The Werewolf Nanny Read online

  Maggie was nowhere to be seen.

  Maggie had been claiming that Bella would lock her in her room without lunch. Knowing that Maggie can exaggerate details from time to time, I gave Bella the benefit of the doubt and asked for her version of events, which never ended with Maggie going hungry.

  I wasn’t sure what to believe.

  But when I marched to Maggie’s room, found a chair wedged under the handle so she couldn’t leave her room, and found her inside, asleep with tears dried on her face, without so much as a bottle of water as Bella sputtered behind me that she’d locked Maggie in for just two minutes—

  I. Was. Livid.

  Let me mention another point: Bella isn’t a kid. Well, she isn’t a young kid, at any rate. She’s twenty-freaking-one. There’s no excuse for this. I’m paying her to walk Maggie to the park once or twice a week, make sure she isn’t kidnapped, feed her when she’s hungry, and prevent her from burning the house down. That’s all I want. A pet sitter is expected to do better. And Maggie is a good kid, I swear—this is not a difficult job.

  Unable to trust that Bella would do a better job in the future—and also very concerned that she might act out some form of misdirected retaliation on Maggie—I fired her on the spot. It left me in a lurch, but I didn’t see how Bella was an option anymore anyway. It seemed we were already in a lurch.

  I was fuming about how I’d essentially been paying a girl to treat Maggie the way she did when I went into work the next day. Cauley had taken one look at me, pulled me aside, and asked, “Sue, what’s wrong?”

  I’d told him. I’d shared too that in order for me to come into work, Charlotte skipped a full day of heavy-homework-loaded classes to watch Maggie herself since there’s no babysitters available on short notice. As it was, we’d had a heck of a time getting Bella. And since that turned out so well, I didn’t know what in the world we were going to do to make it another week until school started.

  (But even then, although the school would be watching Maggie ‘til 3pm, the junior high didn’t release their kids until 3:35. This meant that Maggie would be stepping off the bus at our house before Charlotte’s bus ever arrived. Sure, Maggie was six and she could become a latchkey kid. But lost keys, bus delays, and she was so outgoing and extroverted that talking to strangers was a real concern.)

  Cauley had let me vent. I didn’t even know how badly I’d needed to until I felt the prick of tears as I wrapped up how frustrated and out of options I was feeling.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry,” I’d groaned, wiping at my face, embarrassed that I’d just blurted out all of the day's events to one of my bosses. How professional.

  Cauley had searched both of my eyes, his face uncharacteristically serious. “Give me Bella’s last name and I’ll take care of her. In the meantime, what about your cheater fleabag ex? Jillian, right?”

  I laughed a little. “You’re terrible—but I appreciate the support. My ex-husband is Julién, and he works fourteen-hour shifts. He really can’t help watch Maggie—” I’d started to say.

  But Cauley was too busy to really hear the whys of it. He was shaking his head. “That was your first clue that he was a gobshite.” He made a face. “‘Julién.’”

  Then he’d taken me by the shoulders, looked deep into my eyes, and said the most attractive thing a woman raising two kids on a shoestring paycheck could ever hear: “Swayt hart, don’t you worry anymore.”

  He’d searched my face with determination, “You have me.”

  My heart had lurched, desperate to have someone who I could truly depend on.

  He’d continued, all uncharacteristic seriousness. “And I’m going to make this problem disappear.”

  I’d been so overcome with how incredible that would be—it was such a beautiful fantasy—my mouth ignored my brain (which was yelling something I couldn’t make out at the time), and what came out of my mouth had been a heartfelt, “Thank you, Cauley.”

  Thank you? What I should have said was, You’re very sweet, but this isn’t your problem. You employ me, or your Pack does, and therefore I’ve been keeping you firmly at arm’s length where I think you should continue to stay. No, I don’t believe I can accept any help from you although I appreciate the offer immensely. Oh, and I need to get back to work now. Excuse me.

  I should have said all of that, but I didn’t, and so here we are—with Cauley’s solution to our problems being a live-in submissive werewolf, because submissive werewolves are apparently amazing with children.

