The Werewolf Nanny

by Amanda Milo

  CHAPTER 22

  SUSAN

  “Finn!” I whisper-hiss, trying to get his attention as he flirts expertly with a table of five women having a business lunch.

  This table has the potential of leaving one hell of a tip for him. I’ve seen him rake in the money again and again when he gets groups of ladies who respond to his charm. But he turns from them to give me all of his attention—and when he sees my face, his expression loses its sexy smile.

  He frowns. “Sue? What’s the matter?”

  “Deek,” I mouth more than say.

  Instantly, Finn claps his big hands together to get another waitress’s attention. He turns her to his table and makes the handoff with spectacular speed and is so perfectly apologetic I’d bet the ladies still tip well when they leave no matter what the service is like for the rest of their meal. They might even write their cell numbers on their tip money, an occurrence that means Finn won’t pocket the bills. Instead, he’ll pin them to the rafters to decorate the place where other pub patrons can’t read the numbers, because although it means he loses the tip, it ensures the money with their private information won’t go into circulation elsewhere.

  He’s weirdly conscientious like that.

  They sigh wistfully when Finn starts moving in my direction, and if I can hear it, I know he can—but he doesn’t pay it any attention. Urgently, he asks low, “What happened to Deek?”

  “The school called. I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  ***

  Minutes later, I’m incredibly glad that Deek doesn’t drive. Not if Finn is his option of a teacher. And it’s really no wonder that Deek vomits when he’s a passenger in Finn’s car. Heck, I could use Deek’s salad bowl right about now, and I’ve never been carsick in my life.

  Finn drives like a maniac.

  However, he turned what’s usually a ten-minute trip across town into a five-minute trip, and we didn’t die, so I’m not going to complain. Not today.

  My door is open before the engine is off, and Finn’s is closing a beat after mine. Together, we hurry for the school, although Finn’s stride looks more confident and less worried. In fact, the closer we get to the elementary school doors, the more outwardly relaxed he seems.

  I’ve been around him long enough to know that his forehead is a little too pinched to be natural though. And his smile is nice, but it isn’t megawatt.

  He’s worried.

  He’s right to be.

  We’re met at the door by school security and ushered into the principal's office…

  Where we find a tear-streaked Maggie along with a woebegone werewolf.

  Seeing us, Maggie cries, “FINN!”

  I might be put out that my youngest is more relieved to see a man she barely knows before me, but these are special circumstances. And the way she’s clamped herself around Deek’s furry neck, I know they’re dire circumstances.

  He’s plastered himself to the floor, with her thrown on top of him like she’s protecting him from being whipped. When Maggie shouts Finn’s name, Deek lunges up and gallops for Finn—Maggie still attached to his neck so that she’s dragged and almost riding him.

  She squeals in shock but laughs, and Finn scoops her up as Deek launches for him, scrambling up Finn’s broad shoulder like he’s trying to find a safe perch there.

  He manages it, but he’s absolutely huge. And even though he’s clearly scared, he’s still a wolf, and I can see from everyone’s expression in the room that they still find him scary.

  Finn passes Maggie off to me and pats his wolf form-clad friend on his back. “You daft muppet.”

  The principal clears her throat. Flanking her are the vice principal, the school superintendent, and the school resource officer. The last one stares at Finn draped in Deek. Worrisomely, he has his hand on the butt of his gun. The principal though may as well be aiming laser beams with her eyes. She glares between Finn and me. “Who should I address?” she asks politely enough.

  Finn keeps one hand at Deek’s furry butt, bracing the clinging wolf. He raises his other from Deek’s spine and says, “Well, isn’t this a right circus?” He shakes his head at everyone like this is all being blown out of proportion. He gives a dramatic sigh and adds with a charmer of a grin, “I’m acting as official speaker for the werewolves, Ma’am. Why don’t you tell me what the situation is?” He twists at the hips, finds a chair behind himself, and sits in it, holding Deek like the monster wolf weighs no more than a pillow full of feathers.

