same place you wash up your dishes. You must have a laundry, a utility sink.”
Though he didn’t see the difference, Fin changed directions, moved through a door and into the laundry with its bright white walls and burly black machines. Opening a cupboard, he reached for laundry soap.
“Not with that, for pity’s sake, Fin. You don’t bathe a dog with laundry soap. You’re wanting dish soap—the liquid you’d use for hand washing.”
He might have pointed out the bloody dish soap was under the bloody kitchen sink where he’d intended to wash the dog in the first place. But she was bustling about, pulling off her coat, notching it on a peg, pushing up her sleeves.
“Give me the dog; get the soap.”
Fine then, he thought, just fine. His brain was scattered to bits in any case. He fetched the soap, stepped back in.
“You’re doing fine,” she murmured to Bugs, who stared up at her with adoration. “Just tired and a little shaky here and there. You’ll have a nice warm bath,” she continued as she ran water in the sink. “Some tonic, and a good long nap and you’ll be right as rain.”
“What’s right about rain, I’ve always wondered.” He dumped soap in the running water.
“That’s enough—enough, Fin. You’ll have the poor thing smothered in bubbles.”
He set the bottle on the counter. “I’ve something upstairs—a potion—that should do for him.”
“I’ll get him started here if you’ll get it.”
“I’m grateful, Branna.”
“I know. Here now, in you go. Isn’t that nice?”
“He’s fond of the shower.”
With the dog sitting in the sea of bubbles looking, to Fin’s eye, ridiculous, Branna turned.
“What?”
“Never mind. I’ll get the tonic.”
“The shower, is it?” she murmured when Fin left, rubbing her hands over the dog. Bugs lapped at the bubbles, at her hand, and brought on a very clear image of Fin, wearing nothing but water, laughing as he held the dog in a glass-walled shower where the jets streamed everywhere and steam puffed.
“Hmmm. He’s kept in tune, hasn’t he? Still some of the boy in there though, showering with a dog.”
It amused her, touched her, which wasn’t a problem. It stirred her, which was.
Fin brought back a pretty bottle with a hexagon base filled with deep green liquid. At Branna’s crooked finger, he unstopped it, held it out for her to sniff.
“Ah, yes, that’s just what he needs. If you have a little biscuit, you’d add three—no, let’s have four—drops to it. It’ll go down easier that way, and he’ll think it a treat.”
Without thinking, Fin reached in his pocket, took out a thumb-sized dog biscuit.
“You carry those in your pocket—what, in case you or the dog here get hungry?”
“I didn’t know how long we’d be out,” he muttered, and added the drops.
“Set it down to soak in. We could use an old towel.”
He set off again, came back with a fluffy towel the color of moss.
“Egyptian cotton,” Branna observed, and smoothly lifted the dog out, bundled him up before he could shake.
“I don’t have an old towel. And it’ll wash, won’t it?”
“So it will.” She rubbed the dog briskly, kissed his nose. “That’s better now, isn’t it? All clean and smelling like a citrus grove. An Egyptian one. Give him his treat, Fin, for he’s a good boy, a good, brave boy.”
Bugs turned those adoring, trusting eyes on Fin, then gobbled down the offered treat.
“He could do with some water before . . .” She glanced down, and stared. Truly horrified. “Belleek? You’re using Belleek bowls for the dog’s food and water.”
“They were handy.” Flustered, he took the dog, tossed the towel on the counter, then set Bugs down by the water bowl.
The dog drank thirstily, and noisily, for nearly a full minute. Let out a small belch then sat, stared up at Fin.
“He only needs a warm place to sleep for a while,” Branna told him.
Fin picked the dog up, snagged a pillow from the sofa in the great room, tossed it down in front of the fire.
Egyptian cotton, Belleek bowls, and now a damask pillow, Branna thought. The stable dog had become a little prince.
“He’s tired.” Fin stayed crouched down, stroking Bugs. “But he doesn’t hurt. His blood’s clear. There’s no poison in him.”
“He’ll sleep now, and wake stronger than he was. I had to give him a boost to bring him back. He’d lost so much blood.”
“He’ll have a scar here.” Gently, Fin traced a finger over the thin, jagged line on the dog’s throat.