Grimm Wolf, Julie Steimle [always you kirsty moseley .txt] 📗

stuff get near him,” Jordan remarked with a chuckle.

“That’s what I meant.” Rhett pointed to him.

Some people were staring at them as they walked out of the Historische Senfmühle. It wasn’t just the usual stare at English speaking tourists either. They could almost feel those eyes tracking them as they went back to their hotel.

They spent the evening on the internet, watching a video on their phones before hitting the sack.

A Great Need to Leave

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Day three. After debating over going another hike—realizing too late that they had missed the wine hike which had ended in June—they decided to just check out smaller places in town. They visited the Bundesbank bunker, which was a tour into a large safe that was created for surviving a nuclear war; the St. Castor, which was labeled as a ‘must-see’ church with a late-gothic altarpiece and a baroque organ from the famous organ maker Johann Michael Stumm. And then they spent the rest of the day on one of the boat trips to Traben-Trarbuch where they flirted with the ladies and watched the shoreline. They went back later, reaching Cochem in the evening. As they strolled back to Altes Zollhaus, they looked up at the waning gibbous moon, wondering what they could do in the morning before Rick returned to take them on to the next stretch of the trip.

“We could get in a little hike, don’t you think?” Rhett suggested. “I hear the Moselhöhenweg runs from Trier to Koblenz. If we can convince Rick to ditch the car, we can hike to Trier.”

“Good point,” Emory said, thinking on it. “There are a lot of castles along the way. He’d be interested.”

“I think he wanted to stop off at Senheim next,” Jordan murmured. “He said something about ditching the car there.”

“I thought he wanted to see Beilstein,” Emory retorted.

Rhett nodded. “Either way, he has to find the rent-a-car company to return it. And there isn’t one here. I looked.”

“Bummer,” Rhett murmured. He really did want to get back to hiking, maybe take Rick up to the peak again to show him what he had missed.

“We could always walk upriver to Alf and take the train back to Cochem. The train only takes ten minutes,” Jordan suggested. “And the hike is about six hours, I hear. If we start early in the morning, we could be back by lunch.”

“Sounds good to me,” Emory said.

As day three in Cochem ended, they listened to the sound of laughter on the street and the distant echo of wildlife in the valley not far off. Rhett could have sworn he had heard a wolf howl, though Emory said it was more likely a local dog. Wolves were nearly extinct in Germany, no matter what that freaky professor had to say—at least in Cochem.

 

Day four, they rose early, filled their water bottles, packed a lunch each, and hiked down to the river where they began their trek north. They met all sorts of people along the way up the Mosel. There was a group of tourists going south who were interested in their opinion on the castle in Cochem, some from Great Britain. But there was one from the US, a couple of hikers from Idaho who stopped to chat, mostly asking about places to stay and what would be good to eat on a budget.

“We’ve hiked all over,” a tall brown-haired man with a buoyant disposition which seemed to declare with attitude that he was going about preaching the ‘Good News’. He had that clean cut look about him. “But we’re looking for a soft bed and some decent dinner. Do you know a place?”

They exchanged glances. Rhett said, “We’re staying at the Altes Zollhaus, but Cochen has plenty of places that can be rented there. We thought about getting an air BNB before our friend set us up in our current place.”

“An Air BNB would be good,” of Mr. Buoyant’s friends said. “We could all stay in the same place.”

“But I want a bed,” another of his friends protested.

“Then we’ll give you the bed.” Mr. Buoyant grinned at him as if his buddy was being silly. He then looked to Jordan, Rhett, and Emory. “Thanks. We’ve been camping on the ground for the past week and we are all a little burnt out.”

“I hear ya.” Emory laughed.

Rhett saluted them.

As they were parting, going north while that group went south, Mr. Buoyant called up to them, “Did you say you were returning to Cochem after the hike to Alf?”

Jordan and the other two nodded. “Yeah.”

“How about we meet up again somewhere, and you can give us more advice on what to check out?” He was grinning at them like he had made a new best friend. Jordan hoped the guy wasn’t hitting on him. He didn’t want to have to let the guy down.

Rhett smirked as Emory waved, calling out, “Sure thing. But we’re leaving Cochem this afternoon. A friend of ours is coming to pick us up, and we are heading south. We might not even see you.”

“Oh.” Mr. Buoyant looked disappointed, but Jordan was glad for Emory’s quick save. “Too bad. It was kind of nice bumping into Americans. You guys seem cool.”

And they walked on.

“Holy Crap, Art,” one of Mr. Buoyant’s friends said as they continued southward while Emory and Rhett with Jordan headed north, his voice carrying. “What were you doing? Hitting on them?”

“Oh my gosh, no. They actually seemed pretty cool. Like they knew stuff and be fun to hang around with.”

“You trust people too quickly man…”

And they could hear no more.

Rhett and Emory shared looks, chuckling. Apparently they too had thought Mr. Buoyant was flirting.  

Long into the afternoon, after reaching Alf, they had a late lunch.

In the middle of the lunch they got a call from Rick. << Where the hell are you? >>

Jordan held the phone away from his ear. Rick was almost shouting. “Oh, so you’re in Cochem now?”

