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Wolves of Wet Waterfalls is a sexy hot reverse harem novella series.
The three stories in the novella trilogy are Stealing Joy, Finding Home, and Ending Torment.
Available for presale!
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Chapter 5… In which Mary would rather travel without a proper companion in Marshal Hunt’s company than be in the same parlor with Pythagorus a moment longer.
Marshall Hunt took over the entire chamber. Mary couldn’t take her eyes from him. He not only physically filled the space, but his presence also sucked the oxygen out of the room. Mary found it difficult to breathe.
Charles and Pythagorus kept taunting him with stupid questions. They were all stupid questions.
Mary worried her hands together.
How could her grandfather have sent such a man to escort her back to San Francisco? Didn’t that old man understand just how inappropriate all of this was?
“Mr. Hunt,” she finally brought herself to ask the one question that she could not fathom.
“How exactly did my grandfather come to have you in his employment?”
He turned and leveled his gaze on her. She sucked in her breath as those blue eyes looked over her. Her entire body thrummed with the power he emitted. And she was to be in his company for a full week.
This was unconscionable, how dare her grandfather not hire a proper escort like a matronly widow?
“Miss, Mr. Dryer hired me while I stood in his parlor. Our fairs are paid for, and we have separate staterooms. My job is to make sure you get from place A to place B. You will be safe.”
“I think we must object to this,” Janey finally contributed something to Mary’s situation. Unfortunately, she wasn’t effectively helping Mary.
“I could go with. Another person to ensure of Miss Mary’s security.”
Mary cut a hard glare across the room at Pythagorus. Marshall Hunt made her nervous, but Pythagorus now turned her stomach. And to think that even before lunch this afternoon she was considering him as a potential suitor.
“That’s a brilliant idea. Charles, you go,” Janey said. “Mr. Hunt, your services won’t be required as my husband will escort my sister back to San Francisco.”
Charles coughed uncomfortably. “Janey dearest, I would have to rearrange my appointments.”
“Janey,” Mary said in a scolding tone.
None of this was appropriate: her grandfather contracting with a rough man such as this one that stood before her, Charles choking on his own breath trying to get out of traveling as a guardian, and Pythagorus twirling his mustaches in the corner like some melodrama villain.
“Mr. Hunt, would you object if I found a respectable traveling companion to accompany me on the journey? I doubt you will find my conversation to be passing of interest.”
The tall man nodded, and his eyes flashed an unreasonable blue. “Miss if that would serve your needs to ensure the safety of your person, by all means, secure yourself a traveling companion. But mind you, she needs to be responsible for her own actions. I am not some babysitter of the weaker sex. I am a transporter, and you are a package I have been paid quite well to ensure the safe delivery of.”
Mary grasped her hand on her throat in shock. The crassness of this man discussing payment in company such as this.
“Mary,” Mr. Peterson artfully slid his hand into her free one, and lifted it to his lips.
His heavily waxed mustache tickled the back of her hand, and she unexpectedly let out a giggle. She flushed, not in delight of his touch, but in shame that she displayed such a lack of control.
“Allow me to be the one to deliver you back to San Francisco, and safely to the bosom of your grandfather. Together we can experience this vast country.”
Her gut instinct was to snatch her hand away. Pythagorus was not interested in experiencing anything but what was under her skirts. There was no way she wanted that man anywhere near her while confined on a train.
Slowly, and with a coy smile, she removed her hand from his.
“While I do appreciate your offer, Mr. Peterson, I will decline. Just as it is inappropriate for a young lady of my status to travel unaccompanied with a complete stranger as my escort, I believe it would be beyond scandalous for my escort to be a friend such as yourself. You have business here to attend to. No, I will secure myself a proper lady’s companion, and trust that Mr. Hunt is only concerned with my well being, as a package he is to deliver.”
Pythagorus began huffing and making objecting sounds.
Marshall Hunt cleared his throat.
Mary felt trapped between a snake and a hard place.
“How soon do we leave?”
©2019 Lulu M. Sylvian
need to catch up? Read Chapter Four here!
I didn’t know how to express the feelings I experienced. Hell, they barely felt like feelings. They felt like exhaustion, commitment, obligation. It was slogging and difficult work.
Anything and everything I had done in my life for the past eight years I revisited with tweezers and magnifying glass scrutiny. How could I have changed the outcome? Why didn’t I have the outcome I thought I wanted. How could I go back and change everything?
I began having dreams where I could time travel and now-me would tell past me to make little changes.
I would wake up because I couldn’t breathe.
My apartment felt confining, constricting. I ran outside just to breathe more than once. I had waking nightmares of dropping Myrna. At those times I would look into the side crib, assure myself that everything was alright, and then stay up for hours just watching Myrna breathe. She was here, she was safe.
