Wolf’s Nanny

By Lilly Wilder

I Was Hired To Take Care Of His Children... But He Took Care Of Me In Every Way Imaginable

I was tired of the senseless violence, the grey depression, and Memphis.

Above all, I was tired of running from one district to another, trying to find some form of a normal life.

So, when a nanny position practically fell into my lap, I jumped at it.

Dan Sinclair was a busy but loving father, with two little handfuls who needed constant attention.

So, being a nanny wasn't anything glamorous.

Then again, neither was being a single Dad.

How was I to know this single dad would turn out to be my protector?
How was I to know he was my biggest fear—a wolf shifter?
And how was I to know I'd soon fall in love with two of them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilly Wilder
• Release date: Dec 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215520031

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

If I had known that Darcy’s Tavern would have taken on just about anyone, I probably wouldn’t have bothered applying there in the first place. Not like it was my dream job. Actually, it was far from it. Maybe I’m just being cynical. I guess I’m entitled to it, living in a place where constant cat calls taint your ears on a daily basis, or when someone might be tempted to run you over for the last $25 in your purse. I should get the Hell out of here, I know that. But, it’s hard. It’s so gosh darn hard.

You don’t expect much as a bartender. And, you learn to expect even less in a city like Memphis. You think they would have pulled the plug on us a long time ago. And from the looks of it, they already had. It was one of those public secrets. After all, who needed Highland Heights when there were perfectly nice condos out in Olive Branch and Germantown?

Darcy’s Tavern was one of those places a decent girl wouldn’t be caught dead in. By decent, I mean nice, polite, employed. That last one counted most. I unfortunately, couldn’t cross that off my list. That was why I needed any job I could get my hands on, even something as unappealing as waitressing at Darcy’s Tavern.

When I got there, I asked for the owner, and someone pointed me towards a door in the corner. I knocked, and someone from inside yelled to come in. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a single second, then opened them quickly. I was nervous. I didn’t want to be here. Hell, I wanted to be miles away, but that was hard to do with an empty wallet. I needed to settle down for a short while, and try to save some money, so I could go somewhere safer, somewhere where I’d be able to root.

Whaddya want?

A man eyed me from a small desk, tucked in at the far end of the small, crowded room. I suspected it was initially supposed to serve as a storage of some sort, but someone changed their mind about it. It wasn’t an office, despite the items in there that were supposed to make it resemble one. A desk was there. A filing cabinet. A Turkish carpet, a little shabby, but still with a few good years left. I stepped over it as I got closer.

Good afternoon, I’m here to inquire about the job... I started.

He asked for my name and to tell him about myself. There wasn’t much to tell. Nothing that I wanted to share really. So, I concocted a safe story, one that would flesh me out as a normal person, and not someone trying to escape their own past.

I didn’t even mind so much that Old Man Winslow kept his eyes fixated on my chest during the entire interview. It made me uneasy, but I needed this job. I needed it badly. I tried to shy away from looking at him directly in the eyes, because then, I saw where his were pointed. So, I tried to look somewhere behind him, at the musky walls, the fly-ridden corners and the old, dusty jukebox, which belonged outside, and not here. It was probably broken, I figured.

Are you... familiar at all with our establishment? he asked, distrustfully, his eyes wandering up and down, all over me.

Honestly, no, I replied. I thought of lying, which might help in the short run. Not in the long term.

I see. Well, you certainly look the part... Even given your obvious lack of experience in this district.

But back in Lucet Village—

Now, Miss Delaney, I always hated when people called me by my last name. This is the Heights. We’re not Lucet Village. And Darcy’s may not look like much. But we have a reputation. And part of that reputation is built on the fact that we’re one of the few establishments that doesn’t cater to... certain elements. Do you understand?

Loud and clear, Mr. Winslow, I lied this time. I needed to.

Good. So when can you start?

CHAPTER TWO

I was back the following day, with a lack of hope that there would be much of anything in this job. But, I stuck around. Right from the onset, I learned several important things regarding this place and why the owner had such a high opinion of himself.

Darcy’s was one of those old-style dives from the 20th century that tourists used to come see back in the day. Dragging music on in the background. A place where you could always be targeted for something. Even if you were keeping your mouth shut and your gaze looking down, at your feet. My mom used to tell me about these kinds of places. But, she had never actually been to one. Tourists didn’t even bother to come down to Memphis anymore. There simply wasn’t any history left to come to. Just violence, washed out faces and the senile ramblings of a few old timers who remembered the days prior to the Onyx Depression.

In Memphis, names don’t change to protect innocence. We’re all guilty. At least, that was what my mom taught me.

Agnella trained me on my first day. I knew her name was probably Angela, but why she insisted on Agnella is still a mystery to me. Not that I minded. It was none of my business.