<< Yeah, I decided to get back early. Where are you? >>

“In Alf.” Jordan looked at Emory and Rhett. They were enjoying a beer and the shade.

<< What are you doing in Alf? >>

“We hiked here,” Emory called out, hoping Rick could hear it.

Rick groaned on his side of the telephone. << Fine. Do you want me to drive over there to pick you up? >>

“No,” Jordan said. “We still have some stuff in our rooms, and we haven’t checked out or anything. We plan to take the train back.”

<< How long will that take? >>

“Don’t be impatient,” Emory said, “You were the one who had ditched us to do business. We’re enjoying our vacation. You should enjoy Cochem.”

Rick moaned again. << I should just drive up there and pick you up. >>

The three of them exchanged looks. Rhett said, “No. No. We are taking the train. You wait for us. Have a beer or something.”

“Or go try the mustard at Historische Senfmühle,” Emory cut in.

“But not the honey mustard,” Rhett added in a lifted voice.

Jordan snorted.

<< You guys are kidding me. >>

They exchanged looks. It was fun teasing Rick.

“You’re just going to have to wait for us,” Jordan said.

Hearing him groan, they could tell Rick was not happy about that. He sounded anxious to get on to the rest of the trip.

They took their time finishing their late lunch. And they strolled to the train station where they bought three one way tickets to Cochem. When it arrived and they stepped on, they rode southward along the river, enjoying the scenery. And when they arrived about ten minutes later, Rick was at the station, practically pacing like a caged wolf.

“Finally,” he said when he saw them. “We need to get your stuff and go.”

“Why the rush?” Emory laughed, striding across the platform towards the barrier where Rick waited.

“I don’t need to be here,” Rick said, tersely. He looked a bit worse for wear. There was a small scrape near his right eye as if an animal with small claws had attacked him. It looked fresh. His hair was a little awry, almost furry looking.

“Where do you need to be?” Emory asked, amused at Rick’s irrational anxiety.

Shooting him hard glance, Rick said again, “Not here.” He then turned to head back to the hotel, leading the way.

“Seriously, why the rush?” Jordan asked the question again, following him.

Rick groaned within, looking likely to lose his mind. He reminded Jordan a bit of Dr. Jekyll about to turn into Mr. Hyde. Rick was holding it back. His eyes twitched to people around them who were watching. “I’ll be better once we are out of here.”

They all walked back to Altes Zollhaus.

In the lobby stood that same group of Americans from Idaho whom they had met on the path hiking southward, Mr. Buoyant speaking fluent German, negotiating for a room that may or may not be available. When that group saw them, the friends laughed and nudged Mr. Buoyant. “Art, look who’s here.”

“Hey!” Mr. Buoyancy turned from the person at the main desk, his eyes resting on Jordan, Emory, and Rhett. “All the places are full. They say some rooms might be opening up, but…” He looked to the person behind the counter. “I suppose that means you guys, huh?”

Rick nodded. “Yeah, they’re checking out.”

Mr. Buoyant set his eyes on Rick. He blinked as if he recognized him, but could not place Rick at all. “Hi. I’m Arthur Condie. And you are?” He extended a hand.

A flinch rippled through Rick, not because of Arthur-the-buoyant-man—but due to the watching eyes around them. However, he gripped Art’s open hand and shook it. “Rick Deacon.”

 Jordan exchanged a look with Emory. Rhett lifted his eyebrows, watching Art’s expression change from polite inquiry to complete comprehension. “No way…. But I thought it was you.”

“You know me?” Rick pulled back a little, immediately on guard.

Art nodded. “Not directly, but I know your good friend Andrew Cartwright.”

Rick raised his eyebrows this time, surprised. He glanced back at Jordan who was also amazed.

“We went to camp together briefly,” Art explained, grinning. “Back in high school.”

“Briefly?” Jordan echoed, wondering what that meant.

But Rick nodded, chuckling. “Let me guess. Basketball camp?”

Art grinned wider. “Yeah. The guy really leaves an impression.”

Nodding more, Rick smiled. “That he does.” He then looked around at the lobby and people there. “Are you staying in Cochem long?”

Art looked to his friends and shrugged. “I dunno. We hear there is a castle around here, and we want a good night sleep. Win-win.”

Rick laughed. Yet he said, “Fair enough.”

“Maybe you can convince us to get Rick to stay one more night here in Cochem.” Rhett leaned in to them with a side nudge.

“You can talk about his buddy, Andy,” Emory said with a smirk. “The guy just got married. Rick was his best man.”

Rick set a hand to his forehead, cringing against a possible headache.

Art grinned wider. “No kidding! That’s great news!”

“Do you want to see pictures?” Jordan said, snickering with a peek at Rick’s agitation. “Rick’s got plenty.”

Shooting Jordan a dirty look, Rick said, “Stop it. We have to go. They can’t get rooms if you are staying in them.” He gestured to the lady at the counter who was listening in.

“Good point.” Emory looked to Jordan. “We should check out so they can check in.”

Art’s