I hadn’t forgotten to feed her or change her diapers. I hadn’t left her someplace and then not been able to remember.
I started to look up my foibles so many times. Each time I either couldn’t complete filling out the search field, or I would not click on the links.
When I finally clicked on one of the links I fell down a rabbit hole of patient cure thyself bull. Blogs that looked like they had useful articles denied the existence of postpartum depression, others tried to sell me essential oils to get out of my funk. And too many of them assumed I had a partner who could help me with my burden of guilt.
©2019 Lulu M. Sylvian,currently untitled from the Phantom Stars Trilogy
Mary held a kerchief over her mouth, to protect her delicate sensibilities from the spewing smoke of Mr Peterson’s vile contraption.
Charles and Pythagorus were having a mighty fine time, and that was fine by Mary. The more time they spent oohing and ahhing over the noisy machine the less time Pythagorus Peterson spent vying for her attention.
And to think, she had been hoping for a proposal from the man. He had turned into a positively repugnant human being. And she had thought she had known the man.
He had insulted her at every turn, making insinuations and undesired advances. She pursed her mouth and set her brow, at least she had found out how distasteful of a human he was now. She would never have been able to put up with his misdeed if they had gotten married
Janey sat, not saying a word, but she patted Mary’s hand in sympathy. Of course, Mary figured her sister assumed she was upset over the loss of opportunity at a future connection with the Peterson family, instead of what was really upsetting Mary. Py insulted Mary and no one, not Charles, not Janey, had defended her honor.
She claimed to feel faint to avoid their post-luncheon stroll. However, now she felt trapped on the riding platform.
Py’s carriage crawled along at a dreadful pace. He claimed they were traveling at a brisk ten miles an hour. Mary questioned the validity of his claim, as she watched horses, and people of foot outpace them.
They crawled around the corner, and finally made it to the street with Janey’s house.
Mary’s heart lurched, or maybe that was her ride.
A dark figure lurked in the shadows on the porch. Dark full-length duster, dark hat, dark. Mary’s breath hitched, or maybe that was the ride lurching again.
With a cough and a spit they stopped.
The dark figure descended the stairs.
Charles puffed up his chest and jumped from the platform. His attempt at an aggression display brought a smile to Mary’s lips. Charles was so pitiful.
With a sigh Janey declared, “He is so manly.”
Mary stifled a choke. “He is.” She didn’t mean Charles.
Charles puffed, while the other man loomed. He was a giant of a man, not only tall but broad through the shoulder. His face was hidden by the brim of his hat, but Mary could make out the line of a strong square jaw.
Charles returned to their ride and reached up pulling the step stool down.
Janey reached forward and stepped delicately down with the assistance of her husband.
Mary felt a chill slither up her spine. She turned and faced Pythagorus. In full view of everyone on the street, and those who cared to look out their window, Pythagorus pulled Mary against his chest.
With a gasp, she shoved hard against him before e could open his mouth and insult her yet again.
The action propelled Mary out of his arms and to the edge of the platform.
Her heel slipped. She teetered for what felt an eternity. In slow motion, Mary slid backward. She hung in space, the clouds adorable little animals of puff in a perfectly blue sky.
A scream split the silence.
She fell forever, knowing that this was the death of her. She held her breath waiting for the hard impact as she crashed to the pavement.
The hard crack of her death didn’t come. She fell softly and was lifted, her vision heading back up into the sky.
Suddenly she was upright and held firmly against a wall of leather. Slowly she slid down, aware that on the other side of that leather was a man.
“You all right Ma’am?”
The rumble of voice had a soft drawl to it.
Mary looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The face of her rescuer was rugged, yet majestic, strong yet beautiful.
Breathlessly she answered, “I believe you have saved my life.”
“My pleasure Mary.”
Her name rolled from his lips like thunder and shook her to her toes. A sensation she had only ever experienced during a spring storm full of lightning. His arms still held her close to his body.
She didn’t fight to escape, she didn’t want to.
“You know me? I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”
“Hunt, Marshall Hunt. George Dryer hired me to escort you to San Francisco.”
©2018 Lulu M Sylvian
Come back next month when Mary learns who exactly Marshall Hunt is
“Oh,” Mary paused as she stepped onto the porch.
Immediately in front of the house, making an infernal rattling noise, and coughing up smoke, a carriage, but no horses rumbled noisily in the road.
Charles climbed up onto the device with the joy of a child.
“Pythagorus, this is astounding!” he called out, loudly so he could be heard about the din.
Py smiled and swaggered to stand next to the contraption.
