Page 26 of The Guardian's True-Mate

Scott’s eyes went big and blinked fast. Terrick had spent a lot of time out of the bedroom recently and it wasn’t like Scott could follow him around.

“We can do that,” I said, pushing myself back to my feet.

“Are you sure?” Terrick asked.

“I came to help Scott out while he was stuck in bed,” I shrugged. “It’s not a problem.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll bake,” Scott said.

“You’re supposed to stay resting as much as possible,” Terrick reminded him, worry inching onto his scent.

“And I will. I don’t have to stand at the oven and watch while it bakes,” Scott laughed.

“We’ll work it out tomorrow, okay? We’ll figure something out,” I said, glancing at Cardian.

“Gotta let him walk a bit, brother,” Cardian said. “Don’t want his legs going to jelly before the babies get here.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Terrick said, shooting Cardian a dirty look.

Chapter Eighteen

Cardian

I held a fresh flour sack open for Dakota as he scooped the fallen flour into it. We worked in silence as bird prints appeared here and there. Apparently, the dead crows really liked my brother-in-law’s flour.

“Are you going to relax a bit now?” Dakota asked, looking up at me from his knees.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore that he was at eye level with my crotch. The shed had been violated enough without us messing around inside it.

“It’s my job to be on guard,” I said, staring at the white wall in the distance.

“Maybe, but ---” Dakota said and then shook his head and went back to scooping up flour.

“Maybe what?” I asked a second later when he still hadn’t finished his sentence.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s okay,” he said, but his tone didn’t sound okay.

“Did I do something to you that I’m unaware of?” I arched a brow.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Then what’s going on?” I asked.

“Nothing. You’re just doing your job.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing, mate.”

“The birds are dead,” Dakota said.

“I’m sorry they’re dead,” I said. “I know it’s not a happy thing to find a dead raccoon and a murder of dead crows in the backyard.”

“They’re dead. I think you can stop chasing after them, now,” he said, dumping more flour into the sack.

“Is that what you think I’m doing when I do sweeps?” I tightened my grip on the sack.

“Isn’t it? You hear them and run outside.”

“Crows usually gather at dead things,” I said.

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