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 watched him go, a worried pucker tugging her eyebrows together, and Rick slung his arm around her.
“He’ll be fine,” he said breezily.
Wolf wasn’t so sure. He’d been in Nik’s shoes. He, too, had been dragged from pillar to post, but at least he’d had his mother’s steady presence to anchor him. The only thing he could think to say to alleviate her obvious concern was “I’ll get your bags.” And that was pretty damn weak.
She turned to him. “No, Liebling, leave them. We’re staying at a hotel.”
“Don’t be silly, Mom. I’ve got room, if Niklaus doesn’t mind bunking down on the couch.”
“I told him we’d stay at Circus Circus,” she said, and gave a helpless little shrug that wasn’t at all like her. “I thought it might…help this latest upheaval when we tell him….” She trailed off, then straightened her shoulders and handed him the carry-on case she’d had with her. “I made you a kuchen.”
“Aw, Mom.” It was so quintessentially Maria. No bakeries for his mother. She made her cakes from scratch, and she provided one for every occasion—even if that meant packing it from one continent to another. Carrying the case with the same care she’d no doubt given it the past three thousand miles, he escorted her up to his condo.
Once inside the foyer, he paused to glance over his shoulder at his father, who was bringing up the rear. “So you’re going into business as a beer garden proprietor, huh?” He carefully kept his voice neutral. “That seems appropriate.”
Maria, who had already disappeared into the depths of his apartment, stepped back around the foyer wall and gave him a warning glance. “I’ll not have you sassing your father, Wolfgang,” she warned him austerely, then took the carry-on bag from his hands and disappeared behind the wall again, no doubt to give his kitchen a thorough inspection.
“I’m not, I’m stating a fact. It strikes me as a good