  Now if you’re thinking ‘Stop right there—who the heck lets a complete stranger, an adult MAN no less, into their home to watch over their defenseless little girl?’

  The notion is completely crazy, and not in a million years would I be okay with it.

  But I really mean it when I say that werewolves are different. Suspend your disbelief if you’ve not met one yet. They’re so different that you’d be sold on them too, honest. Plus, I work with a Pack alpha. I feel safe with shapeshifters primarily because Cauley is a great ambassador, the most trustworthy guy you’ll ever meet. He acts like the fun-loving prankster, but you should see him around women and kids. When he tells me he’s got a werewolf I can trust, I believe him. To add to that, I’ve seen a lot of interactions working the ‘family’ hours at the pub, where kids and parents and werewolves are all thrown together. Werewolves really do seem to have an affinity with children.

  “He’ll need somewhere cool and dark to sleep, preferably, and you just tell him to do what you want him to do and he’ll follow your orders to the letter. Believe me,” Cauley had boasted when he told me who he was bringing to my house. “And you will never have to worry about him mistreating your little Maggie. No feckin’ way—that’s a promise.”

  It sounded so good that I’d agreed.

  But in the face of this man who’s acting like an abused animal, my doubts and concerns are reaching floodwater proportions.

  Also reaching floodwater proportions is Maggie’s excitement. Like a dam bursting, she squeal-shouts an excited, “I get to meet my first werewolf!”

  And even though she’s in the living room, it’s still an ear-piercing sound to those of us in the kitchen.

  It’s too much for our new shapeshifter. Her boisterous holler breaks Deek.

  Right before my eyes, he transforms into a wolf.

  CHAPTER 2

  SUSAN

  “WHOA!” I shout before I slam my hand over my mouth. I wince and shoot Cauley an apologetic glance.

  Cauley’s smile is grim. “Easy.” Although his smile is directed at me, I’m not sure if he’s reassuring me or the massive creature beside him, who looks like he’s hugging the tiled floor.

  With care, Cauley strips the long-sleeve shirt and black pants and boxers off of the miserable-looking wolf and sets them beside the cringing animal.

  Erm, man?

  For a man who’s not remarkably large in his man form, Deek’s paws are huge. Actually, all of him is huge. The same shade of tree bark brown as his hair was, that’s the color he is all over. His coat is thick and plush, and he’s very majestic for an animal that looks like he’s about to pee himself in fright. For all his fearful posture though, he’s otherwise endlessly impressive—he’s almost the size of a miniature pony. As a man, I’d guess he weighs somewhere around a muscular two hundred pounds. As a wolf, he has to be nearly the same. He’s just enormous.

  “I didn’t expect you guys to be so big,” I whisper.

  “Some of us are bigger,” Cauley says with an easier grin in my direction, and he even adds a roguish wink.

  The effect is lost on me today though. “Wow,” I puff, shocked. My gaze leaves Cauley’s flirtatious eyes after only the briefest contact—and then they become glued to the wolf.

  I can’t help but stare at him.

  Deek risks a glance up, catches me looking at him—and he whimpers and bows his head even lower, so that his jaw is touching the floor, and he crawls to press himself into Cauley’s leg. It’s clear th
e animal—

  Or the werewolf-man, rather.

  —desperately wants to be anywhere but here.

  “Are you sure—” I start.

  “Sue,” Cauley cuts in, and just a hint of an Irish accent touching my name has my insides purring even as my brain is locked on the mythological creature prostrated on the floor, “I can’t be arsed to take him back to the dens—he’s yours.” He flashes me a smile that’s supposed to be calming. “Let’s do introductions and then let him settle in.” Cauley scruffs the wolf’s dark ruff and murmurs his next words more to him than anyone else, I think. “Real quick, he’s going to suck it up and quit being a geebag.”

  The wolf shivers and his jaws part in the saddest, silent whine.

  “Mommm,” Maggie cajoles.

  I growl—because she knows better. She was supposed to wait, no matter how excited she is. At my warning sound, she goes obediently silent. But my growl also makes the wolf thump itself over Cauley’s feet.

