Just For Kicks. Susan Andersen
Читать онлайн книгу.
were grinning. “Isn’t it great? And as much as I hate to admit it, I have Mr. Stick Up the Butt to thank.”
“Who? Oh, Wolfgang, you mean?” Mack leaned forward. “So if he already came up with this, why not just ask him for more commands?”
“And admit the one he issued while he was busy insulting me worked? That’ll be a frosty day in hell.”
“Of course, what was I thinking?” the father of two grown daughters said with a shrug. “I forgot for a minute there that I was dealing with a female.”
“That’s very amusing, dear,” Ellen told him dryly. But the two exchanged a glance so full of love that Carly set down her coffee cup.
“Enough about me,” she said. “Do you have the photos back from your trip to Italy yet? And how are the plans going for the wedding? Pass those cookies and catch me up on the latest.”
But even as she looked at vacation pictures and listened to her friends’ plans, she admitted something she’d give a bundle to ignore.
A cold day in hell had apparently arrived. Because for Rufus’s sake she was probably going to swallow her pride for a second time and ask Wolfgang Jones for help, after all.
CHAPTER FOUR
WOLF PACED THE AREA outside the security checkpoint at McCarren International Airport. The plane was late—and he couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing.
He was anxious to see his folks, but this crazy idea of his mother’s would never work. Had he been able to convince her of that over the phone, however? Hell, no.
He damn well would, though—just as soon as he had a chance to talk to her in person. Meanwhile, she and Dad were dragging his nephew Niklaus here for no good reason.
That wasn’t his mother’s take on the situation, of course. And Wolf did see the disadvantage of Niklaus having to pull up stakes yet one more time. The mere thought made his jaw tighten because he’d been there and done that himself. Just how many changes of address would this make for his parents, anyhow? He’d personally lost track of the number of times they’d moved by the time he was eleven. His dad, then an American G.I., had met his future wife in Stuttgart in the late sixties. He’d promptly married her, and by the time Wolf was born in Fort Benning, Georgia, four years later, his parents had already lived on two different bases. His sister, Katarina, had been born in Camp Zama, Japan, and by the middle of elementary school Wolf had also lived in Heidelberg, Germany, and Shape-Chievres, Belgium, as well as on two or three American bases, the names of which he no longer even recalled. He’d had several additional stateside bases under his belt by the time the old man finally retired from the service.
Not that the traveling had stopped then. Oh, no. His father—
“Hey, son!”
—was striding down the concourse toward him. Wrenching his thoughts out of the past, Wolf watched his dad approach and felt the same confused mixture of emotions the older man had always brought out in him: the helpless love that warmed Wolf’s heart; the disquieting desire for his father’s attention; the simmering resentment that never failed to churn in his gut.
Tall and loose-limbed, Rick Jones walked right up to him and looped a wiry arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug and a manly slap on the back. Wolf caught a faint whiff of beer on his breath, then it was gone as his father pushed him back to hold him at arm’s length.
“Look at you!” Rick said. “You look the picture of success! Are you getting everything you ever dreamed of all those years moping around the embassies?”
“I’m working on it.” If his voice was a little stiff, well, blame it on the raft of memories inundating him. Memories of all the official quarters of the ambassador he’d been dragged to as a teenager, following Rick’s retirement from the army. Of always being viewed as a loser from the wrong side of those embassy doors simply because his old man had been the supply officer rather than an administrative aide or an ambassador. Recollections of the desire that had been born inside of him for something more, something that would put him squarely on the right side of those doors.
He shook the memories aside. “Where’s Mom and Niklaus?”
“They’re coming. All the soda the kid drank on the plane caught up with him, and you know your mother. She doesn’t think anyone can find their way anywhere without her help.”
Or maybe she thinks that Niklaus shouldn’t have to make his way alone through a strange airport.
“She’s been dying to see you, you know,” Rick continued. “What’s it been, cub? Two years? Three?”
Cub. Images of his father flickered across his mind’s screen, faded films of a much younger Rick tossing him up in the air and catching him, tossing him and catching him again while Wolf shrieked with laughter. He heard an echo of his dad’s voice saying, “How’s my little wolf cub? You been a good boy for your mama?”
Then the images were supplanted by the vision of Rick being gone, even when there was no reason for him to be. Of him always being absent when he was needed most. “It’s been a little over two years,” he said coolly. “The last time was in Santiago, when I came down to visit you and Mom.”
“Wolfgang?”
He turned at the sound of his mother’s voice, warmth washing over him at the retained accents of her native Bavaria. That hadn’t changed even after years and years of stateside military postings. Plump and rosy cheeked, dressed in her usual style-free sturdy clothing, she bustled past the security checkpoint. A lanky teen he could only assume was Niklaus slouched in her wake, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Good God, had it really been that long since Wolf had last seen him? The boy he remembered had grown from a chubby-cheeked youngster into a teenager with the Joneses’ long bones and skyscraper height. The only things that still looked familiar were Niklaus’s shiny brown, stick-straight hair and his hazel-green eyes.
Wolf’s mother shot Rick a chastising look. “You might have waited, Richard,” she said with her usual brisk sternness.
But then her eyes turned softly upon her son, and dimples appeared in her cheeks when she smiled at Wolf. She held her plump hands out to him. “Hallo, Liebling.” Stopping in front of him, she rose onto her toes to enfold him in her arms.
He hugged her tightly in return, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla. Maria Jones may never have been as much fun as his father, but she had been the one constant in his life, a steady and reliable guiding light. “Guten tag, Mom. Willkommen.” Over her shoulder he met his nephew’s gaze. “Hey, Niklaus. It’s good to see you.”
The teen grunted.
Maria released him and stepped back, reaching to brush her hands over his lapels. “Look at you in this beautiful suit! You look so successful, so handsome.” Grasping his hand, she gave it a tug. “Let’s go collect our luggage. I’m anxious to see your home.”
He ushered them through Baggage Claim and out to the lot where he’d left his car. Rick exclaimed over the Ford coupe and even Niklaus’s eyes lit up, although he was playing it much too cool to actually say he thought the street rod was a righteous ride.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled into Wolf’s garage at the condo complex and piled out of the car. Niklaus waited impatiently for Wolf to open the trunk, then dug through a large duffel bag and extracted a soccer ball. Bouncing it with casual expertise from one knee to the next, he looked over at his grandmother. “I’m gonna go check out the pool, Gram.”
“There are a couple of pools on the grounds,” Wolf told him then pointed out his building. “We’re in that unit in 301 when you’re ready to come in.”
The teen shrugged and let the ball drop, then kicked it back up with the side of his foot. Snatching it out of the air, he tucked it beneath his arm and walked away without another word.
Maria