Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement

by Day Leclaire

  “Comfy?” he inquired in a polite voice.

  She gritted her teeth. “Exceedingly.”

  “Good. Final point. Correct me if I’m wrong. I understand this store belongs to one Cletus Roberts, not a Ms. Jordan Roberts. Are my sources mistaken?”

  Alarm flared through her. “How do you know that?”

  “Was it a secret?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not, but—”

  “That means any business discussions I have regarding Cornucopia Produce should be with him, not some overly protective wisecracking, impertinent employee.”

  Overly protective? Of course, she was overly protective! Family tended to make a person that way. Fury took hold. She placed the palms of her hands square on his chest and shoved with all her might. He didn’t budge. She stared at him, both surprised and dismayed. Good grief. This man was built like a rock, with the stubborn immobility to match. Well, stone could be chiseled. She might not be Michelangelo, but she’d be delighted to give it her best whack.

  “Look, Mr. Thorsen. This store is a family business. Any decisions made about this store are family decisions. So whether you like the idea or not, you’re stuck dealing with me. Those are the facts. Deal with them, or deal yourself out.”

  “Volcanoes, typhoons, and now fire and brimstone. I like it,” he murmured.

  Jordan glared at him in exasperation. The man’s elevator definitely stopped shy of the penthouse. “In the meantime, move your carcass, or you’ll be wearing watermelon on that Viking head of yours instead of horns!”

  For a minute she thought she’d gone too far. His eyes narrowed, the blue as chilly as an arctic glacier. Then a small rumbling began deep in his chest, spreading and growing. He tilted his head back and laughed, the sound rich and full and attractive, turning the heads of the shoppers.

  “Yes! Now I understand,” he said. He caught hold of her chin, tilting it up, his firm grip curbing any resistance. “So, you’re a Valkyrie. I should have known.”

  “What’s that?” she demanded suspiciously.

  A smile edged the corners of his mouth. “A warrior maiden. In old Norse legend, they swept fallen heroes off to Valhalla. Is that what you want? To carry me off?”

  “And dump you in some mythical never-never land? It would be my pleasure!”

  “Mine, too,” he assured her. “With you by my side, I’d go willingly. But first I have a battle to fight—and to win. So ante up, deal me in, and prepare to lose.”

  He stepped back and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Jordan took a breath. Her jaw burned from his touch, while fury mixed with confusion burned within. A picture of his fingers stroking the plump red tomatoes flashed through her mind, adding to her confusion and banking her anger. She’d been right. His touch truly was exquisite . . . .

  She struggled to spark her anger anew, fearful of the strange emotions sweeping through her. She didn’t want to feel this way about Rainer. Dangerous didn’t begin to describe it. He wasn’t interested in romancing her. He wanted something more, something she’d fight tooth, nail, and big left toe to keep him from having.

  “I think you should leave,” she said in a low voice.

  “And I think we should find your uncle and get down to business. Where’s he hiding?”

  She hopped off the watermelon bin. “You have a very abrasive way of doing business. I’ll assume your family’s produce markets are successful in spite of you, not thanks to you.”

  His expression grew amused once more. “Assume anything you want. It’s to my advantage to have an opponent underestimate me.”

  One thing she’d never do was underestimate this man. He’d shown her all too clearly just how much charm and ruthlessness he possessed. He’d revealed as much at the wholesale market. And then, in case she’d misunderstood, he’d proved it again in her own store. Uncle Cletus’s store, she corrected herself grimly. It wouldn’t do to forget that small, though pertinent, detail.

  “Uncle Cletus isn’t hiding anywhere. He’s in the back, probably playing checkers with Walker.”

  A single eyebrow shot up. “He plays while you work? Curious setup.”

  “Uncle Cletus works very hard,” she leapt instantly to her only relative’s defense. “He isn’t a young man anymore, and what with his stroke . . .” She trailed off, shrugging.

  Satisfaction played across the appealing terrain of his face. “Then perhaps he’ll find my proposal of greater interest than I thought.”