  Cauley sighs a heartfelt, “Holy mother of Jaysus,” and he draws something from his pocket, bends down, and slips a nylon loop around Deek’s neck. To me, he jerks his chin in the direction of the other room. “Call your brood. And don’t look embarrassed about the little piper. I was raised with litters and litters of werewolves. One thing I know is that no children have rearing on them when exciting things are involved.” He grins at me, and I hear a click.

  He just snapped a collar on his lycanthrope-affected friend.

  Usually, I’m stunned by the sheer beauty of Cauley’s smiles. Right now though, with a collared werewolf in my kitchen, I’m too stunned to be stunned more. I clear my throat. “Charlotte, Maggie—come in here. Slowly,” I warn.

  Maggie flies to my side, beside herself to see a werewolf in person for the first time ever. Charlotte moseys in, arms crossed, with the practiced apathy only a teenager can affect.

  When she gets a look at Deek though, she’s the perfect image of Maggie: her eyes are as round as saucers.

  “Hallo,” Cauley greets them, and my daughters are young but not immune to Cauley’s charm—evident when both immediately smile back at him, wearing silly, affected grins. “I’m your mom’s friend Finn, and this here,” he drags the wolf up by his collar until the creature is sitting, “is Deek.”

  “He’s so cute!” Maggie coos. “Can I please pet him?”

  “He looks scared,” Charlotte notes, a worried frown wrinkling her brow. She shoots Maggie a superior look. “He’s not a dog, Maggs.”

  This takes some of the spike out of Maggie’s punch. She frowns, but considers Deek for only a heartbeat before declaring, “He looks like one.” She beams a wheedling sort of smile up at Cauley. “May I please pet him, Mr. Finn?”

  “Sure you can!” Cauley says magnanimously of his friend.

  Perhaps in disagreement or in some sort of bracing preparation, the wolf bolts forward hard, slamming flat over Cauley’s feet again—which causes the collar to snap like it offered no more resistance than a single thread.

  “Oh, feckin’ handy that was,” Cauley mutters, gripping the broken collar in his fist. Shaking his head, he gives us all a patient look. “Like I told you, Deek here is a submissive, which as far as the lot of you are concerned, means he couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag. He’d never hurt you,” he promises my girls and I. Then his gaze drops to Deek. He bends down enough to scritch affectionately at the wolf’s ear. “This, what you see here, is just his natural nervousness in a new place and new situation.” He extracts his boots out from under his friend’s head gently. “As much as it looks like this one couldn’t kick snow off a rope, he’s a good lad. He’ll watch over you all like you’re Pack.” Cauley hunkers down to say this last bit, and he gently tugs the wolf’s ear like he’s telling Deek to watch over us like we’re ‘Pack.’

  Cauley’s bright eyes move back on the three of us. “Now here are some rules. And these are important, so listen up. You’d do well to leave off on the direct eye contact—at least for the first few days. Submissive wolves have a real hard time with it, especially when they’re adjusting to new people and places.”

  He pauses, smiles, waits for us to nod dutifully, and continues. “Next, give ol’ Deek here direct commands, and he’ll follow every one to the letter. But don’t send him off running errands. No shopping mall trips,” he pins Charlotte with a pointed look—misguided, because Charlotte is a bookworm, not a shopaholic, “no social stuff outside of this immediate family, at least at first.” Cauley holds up three fingers. “Three: he can go outside as much as he wants, but he’ll probably only want to be out in your backyard, where there’s a privacy fence. Like a good number of submissives, this one’s spent a donkey’s years in the pack dens, and so everything’s pretty much going to be new to him. Also, he gets carsick.” Cauley grimaces and mutters, “Real carsick. Especially around corners.” Then his expression melts into his usual grin, his eyes warming. “But he’ll be awful good to you. Just go slowly, eh?”

  We all nod, and then Charlotte asks, “What’s a donkey’s years?”

  A question I’d been pondering myself. And I’ve heard a lot of interesting Irishisms working at The Gargled Werewolf, where the owners and much of the staff are directly from the Emerald Isle.