  I don’t know if there is such a thing as an official speaker for the werewolves, and if there is, if Finn can claim it. Maybe the principal doesn’t know either. She doesn’t question it. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows lift sharply. “Where do I start? Your Pack member chased down three harmless animals and murdered them in front of innocent children.”

  Finn pats Deek’s shivering back and he’s immediately, believably, appalled. “Oi!” He pauses. “No kiddies were harmed, right?” When she only stiffly tips her head, he waves his hand in the air animatedly. “Look. You’re using the word ‘harmless’ for chipmunks? Have you met chipmunks before? They’re the greediest little bast—” He catches himself. “Bamsticks, and they’re destructive. Why,” Finn throws out his arm, making his balance shift and therefore making Deek whimper and dig his huge clawed paws deeper into Finn’s shoulder. Finn either doesn’t notice or does an excellent job of showing that he doesn’t care. His focus is for the unimpressed people in the room. “They’ve probably built a city of tunnels under this school! Is this building structurally sound enough to withstand chipmunk damage?” he asks with admirable seriousness. To Deek, he murmurs, “You caught three, eh? Well done, lad.”

  “Mr…” the principal begins.

  Finn stands, hauling Deek up and around his neck so that he’s wearing him like a live, massive wolf stole. “I apologize for my bad manners. I’m Finn Cauley. And this,” he pats Deek’s hip, “is Lucan. He’s the best bloke. Nice to meet you.”

  He gives the principal his most powerful smile. He sends it around the room at the other school officials, trying to stun everybody with it.

  It works. Even Maggie’s jaw drops. And she’s not even old enough to feel the full effect.

  The principal, however, is not thawed. She glares up at Finn—and at Deek’s still-quaking form. “Tell that to all the angry parents who will be hearing about this incident from their traumatized children.”

  Poor Deek. The guilt he must be suffering since he realized he’d scared a bunch of kindergarteners.

  “Traumatized?” Finn scoffs. He pins the principal with a hard look. “Ask them if they’ve let their kids watch Old Yeller. They shoot a wolf in that flick—and then the boy puts a gun to his loyal dog’s head and pulls the friggin’ trigger. Now that is traumatizing.”

  She’s unswayed. “That doesn’t discount the emotional distress of school children who witnessed a werewolf swallowing a family of woodland animals whole.”

  Finn straightens. “Whole? You’re saying he didn’t even tear into them?” He shrugs and opens his hand like ‘What’s the problem here?’ making Deek’s head and neck bounce and flop miserably. “Jaysus, Mary, and Josephine. You’re really going to try to tell me they haven’t seen worse on TV? No blood means it’s not even rated PG-13.”

  The principal folds her hands in front of herself. “Even if violence and death weren’t an issue, there’s still the problem of your ‘best bloke,’” she puts a heavy degree of disdain in the words, “getting naked in a school parking lot. That’s indecent exposure,” she announces crisply—

  And she’s not wrong.

  Even Finn winces.

  Deek moans apologetically.

  Finn sighs and bangs his hand behind himself, striking affectionately over Deek’s ribs, making a hollow thudding noise. “I know,” he murmurs.

  “He’d never hurt us kids!” Maggie explodes. “You can trust him—Deek is a priest.”

  Everyone blinks. Even Deek.


  Finn moves to us and shifts his werewolf passenger enough to lean down and grip Maggie’s shoulder gently. “Darlin,’” he whispers, “I know you want to help your friend Deek, but it turns out that a man who gets naked in front of children is trusted less if he happens to have an affiliation with a church, so… leave this one to me, swayt hart. Okay?”

  Reluctantly, Maggie nods.

  Finn ups the wattage on his smile for the principal. “I have every faith that Lucan tried his best to hide before he shifted. And I’m also willing to bet that he moved into his clothes as quickly as possible.”

  She says nothing.

  Finn rolls the shoulder that is not supporting the heavy half of the werewolf. “Okay then. As you know, the laws are a bit different for werewolves. He meant no harm, but if you feel you need to turn this matter over to the police, I have the number to our official liaison at the precinct.”