  Jordan hesitated. He moved as though to head for the back of the store, and she grabbed his arm to restrain him. “Wait.” She licked her lips. “Please—” Lord, how the word came hard to her tongue. “Could you tell me what this is about? What do you intend to propose?”

  His gaze softened. “I think you know already, Jordan. Don’t make it any harder on yourself than necessary. Come on. I know all about family businesses. Since this is a family business, you should be there.”

  As she’d predicted, they found Uncle Cletus in the back with Walker. This time mangoes and kiwifruit littered their checkerboard, the game once again in progress. Jordan went to tap her uncle on the shoulder, but Rainer caught her hand, drawing her off to one side.

  “We’ll let them finish,” he whispered and lowered himself onto a nearby stool. He became instantly absorbed in the progress of the game.

  Jordan sat perched on the edge of a lunchroom chair. Unease filled her. Why the delay? Why didn’t he get on with it? Stretching out the wait like this was pure agony. Perplexed, she glanced at him.

  He seemed totally relaxed, as though he had all the time in the world. He templed his fingers beneath his chin, his arms resting on his knees. A lock of curly white-gold hair lay across his furrowed brow and she knew a moment’s regret for the might-have-beens.

  An attraction existed between them, honesty forced her to admit it. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed exploring that attraction. She sighed, acknowledging the impossibility of it all. Even if Rainer hadn’t taken such an adversarial position, the produce business didn’t leave her much time for a social life.

  She glanced his way again, sensing his growing tension. Curious, she studied him, realizing in dismay he’d focused his full attention on her uncle. What was he up to?

  It hit her like a class-five hurricane. He observed Uncle Cletus in order to analyze his moves and method of play. Rainer could care less about the game. He simply used the opportunity to evaluate her uncle. Just as he’d spent the morning watching her, figuring her out, now he watched her uncle, figuring out an angle to use against him.

  Her eyes widened. An angle. Good grief, precisely what she always did. She sized up the competition, figured out an angle and moved in for the kill. Of course, she’d always thought of it in slightly different terms. She’d get a general impression of her customers, figure out their needs and try to give them what they wanted. Her angles were . . . nicer, rounder, smoother. Whereas Rainer’s were all sharp points and rough edges. But what gorgeous points and edges!

  The game ended rapidly, but then, it always did. The only thing more certain than her uncle’s winning a checker match was the chance of rain in a Seattle forecast.

  “Walker,” she said, “Andy needs some help sorting the oranges.” Her uncle’s friend took one look at Rainer and beat a hasty retreat. Jordan crossed to her uncle’s side and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Thorsen wants to talk to us about Cornucopia.”

  Uncle Cletus appeared startled to discover someone seated behind him.

  “Make it Rainer,” he said and stood, approaching with hand outstretched.

  Cletus looked at it as he might a coiled rattlesnake and reluctantly stuck his gnarled hand into harm’s way. “Since we’re being sociable, call me Cletus,” he muttered less than graciously.

  “My father says he knew you and your brother years ago.”

  This seemed to c
heer Cletus some. “Quite right. The community was smaller back then, more tightknit. In those days you knew everybody in the business. Not like now. Your father and Jordan’s father, Jake, and I even socialized on occasion. I guess you could say we were the next best thing to kin.” He gave a weak chuckle. “Welcome to the family, my boy.”

  A smile crept across Rainer’s mouth. “Thanks.”

  “Nice of your pop to send you over to do the neighborly thing,” Cletus said a trifle nervously. “How’s Alaric feeling these days?”

  “Just fine, thank you. He’s looking forward to his sixtieth birthday this month.”

  Cletus shook his head. “Amazing how the years go by. My own sixtieth wasn’t all that long ago.” He stood up with a gusty sigh. “Well, son, it’s been delightful to meet you. Just delightful. You tell your pop I’ll try and stop by one of these days.” He looked hopeful. “I guess you have to leave now?”

  Jordan shut her eyes and let out a tiny groan.

  “Not quite yet,” Rainer said.