  “A long time,” Cauley replies, standing. He nudges Deek’s furry shoulder with his boot. “This one’s whole life, actually. Poor bast—” He glances at the girls and grins sheepishly. “Poor sod,” he finishes instead. Then his gaze shifts to me. “Walk me out, will you, a stór?”

  My treasure. Which, if overheard by the casual observer, would lead them to believe that Cauley is really sweet on me.

  But I’ve heard him use it on a thousand women.

  Still. He did bring my family a babysitting werewolf. As gestures go, it means something. If our new babysitting werewolf turns out to be even halfway as good as Internet research says he’ll be, he’s a Godsend.

  I lead the way to the front door, and Cauley places his hand at the small of my back as we step out. I stop though, resisting his guiding hand just outside of the doorway. “Should we really leave…” A werewolf alone with children, I want to say, but that’s just instinct trying to override what Google told me: werewolves are perfectly safe. You have absolutely nothing to be nervous about where werewolf childcare workers are concerned.

  Of course we can believe everything Google says.

  And my head warns, You already agreed to let him watch Maggie alone so shut your mouth before you offend your boss—an alpha wereshifter, I’ll remind you, Mouth.

  Cauley’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Awf, they’ll be fine. They’re behaving like lambs with him.”

  It strikes me that he genuinely thinks I was more worried about what my girls will do to the werewolf. He’s so confident that I find myself relaxing, blowing out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “There you go,” Cauley says in his pretty way, drawing me against his side playfully. “Come on. Leave the door of the gaff open if it pleases you. We just need to get his things out of the car.”

  Not sure what to do with my hands or arms in this situation but clasp them in front of me, I lick my lips and try not to pull away. “Thank you again for this. For bringing Mr. Deek.”

  Finn waves his hand, the one that was resting on my hip, dismissively. “No ‘mister.’ Just call him Deek. Nearly everybody does.”

  We’ve reached the curb where nobody could miss Cauley’s car. It’s a Joker purple Chevrolet Chevelle SS with a nearly fluorescent green interior, and he’s fiercely proud of it.

  It’s hideous.

  He stops us, and his fingers take my chin, tipping my face up to look at him. “And think nothing of it, Sue. You’ve been working for the Pack for years. You’ve been good to us.” His eyes search mine, and he has to see I’m uncomfortable. He lets me go before I can finish pulling away. He turns, fishing into the trunk of his car until he hauls out a duffel and a leather case engraved with what looks
like a Bible verse.

  I watch him, pressing my lips together for a moment before I just say it. “Look, I really appreciate this. I do. But I’m also… I feel like you might…” I clear my throat, shaking my head, and meet his gaze, forcing myself to soldier on. “A lot of the girls at work need sitters for their kids. I’ve never heard of you offering to drop a werewolf off at their door before. Are you in the habit of loaning wolves?”

  Cauley pauses. “No.”

  I lick my lips, nerves tight. “Why haven’t you stepped in for them before? Why are you doing this for me?”

  He pins me with a quick but very significant look, and very seriously says, “Well, I wasn’t hoping to eat crackers out of their knickers.”

  I blink at him.

  He grins.

  “Cauley—”

  “Finn,” he corrects, and he’s in front of me now, the Bible-like case under his arm, the duffel’s handle in one hand, the strong fingers of his other hand smoothing over my shoulder, kneading my muscles a little. “We do help the garls at work, just not with their own werewolf. But this isn’t a favor with strings. I’m a friend, not the mafia. I don’t expect a thing from you except to see you worrying less. And if I’m hoping for an outcome, it’s honestly that you’ll be back to smiling like sunshine at work. That’s all.” And he uses his gentle grip on my shoulder to jerk me close enough to plant a kiss on my forehead.

  “Cau—” I start again, but the pad of his thumb inserts itself between us and gently presses over my lips.

  I go very still.

  With our faces close enough to taste each other’s breath (he drinks Folgers, by the way, and on him, it’s a very nice smell), I can feel him looking at me. I think he’s waiting for me to look up—but I won’t. “Finn,” he repeats softly.