In order to get paid, she explained, You need to make sure every order is clearly stamped on your chit card. Even if it’s a glass of water. That’s why you don’t drink on the job until it’s at least your second week.

I wasn’t planning to.

That’s a good one, she eyed me, tilting her head a little to the side.

No, I’m serious. I wasn’t planning to.

Alanna, everybody drinks on the job. You think you’re just going to get tips with that red hair of yours, honey?

I nodded, not certain if she was serious. I really had no intention of drinking, but she wasn’t buying it.

Now during the day, we’ve got a lot of old farts from back before the Depression. They don’t tip unless you listen to their stories. You’ve got a pa. I’m sure you heard ‘em all before.

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. But, I simply gritted my teeth.

Er... I haven’t seen him since I was 7 years old or something like that.

How old did you say you were again, hon?

27, I mumbled.

Well, ain’t he lucky?

I knew I should have walked out then and there. But, something kept me there. After a while, I learned the names of all the regulars, I learned their poison, too. I could hide behind the bar, in the murky depths of someone’s drunken haze. It was as good of a place as any other to hide. Hiding in plain sight. Sometimes that was the best. Or, maybe what kept me there was Agnella’s ramblings. Listening to her I could forget about my own life that was in shambles, and that helped keep my mood up. 

Now, every now and then we got these carloads of Chinese coming in from Olive Branch to gamble. Winslow don’t like ‘em, but they tip so he doesn’t say much. The problem is... they like to get themselves a piece of tail when they’re downtown. We can’t have that, OK?

Understood.

Just to clarify, hon... we don’t care if someone brings some tail in. Except for the Chinese.

Mind if I ask why?

She looked at me with suspicion. Just where are you from, Alanna?

Lucet Village.

You poor thing, she chuckled. Well, I’m not certain what it was like in Lucet Village. But here in the district? Tail means only one thing. Wolves.

Er... excuse me?

Er, Wolves? No comprende?

I shook my head.

Wolf shifters, she sighed, going back to work.

Agnella was right about one thing. The old timers didn’t tip. But, not because you had to listen to their stories. It was because they didn’t tip at all.

Even if they did, Agnella would have commanded the lion’s share. She ruled over Darcy’s with an iron fist. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a more joyless woman in my life. Even though she was only in her mid 30s, it looked like every single remnant of life had been sucked out of her. Two ruined marriages. One teenage son who couldn’t seem to find his way in life. And, as a result, one messed up woman. I guess she was just taking out her frustrations on all those around her, and didn’t care one bit that she did it. Sneak outside for a cigarette after a six hour shift? Deduction. Need to pour yourself a glass of water before you lose your voice? Deduction. If she could deduct time from you for stretching your arms or yawning, she would have. I just know it.

But she was Old Man Winslow’s proverbial Queen Bee. That’s probably because her background as a debt collector made sure that every single delinquent tab was paid up by the third Wednesday each month. Every single one. That counted for something.

Where these old timers got the money to drink, I never knew. Pension vouchers were scarcer than fresh fruit in the Heights; and forgery ware was installed in every gas station. Agnella had told me once that a lot of the patrons had hoarded money just prior to the Depression. If that was true, they must have been highly successful doctors or businessmen at some point. Because the sheer volume of booze they drank per day could probably fill an entire swimming pool in Germantown.

But, they weren’t all cheapskates, however. Ari was a good one. He never told me his last name, and I never bothered asking. He had allegedly made a fortune as a movie producer before gambling most of it away just as the Depression was starting. Bad business ventures. Shady real estate deals. Neither Agnella nor the rest of the patrons could stand him—chiefly because of his accent. But, I found him charming and simply a pleasant face to look at. Maybe I even saw a little bit of my father in him. Besides, he always paid in full.

Alanna, he used to say sometimes, his voice oozing with milk and honey. You belong far away from here.

Where? Away from Darcy’s? Or away from the Heights? I would ask, a wisp of hope in my voice, which would quickly be drowned by other voices around.

No, no, no, my dear. From this century.

Really, how could your heart simply not melt when you heard that kind of language? He, too, didn’t belong here. And yet, we both were present and accounted for. That made me sad, but I’d already learned to push that sadness deep down, beneath the surface, and just keep on going. There was nothing else to do.

Ari only came in on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, and I truly felt sad when he wasn’t at his usual seat. He was one of the few saving graces of Darcy’s: witty, urbane and graceful. He clearly didn’t belong at Darcy’s. Or, in Memphis for that matter. He was from an older world—a world clearly unto himself. One I’d like to be a part of, too.

But, his visits started growing scarcer and scarcer until he finally didn’t come in at all. I soon found out why.

That was when the trouble truly began.

