That Rex Gotta Roar - Julia Mills Page 0,8

faster than I can get down off the ladder, them sons of bitches are right back. Tank tried to hang a picture over that huge, old fireplace in the Parlor…" Looking at me, then Max, then everybody else before coming back to me, her head nodded even faster. Her hands shot out, and her palms faced upward like she expected dollar bills to come droppin' down from the ceiling. Thankfully, Jenn was finally slowing down, or at least about ready to take a breath, or so I thought. "Y'all know the one. It's got that big mahogany mantel with gold inlay. There's still silver picture frames with old photos…"

I nodded to keep things moving along, but to be honest, I couldn't even tell you if the damned house had a roof on it. Every time I'd been out there, my eyes stayed glued on one thing, well, make that one person and one person only. Yep, you guessed it – my man, Tank.

(How could they not? Six-foot-six, dark dreamy eyes, and oh-so kissable lips, with shoulders so broad my hands just tingled with the need to massage any and all tension right outta every single muscle. And did I mention his butt? Oh, Saints be praised, his ass made my inner sex goddess stand up on her tippy toes and shout, "Oh, hell, yeah! Wooohooo, I'm over here, Lover Boy."

Over the years, my man had been in every branch of the service and served in every war, conflict, or skirmish goin' back as far as I could remember, and that's not all. He'd also trained the best of the best to defend our country in lands all over the world. Damn it all to Hell and back if he didn't make me want to be Debra Winger's character from the movie An Officer and A Gentleman. Never wanted to be in films, but if Tank was playing Richard Gere's part, then you can bet your sweet ass, I was gonna be the woman in his arms. And what was the best part, you ask? The anticipation of running my fingers over the short, prickly ends of his flat top. I know. I know. You are not tellin' me anything I do not know. It makes me crazy in the head. But I can't help it. I've never dated a guy who kept his hair so short. It just makes Tank even more special, unique, and all mine. So, now that you have confirmation that I am totally outta my mind in love with a T-Rex Shifter named Tank Thomas, let's get back to the story.)

“Anyway, that mantel is huge, and Big Bro's been trying to hang the family portrait that Auntie Mabel loved so much back up there to honor her and all. However, before he even gets out of the room, the damn thing flies off the wall like it's been shot out of a cannon. It's crazy…" Once again, talking as fast as a hummingbird's wings can flutter, Jenn kept right on going while my brain was stuck on one burning question – How could I help my Mate and his lovely sister, who was also my friend and part of my beloved Flock? Could I be Tank's hero? Of course, I could. 'Cause on a count of, he was already mine. (Stop with the aww's. It makes us both seem nuts.)

Of course, no sooner had the thought floated through my brain than Cassandra gave me her two cents worth of unneeded and unsolicited advice, “You’re gonna use that noggin of yours, that power you got from your daddy… Remember him? The most powerful Psychic ever to dip his toe in this here Swamp. Yeah, him. You’re gonna use that magical mysticism and look into the future or back into the past or wherever you need to take a gander and find out what the hell crawled by Mabel Thomas’s ghostly behind and brought her back from her Big Vacay in the Sky.”

(Have I mentioned how much I hate when Cassie starts trying to talk like she's from the South? I haven't? Well, let me take this opportunity to tell you that it drives me mad. Absolutely bonkers. I can't stand it. She is a New England Canary. From Massachusetts, more specifically, a suburb of Boston that is so old that it was there before the Pilgrims crash-landed the Mayflower onto our beautiful shores, at least that's what my goofball Canary tells me – repeatedly – when