Just For Kicks. Susan Andersen

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      Because suddenly he had a much bigger problem on his hands than a space-cadet neighbor with dangerously compelling sex appeal.

      His parents were coming to visit him. And they weren’t coming alone.

      CARLY KNOCKED ON HER second-floor neighbors’ door the following morning.

      Ellen answered. “Well, hello, darling,” she said warmly, and stepped back, opening her door wide in welcome. “Come in.”

      But when she did as the petite older woman directed, Ellen’s brow furrowed in concern and she reached out to cup a protective hand around Carly’s elbow. “You’re limping!”

      “Yeah, I got knocked on my keister at the casino last night by a little old lady with a big purse.”

      “Is that Carly I hear?” came a gruff male voice, and Mack, Ellen’s soon-to-be-husband, came into the foyer, folding the sports section of the Review Journal and tucking it beneath his arm. “I thought I recognized that voice. How are you, sweetheart? You’ve been hurt?”

      Her heart warmed at the older couple’s concern. Her own mother would have treated her daughter’s injury as a nuisance whose sole purpose was to wreck her day. Or she’d have gotten her maid to take care of Carly. “I twisted my ankle. The swelling’s already a lot better this morning and I’m hoping I’ll be good to go by the time my weekend’s over.”

      “That’s right, they moved your days off to Tuesday and Wednesday, didn’t they?” Mack said. “I guess if you had to get hurt, you at least had good timing.”

      “That was my thought, too.”

      “Meanwhile, I’m sure it hurts like the devil,” Ellen said, and waved her into the living room. “Go in and sit down. Do you want some ice for it?”

      “No, thanks. Maybe I could put it up for a few minutes, though. It feels better when it’s elevated.”

      “Of course. Mack, help her get settled and see that she’s comfortable. I’ll go pour us some coffee.”

      The stocky, gray-haired man ushered her into a chair in the beautifully appointed living room and cleaned a stack of papers off a hassock, then dragged it over for her foot. “Do you need me to walk the dogs?” he inquired as he slid a throw pillow beneath her heel.

      Delight flooded her at his thoughtfulness. “Aw, Mack. Have I told you recently how much I adore you?” she asked. “But, no, thank you. I managed to hobble out with Buster and Rufus earlier, and I’m hoping my ankle will be up for a longer walk around the grounds this evening.”

      “Let me get this straight.” Mack gave her a speaking look over his reading glasses. “You took the dogs out with a bum foot and Rufus didn’t bolt on you?”

      “Here we go.” Ellen entered the room with a tray that held not only three cups of coffee, but her home-baked cookies as well, beautifully arranged upon a paper doily that graced a delicate china plate.

      “Carly took the dogs out for their constitutional this morning,” Mack informed her.

      The older woman turned to look at Carly, her eyebrows arching toward her stylish salt-and-pepper bangs. “And Rufus didn’t take advantage of your bad foot and take off?”

      Carly laughed. “I know—isn’t it miraculous? That’s really the reason I’m here.” She accepted a mug of coffee and picked a sugar-dusted chocolate cookie off the plate. “He started to. He was making his usual Great Escape beeline for the parking lot, but I said Zits! and he came back.”

      “Zits?” Mack snorted. “What kind of word is that to make a dog who’s never listened to a thing anyone’s ever said suddenly pay attention?”

      “Not zits like a pimple,” Ellen said with a look of enlightenment. She turned to Carly. “Sitz, am I right? It’s German for sit, I believe.”

      “Is that what it means? How cool is that? Rufus knows German.” Another rolling laugh escaped her. “Not only knows it—Rufus loves German. He responds to it as if it’s his native language and actually pays attention. Well, he didn’t actually sit, but he came back, which is more than he would have done yesterday. So I wondered, Ellen—” she looked at her retired head-librarian neighbor “—do you think you could look up a couple of other German commands for me on your computer?”

      “Oh, darling, I’d love nothing more. Unfortunately, my cable provider is in the middle of merging with another company and my computer hasn’t let me connect to the Internet since last night. When I called the cable company about it this morning they admitted it was a problem at their end but couldn’t give me a concrete time when they’d be back up and running. It’s frustrating. But this news about Rufus is certainly an exciting breakthrough.”

      Carly felt as though her heart 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, СКАЧАТЬ