“Isn’t it just? I’ve the only one in Chicago. I swear the future is steam powered. My uncle already made his fortune thanks to the steam engine. I’m going to make mine with the rail-less passenger compartment.”
“I do believe Charles has found another scheme to invest our income in dear sister,” Janey confided to Mary as the two women stood on the walk gaping in wonderment at the machine.
The wheels, six of them, varied in size from small baby pram sized ones in the front to standard horse carriage ones in the middle to extra tall high wheeler sized ones in the back. Between the largest wheels, an oak barrel bound with shiny copper perched, with what appeared to be a wood-burning kitchen stove attached at the back.
Charles reached down and positively pulled Janey up into the riding compartment, which was barely more than a platform with benches. It was a good thing the weather today was lovely. Mary didn’t think riding this rail-less monstrosity looked to be particularly comfortable. She grimaced at the thought of being hauled up as if she were live stock or having to sit upon it in the rain.. Her face twisted into what she expected to be a most unpleasant continence.
Her sister was married and didn’t need to behave with propriety, but Mary was betrothed to whom she could only assume was a man of position. She needed a means of ascending to the riding platform with decorum. She turned back to look up at Janey’s house. As expected a good portion of the household staff were inappropriately gawping at Pythagorus’s toy.
“Would one of you fetch me a step stool?” she asked the gathering crowd of staff members. A disheveled young boy disappeared in a flash.
“Mary, Mary, Mary why not allow me to raise you to lofty heights in my arms?” Pythagorus lowered his lids to give Mary a positively indecent leer.
Had the subtext of his meaning missed her ears, his expression did not.
“Mr. Peterson you go too far!” Mary reached up and slapped him smartly across the cheek.
“Mary, how dare you?” Janey cried out.
Py chuckled and rubbed a gloved hand over the smarting cheek.
Mary thought she heard him mutter, “Clearly I haven’t gone far enough.”
She shot him a withering glare.
Py gave her a charming grin and made a sweeping gesture at his rail-less metal beast. “I simple meant it is of no consequence for me to lift you aboard. I humbly beg your pardon for my play of words.”
“Miss.” The small scullery lad held up a step stool, presenting his discovery to Mary and Pythagorus Peterson.
“Well done me boy, well done. If this isn’t just the very thing, we’ll take it with us so that when we arrive at our lunch the ladies may descend without difficulty.” Pythagorus swept the stool away from the lad and ruffled the boy’s hair.
He placed the step in the road and held out his hand so that Mary could step up and step again, reaching the platform without incident. Py tossed the stool up before leaping to join his party.
“Hold on my compatriots, we are going to be heading off at the daring speed of almost fifteen miles an hour.”
“I say Py how did you manage to calculate that?” Charles asked. He held onto on the side rails, and leaned forward, not unlike a daring passenger standing at the bow of a ship as it crashed into the oncoming waves.
Janey pulled at his sleeve. “Come back from there it’s dangerous Charles.”
“You know Nate Phillips?” Pythagorus called from the rear of his contraption.
“Nate Nate the one we hate?”
“The very one!”
“Good friend of mine went to boarding school together. Horsey type these days.”
“Precisely, I put the old girl to her paces up against one of his trotters. We took one of his known runners and she was able to match speed.” Py boasted.
“Couldn’t you just as easily timed a measured distance?” Mary asked. Setting up a horse race with this carriage thing seemed like so much fluff and nonsense.
“Where is the fun in that?” Pythagorus turned his attention to some dials and nobs. “Hold on, off we go!”
And with a mighty lurch and a bellow of smoke, the rail-less passenger compartment rolled its way slowly northbound toward their dining destination.
©2018 Lulu M Sylvian
Join us next month when Mary asks, “Who is that man?”
Catch up from the beginning with Chapter 1
Mary stood and clasped her hands together. “Have Henrietta prepare my puce gown. Janey, you win. I shall be the one to change, green is now too festive for me to wear. Charles, would you be so kind as to write Mr. Peterson and cancel our luncheon? It is no longer appropriate for me to accept his invitation.”
“Good God girl, what has transpired for such drastic actions?” Charles blustered about the sitting room.
“Maybe we could still accompany Mr. Peterson, and explain to Grandfather?” Janey pleaded. At least she understood the predicament their grandfather had put Mary in.
Mary bit her knuckles and faced out the front window. “How can I?” She faced her sister and brother-in-law in the room so quickly her skirts twisted, and twirled one direction and then back in the opposite direction. Mary grabbed a fist of the acidic green skirts to keep the fabric from further movement.
“Janey, show him.” Mary nodded at the crumpled telegraph her sister now held.