  Cletus fell back into his chair. “No?”

  “No.”

  “Uncle Cletus,” Jordan began, only to be silenced by a stern look from Rainer.

  He returned to his seat on the stool, his posture relaxed, casual even. It didn’t fool her one tiny bit. She knew determination when she saw it, and this man positively screamed determination. “You received a letter from us a few months ago. Perhaps you recall?”

  The older man’s eyes shifted evasively. “Can’t say that I do.”

  “Uncle Cletus?” Jordan stared at him in sudden suspicion. “What’s he talking about?”

  Rainer cut in. “Since your uncle didn’t receive the letter, I’m sure he doesn’t know. I do. Our letter outlined a proposition we wanted your uncle to evaluate.” His gaze turned cool and direct, and vaguely threatening. “Thorsen Produce is looking to expand. Realizing this has always been Cornucopia’s turf and realizing how close the two families have been all these years—”

  Jordan couldn’t resist a small unladylike snort.

  “Gesundheit. As I was saying, considering the close family ties, we wouldn’t want Cornucopia to feel any loss due to our expansion.”

  “Why, thank you.” Uncle Cletus beamed. “I’m sure Canada will be delighted to welcome a Thorsen Produce Market.”

  “No doubt.” Nor was there any doubt about the irony in Rainer’s voice. “Unfortunately we were thinking about Seattle’s northern suburbs. Say, Queen Anne Hill or Magnolia or even Blue Ridge.”

  Cletus frowned. “That’s getting a mite close, son. I mean, there’s such a thing as being too neighborly.” Jordan gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Rainer glanced from one to the other. “That’s why we want to make you a small proposition. A lucrative proposition.”

  The older man perked up at that. “Lucrative?”

  “Quite.”

  Jordan wondered if her uncle heard the derision in Rainer’s tone as clearly as she did. So he thought her uncle could be bought, did he? He’d soon learn differently. You couldn’t put a price on family, and that was precisely what Cornucopia was. Family.

  “We’d like to buy Cornucopia from you.”

  “Buy Cornucopia! How dare you!” Cletus thundered.

  Jordan wanted to cheer. Way to go. You tell him! She kept her hand on his shoulder, the touch one of restraint now, rather than comfort. She shot Rainer a triumphant grin.

  “We’re prepared to pay generously.”

  Cletus slammed his fist onto the checkerboard crate, narrowly missing a mango. “You can’t put a price on a man’s blood and sweat. You insult me!” He drew a deep breath. “Just out of curiosity, how much are you prepared to insult me with?”

  Rainer mentioned a figure that left Jordan more than a little stunned. She turned a concerned gaze on Cletus. She didn’t feel quite so cocky anymore. Rainer offered a lot of money. A whole lot of money.

  Cletus drew a shaky breath. “That’s quite an insult,” he muttered, then rallied. “Even so, you can’t have Cornucopia for any price.” He made the statement with quiet dignity. “My father started this store turning it over to me. I promised it would be Jordan’s when I retire to my chicken ranch in New Mexico.”

  “Arizona.”

  “Exactly.” Cletus grabbed Jordan’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure you understand the importance of family in these matters.”

  Rainer inclined his head. “I do. I also understand the importance of business.” He eyed them both, his gaze wintry. “Fair warning. We’re expanding northward. You can bow to the inevitable, take what you can, and head for your chicken ranch, or—” He paused, his ruthlessness hiding every scrap of charm. “Or you can lose it all.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Jordan protested. “Are you threatening to put Cornucopia out of business?”

  “Promising. I don’t make—”

  “Threats. I remember, you make promises,” she said, a sarcastic edge creeping into her voice. “It’s impossible to break Cornucopia. We’ll fight you up and down, inside and out, and back and forth, if necessary. The whole community will fight you!”

  “Good.” He grinned. “There’s only one thing a Thorsen does better than fighting.”

  She knew she’d regret asking, but couldn’t resist. “What’s that?”

