Nettie handed him a bowl and pointed to a square foot of available counter space. “Stand there and mix up what I tell you to.” She gestured to another bowl, and a measuring cup filled with a mixture that included milk. “Bree, take those through to the table. Mix the wet stuff into the dry ingredients until they are well blended.”
Separating me from Riggs was a solid idea if she wanted to get the cookies made—because my body had another type of mixing in mind. Even sitting at the table, I found myself staring at Riggs as Nettie added ingredients to his bowl. She even strapped an apron around him, although it absolutely did not fit.
He looked sexier than hell, even in that. Memories of him in a towel danced through my mind. And of him out of the towel… under the water. Stroking his?—
Ahem.
I mixed my own ingredients in a somewhat haphazard fashion until Nettie turned to me. “Ready to put them on the tray?”
I looked down. No. No, I was not. But I nodded anyway and mixed with intense focus as she brought the tray to me.
She looked from the mix, to me. “A little more stirring, and a little less staring, perhaps?”
I blushed bright red. A few moments of intense supervision later, she nodded and returned to the kitchen.
A soft nose nudged at me. Grunt stood beside my chair with hopeful eyes. I scooped up a spoonful?—
“Don’t feed him the dough,” Nettie said without turning around. “He sneaked half a bowlful off the counter before you came. Can’t even visit the bathroom without him getting into mischief. Any more, and he’ll end up with a bellyache.”
“Sorry, Grunt,” I said, and he snorted at me before shuffling off. But he didn’t shuffle too far.
I began to place the dough on the tray. My mixing efforts seemed a little off, and I soon had bits all over me. I got bored of simple blobs after the first two, and started sculpting rough animal shapes. Little Grunts, and even a Dire. So long as you squinted and looked at them sideways.
The tray filled after using only half the dough, and I rose to take it to the oven. Riggs moved aside to give me access—but there wasn’t much space. When I bumped into him, he glanced at me. His eyes gleamed metallic, and then he smiled.
I almost dropped the tray. He caught it as it sagged and shoved it into the oven.
There was a crash from the table, and we all spun to see Grunt, with the remainder of the cookie dough stuck to him as he licked the bowl.
We gathered round, and it was immediately obvious that bearing beast fur and cookie dough were mutually attractive.
Nettie surveyed the sticky mess with disgust. “He needs a bath.”
I looked down at myself. “Think I do, too.”
Riggs’s brows rose. “Grunt is a little much for the bathtub. We’ll have to use the lake.”
“I’ve got things under control here.” Nettie disappeared down the hall to the bathroom. Her voice echoed from its depths. “There’s loads of shampoo—this should work.” She re-emerged and waved a bottle. “It’s safe for the lake, too.”
Considering his permanently disheveled coat, I wasn’t sure the dough would be noticed, but we would try. Nettie clipped his lead to his halter and handed it to Riggs.
“Don’t turn him loose. I tried, but he raced around the meadow and trampled the gardens at the entrance. Apparently, he likes the flowers that are the pride and joy of the headmaster.”She shrugged. “It didn’t go over well. I think that’s why Amadeus let me bring him inside. His prized shrubbery was then safe.”
Riggs tugged tentatively on the lead, and Grunt followed him. With more confidence, he led the bearing beast out into the hall.
I was surprised about how calm Grunt remained, even when surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the academy. He squeezed into the elevator without batting an eye. As the car took us down, I poked at the sticky bits of dough in his coat.
“This might take a lot of shampoo.” I now picked out chunks of goo. “He’s kind of a mess.”
“Hopefully he’ll go in the water,” Riggs said. “Or we’ll be carrying pails to him. He’s too big to pick up.”
The elevator spat us out on the ground floor, and we marched the bearing beast through the foyer and out the front door. Not exactly a straightforward process, as students were drawn to him, and wanted to scratch his hairy little face.
Grunt planted his sturdy legs and insisted on standing frozen until they quit. Apparently, you couldn’t force a bearing beast to move if he decided he wasn’t going to move. Which meant if he didn’t like water, we were sunk. Sort of.
We need not have worried. Grunt loved water.
When we got him to the beach, he dragged us right into it. Until he was almost swimming. Riggs had to pull hard on the lead to stop him from heading straight into the deeper water.