Janey held up her hand with the paper to her husband. “Oh, Charles it is simply horrid.”
Charles took the paper. His eyes scanned over the message more than once. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he chuckled with egotistic mirth.
“Oh Charles, how could you?” Janey collapsed against the arm of the couch.
Mary swept from the room and climbed the stairs to her chambers.
Grandfather had secured and accepted a proposal for marriage from a wealthy man in San Francisco. She didn’t even know the man’s name. All Grandfather’s missive said was that she needed to return to San Francisco immediately, a husband has been located for her.
She shivered. He was probably one of Grandfather’s cronies, old and fat, and slobbery. He wouldn’t have mustaches as handsome as the young Mr. Peterson.
Mary stood numbly as Henrietta changed the festive green dress for the more simple day dress with a smaller, understated bustle.
She descended back to the main floor of the house only to stop in her tracks. She had distinctly remembered requesting that Charles cancel with Mr. Peterson. There had been plenty of time to jot down a note and have it sent out in the post. But here was Mr. Peterson handing over his walking stick and hat.
“Miss Mary, you look well.” His smile was hidden under his waxed and style mustache.
Mary gathered her senses about her and extended her hand in greeting as she continued down the stairs. She had not intended on making an entrance, and yet, here she was, making an entrance.
“Mr. Peterson, I’m caught off guard. Did not Charles send you a note explaining our situation in this morning’s post?”
Pythagorus Peterson pulled Mary into his sphere of space and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He stepped toward the parlor.
He held up a folded, yet still sealed, envelope. “This came just as I was stepping out to attend you here. I must confess I have yet to read it. Since I have traveled all the way here why don’t you tell me what this says? Whatever the news I would much rather hear it from your delightful lips.”
A sob escaped Mary’s throat. She turned to hide her face against his arm. “Mr. Peterson you are too bold. You make presumptions.” She pulled away and ran to hide behind the sitting couch, unaware that she posed in the sunlight framed but the front drapes.
Janey stood and reached for Mr. Peterson. “Oh, we have had distressing news, Mr. Peterson. We have only now been made aware that Mary had been betrothed and must return to San Francisco.”
“You see it would be inappropriate for me to dine with you this afternoon,” Mary cried into her handkerchief.
“Nonsense, we are old friends, and we are allowed to dine together. I will hear none of this. Charles would you, your lovely wife, and her delightful sister, please join me for lunch today? The arrangements have all been made, and I am starving. And my dear Mary, now that we have been downgraded to merely friends I insist you call me Py.” He smiled brightly at them all.
Mary blinked tears from her eyes, he was charm itself. She would miss his company once she returned to the bay area.
“Janey you are too lovely in my favorite color not to insist that Charles bring you out this lovely day.” Pythagorus extended his hand to her and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped Janey’s hand around his arm and patted it.
“I expect you to tell me everything you know about Mary’s fiancé, do fill me in.” He guided Janey from the room.
Mary stared at Charles with wide eyes. It looked as if they were headed to lunch at the Palmer House after all, and she was wearing puce.
@2018 Lulu M Sylvian
This time last year my published work of fiction was released!
The Twelve Strippers of Christmas was the result of an epic challenge, and being the slightly competitive person that I was, I stepped in it.
Most authors will tell you, they are tempted by the “Oh shiny” prospect of the next story, another idea in the middle of a deadline. Two years ago my distractions kept coming in the form of male strippers. They were dancing in, and flexing muscles and demanding my attention.
I described this problem to a few writer friends, and the solution to write short stories to “get these guys out of your hair” was proposed. Which somehow led to a discussion of when to release for holiday novels, which led to:
How could I not prove her right?
As far as Bobby is aware, he is the only one of his kind—a true lone wolf. He fills his days with running his bar, and his nights with emotionless encounters. After all, hooking up with him, the self-proclaimed town man-whore, is as easy as crashing into his buggy in the grocery store. Everything changes when he sees an angel.
When new math teacher Ramona moves to town, Bobby sees a glow around her and is convinced she’s the angel he can finally trust with what he really is. He just has to get her to trust him first…
Ramona is no angel; she’s run away from a relationship gone bad in the big city, to a small town where football is king. The last thing she needs or wants is the town playboy pursuing her. She doesn’t want a man. Doesn’t need one. Her focus is on making sure the star quarterback passes high school math. Her plans fly out the window when Bobby makes an oddball request.
Bobby finally finds a way to be with her—convincing her she can teach him how to be friends with a woman—he’s put himself in the worst position. He has Ramona, but not the way he wants. She’s learning to trust him, but his reputation is holding her back. Can Bobby trust her with the secret he’s managed to keep his whole life? Or will his past put Ramona in danger?