  “Winning.” He stood. “I believe my business here is completed. For today.” He held out his hand to Uncle Cletus, a hand the older man pointedly ignored. Rainer dropped his arm to his side and glanced at Jordan. “See me out?”

  “Afraid you’ll get lost?” she taunted, then released a pent-up sigh. “All right, come on.”

  At the front door Rainer turned, catching her arm in a light grip. “I know this is difficult for you, but you need to be realistic. You can’t win this fight.”

  Jordan pulled free of his touch. She couldn’t afford to have him affect her in that way. Not now. Not with so much at stake. “We’ll see,” she said.

  He took a final look around. “You own the building, as well as the business, don’t you?”

  He had to know that already, otherwise he wouldn’t have made such a generous offer. Perplexed, she nodded. “Why?”

  “Would you believe idle curiosity?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Smart lady. It’s a fine building you have here. Almost as fine as the one they’re constructing across the street.”

  She froze, sensing danger. “You’re familiar with that project?”

  “I better be. It’s my building they’re raising. Looks like we’re going to be neighbors after all.” And with that he left.

  Jordan tried to convince herself things weren’t as disastrous as they seemed. It took a lot of convincing and the entire rest of the day.

  A week and a half later, Jordan stood by her truck outside Constantine’s Wholesale Market, her frustration reaching unbearable levels. Ten days had passed since Rainer’s appearance in her life. Ten days since he’d issued his ominous threats and warnings. Ten days of silence.

  During that time she’d gone through the full emotional spectrum—anger, annoyance, concern, and finally fear. Didn’t he realize how worried she’d be? Or was that the whole idea? She wished he’d just do something and end their stalemate.

  Determined to take action, she entered the warehouse and gazed toward the back at the offices on the second story. Large windows, some ajar, others tightly closed, overlooked the cavernous main floor where she stood. Andrea’s, she noted, were open. Good.

  She’d told her friend about the Thorsens’ interest in Cornucopia. Perhaps there would be some much-needed information by now. Anything was better than living in a vacuum. If nothing else, she could count on receiving one of Andrea’s special pep talks, each guaranteed to find the bright side to even the worst disaster.

 
Andrea’s door opened before Jordan had a chance to knock. “Oh, you’re here,” the tall blonde said with a rather weary smile. “I was about to come and get you. We need to talk.”

  Jordan grinned. “I’d hoped you’d say that.”

  She entered the room, shoved a stack of receipts off the chair and took a seat across from her friend’s desk. It always amused her to come here. A very clever businesswoman, Andrea seemed to thrive on chaos. Papers, invoices, and produce manuals littered every inch of her office. Yet she could always find anything she needed at a moment’s notice. Today, though, she seemed distracted and tense.

  Jordan frowned. Now that she really looked, she realized Andrea had lost weight. A new vulnerability burned in her friend’s expressive dark eyes, the sparkling liveliness dimmed. Nor could she detect any sign of the cheerful optimism that made her friend so special. “Is something wrong?” she asked, quick to put her own worries aside.

  Andrea shrugged. “You know how this place gets sometimes. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She fumbled for some papers, her tone deliberately businesslike, almost off-putting. “Listen, I’ve done some checking. Those threats Rainer made weren’t idle ones. The Thorsens are serious about expanding.”

  Jordan dismissed the Thorsens with a wave of her hand. “Forget about that for now. Andrea, I know something’s wrong. What—”

  “You can’t forget about it!” She spoke sharply, her voice rising. “You don’t know the Thorsens or their methods. I do. They’re ruthless. They’ll do anything and everything to get what they want. Believe me, I know.”

  The passion rippling through her words seemed to hang between them. As though aware of how much she’d given away, Andrea leaned back and shut her eyes.

  “How do you know?” Jordan asked gently. “How do you know so much about the Thorsens?”

  She must have hit a nerve. Andrea spun out of her chair and paced to the windows overlooking the warehouse floor. “I know because . . . because I was engaged—very briefly—to Rainer’s brother, Thor,” she admitted in a pained voice.