thom wriggled free of the clinging blanket and stood. "Then I shall find you something to eat," he said and held out a hand.
His son took it without hesitation and the two of them went together into the tiny kitchen.
HE FOUND INSTANT soy-oats and made porridge, sprinkling it with raisins from a jar on the cluttered counter. The cold-box yielded milk and juice: Er Thom poured both and stood sipping the juice while he watched his son assay breakfast.
Shan was an accomplished trencherman, wielding his spoon with precision. There were a few, of course unavoidable, spills and splashes, and Er Thom stepped forward at one juncture to help the young gentleman roll up the sleeves of his pajamas, but for the most part breakfast was neatly under way by the time Anne strode into the kitchen.
"Oh, no!" She paused on the edge of the tiny space, laughter filling her face so that it was all he could do not to rush over and kiss her.
"Hi, Ma," her son said, insouciant, barely glancing up from his meal.
Anne grinned. "Hi, Shannie." She looked at Er Thom and shook her head, grin fading into something softer.
"My poor friend. We impose on you shamefully."
He cleared his throat, glancing away on the excuse of finishing his juice.
"Not at all," he murmured, putting the glass into the washer. "The child was hungry—and I was able to solve the matter for him." He met her eyes suddenly. "What should a father do?"
Her gaze slid away. "Yes, well. What a mother should do is grab a quick cup of coffee and then get this young con artist ready to go see his friend Marilla."
"Rilly!" Shan crowed, losing a spoonful of cereal to the table top. "Oops."
"Oops is right," Anne told him, pulling a paper napkin from the wall dispenser and mopping up the mess. "Finish up, OK? And try to get most of it in your mouth."
"Clumsy Scooter," the child commented matter-of-factly.
"Single-minded Scooter," Anne returned, maneuvering her large self through the small space with deft grace. "Leave eating
"Thank you," she whispered and flitted away.
And for what did she thank him? Er Thom wondered, as the drowse began to thin. For breaking her peace and teaching her fear? Or for being so lost to decency that he twice allowed passion to overrule right conduct and made fierce, almost savage, love to a woman who was neither pleasure-love, wife, nor lifemate?
He twisted in his uncomfortable nest and inhaled sharply, smelled Anne's scent mingled with the blanket's scratchy, synthetic odor, and felt a surge of longing.
It was to have been so simple. He had only planned to find her, to tell her of his love—that had seemed important. Vital. That done, knowing his truth held by one who treasured it, he thought he might have faced the Healers with calm. And he would have come away from them a fit husband for Nexon's daughter, no impossible might-have-beens shadowing his heart.
Instead, he found a child who must someway be brought to the clan, a woman who seemed etched into his bones, so deep was his desire for her—and no easy solutions at all.
"Hi!" Warm, milk-sweet breath washed his face.
Er Thom opened his eyes, finding them on a level with a serious silver pair, thickly fringed with black lashes.
"Tra'sia volecta," he replied, in Low Liaden, as one did with children.
The winging white brows pulled together in a frown.
"Hi!" Shan repeated, at slightly louder volume.
Er Thom smiled. "Good morning," he said in Terran. "Did you sleep well?"
The child— his child—gave it consideration, head tipped to one side.
"OK," he conceded at last, and sighed. "Hungry."
"Ah." The water continued to flow, noisily, nearby: Anne was doubtless in the shower. Er Thom wriggled free of the clinging blanket and stood. "Then I shall find you something to eat," he said and held out a hand.
His son took it without hesitation and the two of them went together into the tiny kitchen.
HE FOUND INSTANT soy-oats and made porridge, sprinkling it with raisins from a jar on the cluttered counter. The cold-box yielded milk and juice: Er Thom poured both and stood sipping the juice while he watched his son assay breakfast.
Shan was an accomplished trencherman, wielding his spoon with precision. There were a few, of course unavoidable, spills and splashes, and Er Thom stepped forward at one juncture to help the young gentleman roll up the sleeves of his pajamas, but for the most part breakfast was neatly under way by the time Anne strode into the kitchen.
"Oh, no!" She paused on the edge of the tiny space, laughter filling her face so that it was all he could do not to rush over and kiss her.
"Hi, Ma," her son said, insouciant, barely glancing up from his meal.
Anne grinned. "Hi, Shannie." She looked at Er Thom and shook her head, grin fading into something softer.
"My poor friend. We impose on you shamefully."
He cleared his throat, glancing away on the excuse of finishing his juice.
"Not at all," he murmured, putting the glass into the washer. "The child was hungry—and I was able to solve the matter for him." He met her eyes suddenly. "What should a father do?"
Her gaze slid away. "Yes, well. What a mother should do is grab a quick cup of coffee and then get this young con artist ready to go see his friend Marilla."
"Rilly!" Shan crowed, losing a spoonful of cereal to the table top. "Oops."
"Oops is right," Anne told him, pulling a paper napkin from the wall dispenser and mopping up the mess. "Finish up, OK? And try to get most of it in your mouth."
"Clumsy Scooter," the child commented matter-of-factly.
"Single-minded Scooter," Anne returned, maneuvering her large self through the small space with deft grace. "Leave eating
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