  After a moment of frosty deliberation wherein she glances to the school’s officer for some cue—she finally shakes her head.

  Finn gives her a genuinely commiserating smile. “On behalf of the wolves, I extend our sincerest apologies that you’re going to be facing angry parents for days after this incident.” He licks his lip, bites it. “I’m going to leave you with our card. If anyone feels the need to reach out to us for further assurances, they can. All right?” Deek bumps up and down as Finn’s shoulder rotates, his hand slipping into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. Finn hands the principal a card. “Thank you,” he tells her. “We’ll be sure to be more careful in the future.”

  With that, we’re allowed to leave the school. First though, we have to part ways with a tearful Maggie (who hands me a llama backpack she explains is Deek’s), after which, a stress-smiling Finn carries a morose werewolf proudly out of the school doors.

  Deek stays limp in Finn’s arms. He’s resting against Finn’s chest now, his neck flopped over his elbow. He looks like one of those soft mount taxidermy bodies where an artist has taken an animal and turned it into a life-sized, ultra-lifelike stuffed animal.

  Although those creations don’t generally have their features frozen into expressions of utter depression and gloom.

  When Finn pulls up in front of my house, he opens the passenger door and hauls Deek out because Deek is still too despondent to rise. He carries him up to the front door, where he waits for me to unlock it. When he sets Deek down, I expect our werewolf to scurry to the basement.

  To my surprise, he doesn’t. He collapses there on the floor, sighing heavily, gaze downcast.

  Finn rubs his temples. “Don’t worry about it, Lucan. This’ll be nothing. All right?”

  Deek sighs again.

  Finn nudges him with the toe of his boot. “Do you need anything before we head back to work?”

  Seeing me set down the backpack with his cell phone in it, Deek shakes his muzzle side to side, just once.

  Finn bends down to pat him between his held-low ears. “All right. Take care. You know how to reach me if you need to.”

  With that, Finn takes me by the elbow and starts to steer me to the door.

  But I stop. “Hang on.” Finn releases me easily, and I turn back to Deek, dropping down to my knees and petting his ruff. “You know, Maggie said you were only there to bring something to Charlotte. Thank you for that. That was really nice of you.” Not sure what else to say, I grab either side of his cheeks and bring his head up so that I can kiss him on his big nose.

  For one second, his shocked eyes meet mine. But they dart away just as quickly, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, so I let him go. “Bye, Deek.”

  To my surprise, he turns into a man. A very, very naked man. He stays crouched in an obvious bid to protect his modesty.

  Quietly, he says, “Thank you. And Susan, I…” He shakes his head. “Have a good rest of your shift.”

  His eyes are level with mine now, and he glances at me just long enough to catch my smile.

  He answers it with the barest, weakest curving of his own lips—but he’s smiling back at me. He’s looking at me while he does it—and something low in my center stirs nicely.

  Slowly, I stand back, giving him a last wave. I join Finn at the door, not noticing his appraisal. Not catching the considering glance he turns on Deek.

  And I definitely miss the way Deek shakes his head stiffly, eyes down, an act of guilt-ridden negation, before he turns werewolf once more and sprints for the basement.

  CHAPTER 23

  SUSAN

  Before I make it to the door, Finn excuses himself to thump down to the basement to have a private word with a clearly defeated-feeling Deek. But then he’s leading the way to his car and he drives us back to work, where I punch in and head to the hostess station so they know I’ve returned and I’m ready to take tables.

  It’s a busy afternoon. I’m rubbing my sore wrists, thinking I need to start wearing a wrist brace to save me when I have to carry the large food trays, when Finn snags me off the floor.

  “Kelly, can you take the floor for a minute?” he calls out.

  “Sure thing,” she replies, confused.

  And I share her puzzlement. “What’s up, Finn?” I ask. “It’s kinda crazy right now. Kelly is going to get swamped if I don’t—”

  “This won’t take long,” he assures. “And in about two minutes, you’re going to take her place and send her over here. Take this.”

  He holds out a white washcloth.

