I followed the diminutive woman into the suite and ran into Grunt. He was lying on the living room carpet, but when we entered, he jumped up and came over. This time, the barrettes holding the shaggy hair out of his eyes were pink with some kind of bird design.
I scratched behind his ears, delighted to see him, if a little surprised he was inside the suite. “Is he housebroken?” I asked.
Nettie’s grin widened. “Oh, yes. Grunt is a very clean little critter. And the spaces here are set up for larger beasties. We were delivering greens to the kitchen and dropped in on Cara to say hi.”
Her explanations continued as she headed for the kitchen. “Ended up swapping cookie recipes with Cara, and we weretrying one of them out, when a Phoenix brought a message from the Watcher at the treehouse—Cara had to leave. The cookies were in mid-bake, so she told me to stay. You just missed her.”
My mind sifted through to the relevant facts. “You made cookies?”
Riggs came up with a different priority. “When will she be back?” he asked at almost the same moment.
“I think she’s spending the night there,” Nettie stated. “Your mother is, apparently, restless. It is hard for her to sit back and watch the Dragon Empire fall apart. Cara went to stop her from doing something rash.”
I glanced to Riggs. His lips had pulled into a straight line. Between the mystery of the sword and his exiled-presumed-dead family, he had a lot on his mind.
Nettie seemed to detect his mood and decided upon a strategy. “I’m only halfway through this batch of cookies. You guys can help.”
Her tone brooked no argument, and I shed my other worries to embrace the concept with enthusiasm. We left Riggs standing with Grunt in the living room.
“Sit,” Nettie told him. “The first tray is ready. You can tell me what you think.”
The dark gaze that slid to mine held a hint of desperation. “I really should?—”
“Statements that include ‘should’ are usually an indication of what you don’t want to do,” Nettie stated from the kitchen. “There is nothing that can’t wait when cookies need to be baked—and eaten.”
Seemed like a perfectly reasonable comment. I joined her, and she handed me an apron before pointing to the sink. “Wash up, and we’ll mix the next batch of dough. I’ll just?—”
“What can I do?” Riggs rumbled from behind us.
Nettie jumped. “You move damn quietly for such a big guy,” she complained, and then handed him oven mitts. “Take the cookies out of the oven, would you? Put them on those racks to cool.”
He couldn’t cram his big hands into the mitts, so he just grabbed one and folded it around the tray of cookies. As he pulled them out, a waft of scent came with them.
“They smell amazing,” I said. With Riggs in the kitchen, there wasn’t a lot of spare room, but he nimbly swung the tray right over Nettie’s head and lowered it to the racks on the counter.
“Don’t touch them until you’ve washed your hands!” Nettie protested when he reached for one.
I stood back from the sink, handed him the towel when he finished, and gravitated to the cooling cookies.
The first melted in my mouth. I reached for another.
“Hey. My turn,” Riggs complained.
I rotated to face him, cookie in hand, and without a thought, raised it to his lips.
He took a careful bite, his warm lips brushing my fingertips. My breath caught as electricity shot from them, straight through to my core.
I met his eyes, and they were glowing metallic.
“Yum,” he rumbled. “Tasty.”
My knees threatened to buckle as I stood there with the cookie remnants between my fingers. His lips twitched as he extracted them from me, his own wrapping around my hand before they did so.
Something spun restless circles deep within me, but there was no scream and flailing arms. No belch. And certainly nothing else. I was reassured by the clothes. It meant he was still paying some attention.
“Is it just me,” Nettie complained, “or did it just get much warmer in here? I thought we were baking.”
“I think we are.” Riggs turned to her. “What do you need me to do?”