CHAPTER THREE

I can’t really remember life before the Onyx Depression. I guess we were happy back then. But, when you’re only 9 years old, all you’re really supposed to know is security. Mostly, there were good times. My parents made sure that the first 9 years of my life were carefree. They shielded me from all that could have hurt my innocent little mind, and for that, I’d always be grateful to them. Unfortunately, sometimes there are things you just can’t keep in the shadows forever, away from your precious one.

Brief flashes of memory come back like cheap fireworks, but you’re a child, and you still love them. Cheap or not. To your child's mind, it’s magic. It’s bending reality into thousands of different colors. It’s a certain promise of something better, something hopeful, something your mind still doesn’t know much about. Maybe it’s a trick of the mind. I remember hearing somewhere that memories only become long term once we rehearse them.

But, the Depression was no rehearsal. It was a living, breathing reality—one that you faced every single morning, woken by the sound of police sirens and hungover retching from the room down your hall. You’d try to be deaf to the sounds, but it was impossible. The sounds would creep back to you, their fingers opening up your ears wide, piercing through any barrier you’d managed to build up. By contrast, Lucet Village seemed positively idyllic. Even if it’s nothing more than a ghost town these days.

Lucet Village wasn’t always its name. When my mom was growing up, it was called Binghamton. She said it was a pretty rough place as a kid, but also artistic. And, that’s what I remember most about the district. The murals. There was always one in particular that stuck out in my mind. It was an enormous and amazingly intricate portrait of a pelican nursing at her own breast that was painted on the side of an abandoned warehouse. I was never certain why the artist chose a pelican, but I adored it. I was mesmerized by it. The other kids were horrified by it. To me, it was breathtaking. When I was a little girl, I actually used to spend hours just talking to it. Communing with it. And, amazingly, it seemed to talk back! I first fell off my bike underneath it. Skipped school underneath it. Kissed my first boy underneath it. But, that was all in the past.

I let out a huge yawn, stretched out my arms and headed towards the sink in my room. I could hear the old man next door screaming at his wife as I splashed some cold water in my eyes. I couldn’t tell what he was saying. I didn’t even want to know. I could smell burnt baking soda flooding in through the cracks of my floorboards. I closed the window and put on the one clean shirt I had.  I was due at Darcy’s in no less than half an hour.

My punctuality record was intact, and I planned on keeping it that way. Sure, it was a shitty job with an even shittier pay, but at least it was something. It was more than many around me could boast of, so I wasn’t complaining.

I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I was dying for a coffee. Black and strong. I figured, I’d pick some up on the way to work. I needed the extra energy boost.

CHAPTER FOUR

It wasn’t too long after my second month at Darcy’s when Old Man Winslow promoted me to the night shift. Apparently, I had earned it. At least, that was what he said. But, that might have been because I was the only other bartender outside of Agnella to bother showing up for my shift.

... and the tips! he explained. The tips! Now that’s where the real money is.

But what about the food? I wondered.

The food? Hell, by the time they come in to order, they’re already so drunk from the casino they don’t even notice it’s just frozen burgers we get at the convenience store!

I couldn’t really say I was surprised by any of this. I felt somewhat dirty that I was in on it, and still went along, but I needed this job. And, I needed it badly.

Still, he was right about one thing. The tips could be... well, enough to pay at least one of my bills. Unfortunately,  it was more than made up for with bad innuendoes and even worse pick up lines I had to endure. The night crowd were mainly wanna-be high rollers from Uptown who wanted to go slumming and try their hands at giving Lady Luck a roll. To call the gaming centers in the Heights, casinos, would be charitable. The most popular was really nothing more than a couple of barely functioning slot machines, a rather forlorn roulette table and an automated service cantina. They were supposed to revitalize Memphis back in the 30s. Instead, they just got the city even more drunk.

On a good night, I could easily get over $100 and change if I played my cards right. This essentially meant giggling, flirting a little and batting my eyelashes. I probably looked like I was having a seizure, that’s how good I was at this thing called flirting. But, the patrons didn’t seem to mind. Agnella was the one who did mind. She was the Queen Bee—the Wicked Stepmother to the poor Cinderella that I was. That meant she was entitled to keep one-third for the house, one-third for management and ten percent for inventory. It was a pretty innovative arithmetic system she was using, but I couldn’t complain. She was the Queen Bee and I needed the job.

Agnella looked upon virtually all of the regulars with complete and utter disdain, with the exception of one. Al Acelo. Al had supposedly been some sort of hotshot attorney at one point, but these days he was just another mean-looking rat sitting on the end of a bar. He made my flesh crawl every time I laid eyes on him. The gaunt face. The beady eyes. The greasy hair. Everything about him seemed to smell of some horrible, flesh-eating disease.

I learned that Al had helped Old Man Winslow out by discovering a pretty significant tax loophole in licensing fees. Actually, not just a loophole. A fissure. A fissure which entitled Al to