  I take it. “Okay—”

  That’s when I realize it’s not a washcloth. Holding the little thing in my hand, I see it has tiny straps, and it’s… an itty bitty tank top. I shake it out and find the pub’s logo emblazoned across the left breast—a wolf head silhouetted in front of a full moon.

  “Thanks?” I say. “With Deek’s fur coat, we’ve got the house set to sub-zero so I’m more likely to wear sweaters to bed, not tanks, but—”

  “That’s not for bed,” Finn cuts in. “That’s your new uniform.”

  I stare at him. I swallow. “Like… this goes under a shirt?”

  He gives me an affectionately patronizing smile. “No.”

  I stare at him harder. My fist is squeezing the tank top so sternly it should puff into thin air, it’s tiny little self-pulverized. “Please be joking.”

  Finn tips his head and his lips curve up in a wide grin. “Not about this.” He jerks his chin at where I’m gripping the thing. “Do me a favor and don’t crumple that shirt up just yet.”

  “This isn’t a shirt!”

  “The ink is fresh: I just got it from the printer’s shop next door. They’re doing up a bunch for us. Costs us eighteen dollars a go.”

  I gasp and bring the tank top up. “It costs eighteen dollars? For this?”

  His eyes drop down to the level of my breasts. My breasts, which aren’t used to being publicly displayed in tank tops that cover less than bathing suits. While I lean over tables and across customers to deliver food and drinks. This is a disaster. “It’s going to be worth every pretty penny. Because, trust me, you need my help. Here are the shorts.”

  He hands me a set of shorts that wouldn’t fit Barbie’s little sister Skipper.

  I sputter. “You’re trying to ‘help’ me? With what?” Getting practically naked?

  His gaze hops back up to mine. Serene. “Attention.”

  “Who’s? Why?” I demand, pinching the scrap of white fabric between my finger and thumb and shaking it like it's a dead squirrel. “Seriously! What is this? We’re not Hooters!”

  “Hooters is a family restaurant,” Finn says piously. But then he breaks and grins like—well? Like a wolf. “And families are going to love what we offer.”

  “Offer?” I huff out. “And what exactly are ‘we’ offering?”

  “A unique dining experience,” he replies easily, pulling out his phone. “And from now on, you wear your hair down.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He peers at his screen. “I suggest you style it
with… beachy waves? Looks like that's what they're called.” He flicks the screen at me.

  I stare at him. “Do you know how much time it takes to style hair every day?”

  Finn shrugs, glancing back at his phone’s screen. “Says here they take five minutes.”

  Absolutely shocked, I can only gape up at him.

  Finn snatches both the tank and shorts out of my limp hands and waves me on. “Go watch tables and send Kelly over. I’ll fill her and the rest of the staff in, and you'll be getting set up with a week’s worth of uniforms at the end of your shifts. Pub paid-for.”

  Unable to say a word, I blindly face the side of the room with patrons and pull out my notepad and pen. The hostess, Sally, points to a group just settling themselves in. “Hi,” I say dazedly—and seeing no regulars among them, I add, “Welcome to The Gargled Werewolf Pub. What can I get you for drinks?”

  When I reach Kelly and tell her to meet with Finn, she squeezes past me, frowning and giving me a worried glance.

  I eye her back and mentally send her the message: Brace yourself. I picture Finn again with his phone. Work-required beach waves!

  I shake myself and smile at the customers, collecting their drink requests on auto-pilot. “Got it,” I murmur when they’re done, clicking my pen and hurrying off to fill their liquid orders.

  ***

  “Who asked for no onions?” I say, my wrist screaming under the weight of the triple burger platter I’m holding aloft as I pass a fish basket to the table of twelve suits I’m serving.

  “Me,” a woman calls, holding up an index finger and giving me a shy smile.

  “Here you g—” I start. But my wrist quits, spasming painfully—and the platter tilts and slides right off of my hand.

  The yelped cries of sympathetic dismay haven’t finished leaving the business group’s lips when the platter’s trajectory swerves suddenly upward and catches not only the flying burger but the fries that were about to rain down to the floor.

  The food was saved by Finn, who slipped in next to me like a ninja.